Cheri Crystal
It was as if my entire life had been leading up to this: sitting on a chartered tour overseas during the one Christmas that would change everything. That must have been how Mama saw it when she booked me an all-expenses-paid trip abroad for Christmas. Despite my protests that she should go instead, she insisted.
“I’m old. But you’re young and fit. Go see the world before it’s too late,” she said.
Mama lit up like a kerosene lamp telling me about this great deal—five nights in London and five in Normandy—she got on the highly rated singles tour everyone was talking about. I was skeptical. Who was “everyone”? Certainly nobody from around these parts. And why should I listen to “them” anyhow?
Mama wasn’t subtle about living vicariously through her only daughter, the only family she had left. I could no sooner disappoint her than cut off my own finger. She was really hot for me to check out the American graves at Omaha Beach and put flowers on Granddaddy’s grave. She was too tired to make the journey herself. I figured she used age as an excuse to get me to understand the massive loss for the sake of freedom, so that I would think twice about wasting my own life. She harped on me about seeing it for myself that I finally agreed, just to shut her up.
Do you want to know why mamas are such pains in the ass? It’s because they’re always right.
Imagine a lonesome dyke on a straight singles’ tour and you couldn’t picture anything worse. It takes moving mountains to get a rise out of me, but I felt a rise of anticipation in seeing Europe and what all the fuss was about.
Mama hovered as I shoved all my stuff, including a hat I’d never wear, into a duffle bag.
“Geez, Mama, you do remember I’m thirty-five and old enough to figure this out on my own? Or are you getting soft?” I teased.
She clucked her tongue but let me be after that. Most folks thought I should have married and moved out ages ago, but I wasn’t like most folks. Besides, if I left home, Mama would have to come with me. Easier to stay put.
* * *
It was time to leave. I made the huge mistake of calling my departure D-Day, and made other colorful remarks I regret. Mama had little tolerance for cussing, but avoiding bad habits for long periods was hard work and as a result, I received shitloads of Mama’s slaps on the arm until I thought I’d welt. Once in our pick-up, Mama was unusually quiet on the drive to the bus depot.
We got out of the truck at the same time. All set with my brand-spanking-new passport in hand and foreign money in pocket, I gave Mama a hug and my best attempt at a cocky grin before I boarded the bus. There were tears in her eyes, which choked me up, but I’m certain no one could tell but her. If I’d said a word, I knew we’d both have started blubbering and that simply would not do. She could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but I counted my blessings for having her. I didn’t exactly tell her this, but I suspected she knew.
It was a couple hours’ drive to the nearest airport, where they had the kind of aircrafts that looked like the rubber band planes the Five and Dimes used to sell. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled when I discovered that I would be high in the sky in a tin box no bigger than the inside of an oil tank. Once we got moving, the rinky-dink flight turned out okay. Noisy, but the view was worth it. Hard to believe I’d never been on an airplane until then. Harder to believe was taking two airplanes counting the connecting flight from the USA to London Heathrow Airport.
Atlanta International Airport was a frickin’ city in itself. Acres of concrete and tarmac took up more space from one end to another than the town and neighboring farms I grew up in, and the waves of people moving looked like a stampede. I hate to admit it, but I was a bit unnerved. Good thing I was tough or I’d have been shaking in my boots. I searched for the lady holding up the sign for our travel group. I’d sized up the crowd pretty accurately. They were from all over America, from California to New York and everywhere in between. There were proportionately more women than men and no doubt they were breeders on the hunt for suitable mates. Theirs was not my idea of the ultimate future, but I was going nowhere fast, so who was I to judge? Half past three decades, I knew it all, had seen plenty, and was fed up with hanging out in bars and job-hopping on the farms—farmers were having a raw deal most of the time, anyway.
Work, when I could get it, was all-consuming, long days spent doing hard physical labor, which never hurt anyone, but there was always time to hook up with a woman if she caught my eye. It was rare for someone like me, living in Small Town, USA, to meet many like-minded bedmates, but I got lucky more often than the cowboys I chugged beers and shot whiskeys with did. I didn’t gloat about getting laid much, but the other farmhands were mighty envious. I never did take any shit from anyone, and I avoided a lot of fights because they usually backed off.
There was one other lesbian in town and she avoided me like the plague. That’s how I knew she was gay. Girls like that made me laugh. They couldn’t see that being different was only interesting if it was kept secret. Like a wrapped Christmas present, everyone wanted to know what was inside, even if it wasn’t for them. But the minute the box was opened and the gift-wrap was torn to shreds, nobody gave it another thought.
But there was no doubt about me. Liking girls never was a secret I desired to keep. No sirree. I always dressed in boots, jeans, and T-shirts. I kept my fair hair short, and never minced words with the male farmhands. My body was strong and my hands rough. I was the token dyke and proud of it. I dared anyone to make a disparaging remark and developed quite the hard-ass reputation. Surely, I could take care of myself on a little trip across the Atlantic without any worries.
After risking life and limb aboard the “toy” plane from my hometown to Atlanta, I settled in the jumbo jet quite nicely. I shamelessly flirted with the hot flight attendant, who I could have had for breakfast, and had her phone number in my shirt pocket before the plane landed. Not that I was likely to use it, but it was nice to have just the same.
London was unbelievable. It didn’t matter that the gals on my coach were chatty with each other when they weren’t flirting with the guys, but they didn’t have much to say to me. Everyone was nice enough, though, and I found myself immersed in history for the first time. What a trip! The world sure was vast and I wanted to know all about it. Mama was right. My horizons needed serious expanding.
I signed up for every excursion, except for shopping at Harrods. I ended up at the London Zoo instead. A wise move. We did the usual touristy things, like the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace. The riverboat cruise down the Thames past Big Ben, the Tower of London, and London Bridge, among other notable sites, was good, too. Camden Market was quirky, all right. I was getting Mama’s money’s worth.
Lots of women in the city made my gaydar ping. I would have liked to get to know them, but there was so much to see, I didn’t want to miss a thing. After visiting Covent Gardens for the street shows and Notting Hill for the outdoor market and to see where the movie of the same name was filmed, I was a bit let down about having to leave, but, as the schedule was rigid, I geared up for France.
Our coach was scheduled to board the Portsmouth Ferry to France on the 23rd of December. I got these fleeting pangs of loneliness—Christmas had that effect on Mama and me ever since Daddy died. Every year, Mama got that sad look in her eyes that I would just hate. I couldn’t stand anything I couldn’t fix. Sad turned to surly when she’d get angry at Daddy for leaving us. It was best that I left her alone to get over it, but I was worried sick that she was home alone.
We used to do Christmas right with all the trimmings, but that ended after Daddy took sick from the blood poisoning. He would have rather shot his own foot than admit to being ill. Had he allowed Mama to call Doc, he might still be alive. The year he died was the worse Christmas of my young life. At the tender age of ten, I became the “man of the house.” Mama and I did all right once we got over the shock, but Christmas was permanently ruined. A shame she couldn’t be here to see Europe for herself. She would have loved it. Everywhere I went, I took tons of photographs with my new instamatic camera with the built-in flashcube—that must have cost her a pretty penny—to show her when I got back.
When I heard, “All aboard, folks,” all worries were forgotten, though. I hopped on the bus like a child going to Disney World before I realized my obvious exuberance just wasn’t cool. I quickly posed disinterest despite being the complete opposite. That was me. Tough to the core, I liked to think.
The ferry was due to leave at 10:45 that night. The plan was for us to sleep aboard ship before docking in Caen around 7:30 the next morning. Our English tour guide bid us farewell after informing us we’d be equally pleased with our French tour guide, who would greet us there, and reminding us to book Christmas dinner ASAP. I scribbled my name on the roster on the way to choose a seat. There were a few empty rows, so I grabbed two seats to myself and spread out. I was not in a chatty mood and most of the people on the coach looked so straight, I wondered how they sat down.
I planned to sleep some after the bus took off, but with everyone in a festive mood, singing Christmas carols, serving Champagne in plastic cups and throwing popcorn at each other like a bunch of kids on a school trip, it was impossible to take a nap. I joined the rowdy group in one toast after another until the fizzy alcohol made my head spin. Beer and whiskey back home had never bothered me as badly. I wasn’t used to fancy drinks. When I closed my eyes, I felt like Dorothy in Auntie Em and Uncle Henry’s flying house on the way to Oz. But instead of thinking, “There’s no place like home,” I silently prayed, “Make it stop,” until I had finally dozed off.
I was in a deep sleep when loud static and garbled words startled me to semi-consciousness. I caught the tail end of the bus driver’s announcement over the loudspeaker, followed by a huge groan from the group. They were so selfish there wasn’t a thing they didn’t complain about. At times their behavior embarrassed me to be an American in England.
Pressing down on my temples with my thumbs to stop the figurative knife from making hamburger meat out of my brain, I squinted, hoping to block the light, and asked the nearest passenger for clarification of the message I missed. Apparently another coach had broken down and we had to pick up a few stranded travellers. We were en route to an out-of-the-way-stop to God-knows-where. I wouldn’t have minded the detour except that long-distance highway driving, on the wrong side of the road, in an overheated bus was gruelling. The hot air of passengers who were so full of themselves and not shy about showing it added to my distress. And to top it off, after I’d imbibed a ton of Champagne on an empty stomach without ample water, I was close to hurling. Throwing up in public would not have been cool at all.
As if I couldn’t feel worse, I had a wicked headache made more excruciating by the faintest light. God bless the lady who took pity on me when she handed over two prescription-strength-migraine-relief tablets, a large cup of water from her jug, and a few packages of Saltines. She claimed this “combo” had saved her many lost days due to severe suffering. After her profound act of kindness, I regretted placing my entire tour group into a thoughtless lump. Another sign that stereotypes weren’t restricted to the het world.
Just knowing I was on the road to recovery, made my head and stomach feel slightly better, but not great. Waiting for the pain pills to completely work their magic, I shut my eyes again, which helped a lot. I slept for an hour or so when the driver made a wide turn, knocking my head against the wet windowpane as he drove into a bus depot. He promised it was the last stop before Portsmouth over the loudspeaker. I wished he’d turn down the volume.
Even through fogged-up windows and with a headache that miraculously had faded as the kind lady said it would, I couldn’t miss the woman who narrowly escaped being flattened by our bus. I sat right up and quickly rubbed moisture off the window with the back of my sleeve to get a better look. After being smothered by breeders for much of the time, I detected a ray of hope. Having another lesbian aboard would spice things up. She could have been gay, but I was not totally sure. In a woollen skirt and thigh-high boots beneath a Shetland wool coat, she wore bright red lipstick and a colorful woollen cap with a pom-pom. I wouldn’t be caught dead in pom-poms, and lipstick was a waste. It’s not like I didn’t know lipstick lesbians existed, but where I came from, there wasn’t one. When the driver lifted the woman’s suitcase, I noticed a bunch of stickers, including the rainbow flag, before he stowed the bag beneath the bus. A pride rainbow might be an obvious clue, but it wasn’t foolproof. I learned that lesson the hard way, so I wouldn’t be making that mistake again. She could just be a gay pride sympathizer, for all I knew.
She climbed aboard and sauntered down the aisle like it was a damn runway, making it no secret she was checking me out. Clue number two was the eye contact and slight smile. Determined not to share my seat I purposefully turned and looked away. If that didn’t shout, “not interested,” then nothing would. She was too high class for me. I might be a sucker for stereotypes, but the last thing I wanted was some snooty femme giving me an earful for the duration of the trip.
She took the hint and settled in the seat across from mine. With her snack, a bag of chips and can of Coke, tucked in the seat pocket, she fished in her expensive-looking and probably genuine-leather bag and pulled out a hardcover book and flashlight. She started reading, and I was amazed—I’d never seen anyone turn the pages that quickly. Maybe she was the brainy type.
It wasn’t long before we were on the road again, the heater turned up high to blast us out. The femme woman made a big production out of removing her coat and folding it neatly in her lap before standing and stretching way up to place it on the rack above me, probably so I could smell her perfume. Her sweater hugged her curves, showing off nice, pert breasts, and from my vantage point, the underside of those perky numbers sure was fine. Maybe her scent was a bit sweet, but it was mixed with an earthy hint, and it kind of grew on me.
I stole a glance at her, and I thought I caught her wink at me. It was so fast, I couldn’t be sure. I waited, silently daring her to do it again when she closed her book and gazed into my eyes. “See something you like?”
Taken by surprise, I said the first thing on my mind. “I was looking at your book.”
She grinned with a sexy sideways glance, daring me to tell another lie. “Yeah, right.”
She was frisky. I knew a good way to calm her down.
Next thing I knew, she jumped up and stowed her bag on the overhead rack with her coat. Then, keeping her finger in the book to hold her place, she slithered into the seat next to mine, forcing me to sit up straight and make room. She read quietly like a prim schoolgirl daring me to pull her hair or shoot spitballs at her. I was tempted. I grew curious to know the title of that book, but she concealed it on purpose.
While she was occupied, I summed her up. She was young, maybe twenty, and slim but with a little puppy fat. Her stark jet-black hair contradicted her dreamy soft brown eyes—kind of like serious business executive meets sweet seductress. She appeared just over five feet tall, falling short of me by six inches, I guessed. Not bad at all. Cute and compact on the outside, but I sensed there was a well-concealed commanding nature within. I could have some fun with her, but first she would have to learn her place.
Compared to the cold and blustery weather going on outdoors, the bus was getting warmer by the second with this chick sitting by my side. I had shucked my coat hours ago, but decided that I had to peel off another layer or sweat to death. I was glad I had thought to wear a T-shirt underneath or I’d have been stuck way overdressed.
“What are you reading?” I asked.
“War and Peace,” she replied.
“You kidding me?”
“Yeah.”
When she didn’t elaborate, I took it to mean that she wasn’t interested. Things cooled off fast as a result of that chilly introduction to Miss Snooty Pants.
The bus crept along. After what seemed like an interminable wait on a long line approaching the tollbooths, we were finally aboard the ferry. I’d never been on a ferry, much less an English channel-cross ferry that was more like a cruise ship. The brochure boasted spacious staterooms, comfortable lounge seats, money-exchange counter, boutique gift shops, bars, disco, dining room, snack bar cafe, a video arcade and a whole host of other amenities to make the trip pleasurable and seem luxurious. There were spectacular views from the many open decks for passengers strong enough to withstand the winter chill. I dared anyone to experience a Midwest winter before complaining about the cold.
I downed all three packages of Saltines at the same time, happy they were dry and salty because it settled my stomach. I was brushing the crumbs off my chest when the kind lady offered me a sandwich. She claimed that once the nausea was gone, I needed a full stomach to avoid feeling sick all over again. With immense gratitude I shook her hand so hard I nearly pulled her arm out of the socket. I often forgot my own strength. I returned her smile as I ate up. Ham, lettuce, cucumber, onion and tomato on brown bread with butter and English mustard tasted surprisingly good for someone who would never think to eat ham with butter and salad. Sampling foreign foods was making me quite the connoisseur—if you get my French. English food might be bland according to popular belief, but the amazing English pub that served up traditional recipes and the best beer I’d ever had gave new meaning to Rabbit Pie. One bite and I soon forgot I was eating a distant relative of Bugs Bunny. Thinking about the incredible brews I sampled and surprised at my renewed hunger, I was glad I had francs in my pocket for whatever my heart desired and my stomach could stand. I hoped French cuisine was as good as they claimed. Thinking about food meant I was feeling much better.
When it was time to board the ferry, we were reminded to take our overnight bags before we left the bus because suitcases would have to remain stowed below.
Miss Snooty Pants next to me was already standing and deliberately sticking her ass in my face. I caught a glimpse of the book title, some shit about Women’s Lib. I figured she was a rioter, too. She was getting to me. I looked away and waited for her to go. Damn, who did she think she was, driving me nuts? She wouldn’t share the title of a stupid book, but she had no qualms about wiggling her backside in front of my face or standing above me on tiptoes so her skirt brushed my jeans and I could asphyxiate on her perfume. If I had my way, she was in for a big surprise.
As it turned out, I didn’t see Miss Snooty Pants while I was busy sharing a snack with the kind lady. She had told me, but I never could remember her name, only her kindness. Thanks to her I was totally cured and unable to show my profound appreciation, I bought her a bottle of Côtes du Rhône in the gift shop, duty free too, and ordered the Plateau de Fromages des Regions de France from the a la carte menu—translation: wine and cheese. Amazingly I could read some French, but speaking the language was another story I didn’t want to get into. After polishing off the plate of cheeses from the regions of France we then retired to the upper deck where the rowdy gang from our group was already assembled.
The nightclub festivities included music, but Christmas songs weren’t conducive to dancing, unless you were drunk. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and I’d have thought they would have gotten the celebration started by then. Maybe the subdued atmosphere, even for a noisy bunch of characters, was because we had to be back on the bus before daylight. I was already noticing a few pairings amongst the natives. It was a singles tour after all, but I doubted I’d find anyone there.
With nothing much happening upstairs, I was on the way to find the reserved lounge seat area included in our ticket, when I realized I’d moseyed into the berthing area instead. The hallway was narrow. I stopped to read the signs and decided to head back out to the money exchange desk and start over. I turned, for a split second thinking I should hit the bathroom to brush my teeth, when someone ploughed into me from behind.
“Hey, watch it,” I said, my fists clenched.
“You watch it. I know exactly where I’m going.”
“It’s you.” I narrowed my eyes at her and stood tall.
“Are you going to move sometime this year?”
“The year ends in about a week, so I’d venture a guess at yes. Ask me nicely and I’ll think about doing it sooner.”
“Fine.” I could tell she was trying to stay mad but failing miserably. The playfulness that she’d had in her eyes when we were on the bus returned until she sweetly added, “Excuse me, but would you kindly move your bodacious butt.”
“Bodacious?” I repeated.
“You might be the most annoying woman I’ve met on this trip, but I can still notice a fine butt when I see one. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my room is down that hall and I’d like to get there before we dock.”
“You’re not exactly painful to look at either.”
“Is that your idea of a compliment?” Her lips clamped shut, but her eyes were opened wide. She had really pretty eyes.
She nodded down the hall. I clearly wasn’t moving fast enough for her. As she tried to pass me, I backed against the wall to let her through. I held my hands up in surrender. Her tits grazed me, causing a chain reaction of events. She rolled her suitcase right over my boot. What a snotty bitch, but too cute to ignore. Before she could say another word, I pinned her ass to the wall with my hips pushed firmly against her belly, grabbed her face with my hands, and kissed her full on the lips, lipstick and all. This shut her right up. I was about to do it again too, but she slapped my face. I wasn’t expecting that, but it didn’t faze me. I guessed she had a change of heart, because she gathered the front of my t-shirt, twisting it in her fist, and pulled her suitcase and me along the lengthy narrow hallway.
We stopped in front of her room. She let go of her case, not my shirt, and opened the cabin door. Again, I grew dizzy from the smell of her sweet perfume. The warmth of her breath on my chin as she spoke enticed me further.
Her brown eyes, framed with lush lashes that could catch butterflies, softened. “I’m Billie.”
It could have gone one of two ways. I chose the way that didn’t dismiss her and promptly send her on her way. Our eyes held, it was nearly impossible to look anywhere else.
“Hello, Billie. I’m Roana, but folks call me Rue, because they rue the day they don’t worship the ground I walk on.” I laughed in response to her amused smirk. “I’m kidding. Not about the name, but feel free to worship me all you want.” I was full of cocky grins before offering her my hand. All conflict aside, we shook hands on our new dubious friendship.
“What do you say we dump our bags and head to the bar for a quick drink?” I suggested.
“Sounds doable. What room are you?”
“I don’t have a room.” Our tour only included a reclining lounger. Mama’s generosity was enough without paying extra for upgrades like staterooms just for a little shut-eye. I’d slept in barns with the livestock. I didn’t need no fancy cabin. As it was, the assigned lounge seat was luxurious enough as there were plenty of benches aboard the ferry I could have used.
She interrupted my thoughts abruptly. “What do you mean you don’t have a room? Where will you sleep?”
“I was looking for my lounge seat when we bumped into each other.”
“We can leave your stuff in my room. This way.” She had a mighty take-charge attitude going on there.
Dumping our bags was quick and efficient. I followed her out of her room, then through a maze of doors like a rabbit chasing a carrot. The nightclub deck was duly decorated. The tree was trimmed, garland was everywhere, and even mistletoe hung from the ceiling. But again I noted it was surprisingly empty for Christmas season.
“Must be a bunch of old farts on board,” I commented at the lack of partiers. We ordered drinks, and she graciously accepted when I insisted on buying. She was such a girl. More girlie than ever after I learned she could talk the hind leg off of a donkey, without taking a breath.
“I’m spending one day in Normandy, and then I’m off,” she said, popping a handful of salted peanuts into her mouth.
“How come?”
“I’ve always wanted to see Paris and hit the sights. I teach World History and plan to visit every part of the globe I can. Including the Champs-Elysées and Place de la Concorde, where King Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, and many others were guillotined during the French revolution. Such a blood bath.”
“That’s awfully gory.”
“It’s history.”
“Tragic history,” I said.
“Didn’t you visit the Tower of London while you were there?” she asked. It seemed like a challenge.
“Yes, and it was no skip in the park, either. There’s no end to the forms of torture human beings are capable of inventing.”
“That’s a fact. Interest in torture and human suffering is hard to resist no matter what anyone says. It’s why we can’t help rubbernecking at crash scenes or watching the evening news on TV. Don’t worry—I plan to partake in some tamer pursuits. Like visiting the Arc de Triomphe, and of course, I must see the city from the top of the Eiffel Tower.”
I took a long swig of beer, Bass Draught for me and Stella Artois for her, sat back, relaxed, and listened. She was hip, coming from California and all, but her voice had a rhythm that led me to addiction. She was born in LA but moved to San Francisco, where she was the first girl at school to come out of the closet. She was brave and I admired her for that. It was getting late, but neither of us showed any signs of tiring. She barely took a breath, at least, none I could detect.
“…There’s the Louvre, Notre Dame de Paris…” Her voice trailed off in a dreamy state.
All her plans meant I only had one night to get under her skirt. I’d never done it on a ferry before, but then I’d never been on a ferry with a fetching woman before.
She bought the last round. She sauntered back to our table, and plopped herself on the couch next to me, thighs up close so her free hand could roam up and down my leg. Every stroke made my desires harder to resist.
I had to make my move with this forward femme. Let her think it was her idea—that would be fine with me. By our last drop of beer, I reckoned I knew everything about her and despite first impressions, I was getting to like her. She was smart and funny.
“Unless we plan to sleep where we sit, I’d better walk you back to your room.” I played it cool, spurred on when she didn’t flinch at my suggestive tone.
“I’m ready, let’s go.” She stood and offered me both of her hands to help me up. I should have known this was just the beginning of her taking control.
I flashed a grin, which she returned with a wink. Light on my feet, and still holding her hands, I stood. She looked up at me when I said, “I suggest we get right to bed—together.”
She had an adorable little nose that screwed up when she giggled. That’s all the encouragement I needed. I offered my arm to escort her to her room. I even took the key from her to open the cabin door. Control was my middle name.
I barely got the door open when she pushed me inside, hurrying in after I did. She didn’t have to wait for an invitation. Of course, the answer would be yes, but I had to put her straight on a couple of things. I looked around carefully. The ferry company boasted spacious staterooms, but in actuality, this room wasn’t much bigger than a bull pen. I didn’t care that it was cramped as long as it offered enough space for two. She completely relaxed in my arms; maybe this would be a good trip after all.
We faced each other and she started to move in close, but I held her at arm’s length.
“Look, Billie, just so we’re clear on this before it gets going, I’m not looking for a partner to cuddle. I like to fuck. If you think you can keep up, fine, if not, find someone else.”
She looked put out at first and then grew defiant when she said, “I have no intention of marrying you either. Let’s fuck or forget about it.”
“I didn’t mean to sound harsh, but I didn’t want any misunderstandings later.”
“Neither do I. Besides, we can be adult about this, enjoy what we have, and just move on. Shall we do this? It’s almost Christmas. I know what I want. Do you?”
How could I keep the upper hand in this situation when she was full of sassy remarks? The bristles on my neck subsided one at a time, but that didn’t mean I would be turned to mush by Billie or any woman. There was no sense in making this harder than it was. I reached for her shoulders to hold her still and kissed her, leaving no doubt about how it was going be or what I wanted for Christmas either. I forced my tongue into her mouth and then pushed her back against the bathroom door.
“You have too many clothes on. I see I’m going to have to peel you out of these, one layer at a time.” I spun her around, lifted the bottom of her sweater, and pulled it over her head. For the time being, I left her creamy silk blouse on. I reached around and undid the top few buttons to ease the blouse down and expose the contours of her neck and shoulders. Taking tiny bites along the nape of her neck made her shiver, and she followed it with a delightful laugh. She opened the remaining buttons and let the blouse fall to the floor. It was such a tease to discover that she wore a camisole over her bra, concealing the treasures hidden beneath. I was ready to remove the cami, but she murmured, “Not yet.” Waiting a few minutes wasn’t a hardship. The feel of silk over pointy nips could make a woman howl like a hound dog in heat.
I ran my hands down her breasts and waist. I reached up under the hem of her skirt to grasp her thighs and pulled her ass into my crotch. I was packing, as usual, and wanted her to feel it, to judge her reaction. I rubbed my dick against her ass as I cupped her sex. Holding her in place with one hand, I let my other hand roam higher under her woollen skirt and searched for the waistband of her tights. I had to pull them down to bare her legs, but removing her boots was going to be a problem.
She must have read my mind because she swung around to face me and lifted her foot into my crotch. I grabbed hold of the heel and pulled so hard, I ended up flying backwards into a wall, but with boot-not-on-foot in hand. We laughed. She then hopped around as she tried to remove the other one all by herself. With tights pulled down below her ass and boots that fit like gloves, it would be New Year’s Eve before she would be naked. We laughed harder, but spurred on by intense desire and her playful willingness, I longed to torture her pert little nipples, at the very least, and fuck her pussy from here to eternity, at the most. I pulled out the chair from beneath the desk and sat, legs spread wide, and waited.
“So, little girl, come sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what you want for Christmas,” I said. “Ho, ho, ho.”
She swatted my arm, but feeling all naughty and nice, I play-fucked her ass with my crotch the moment she sat down on me. “Do you like that? I can stop now if you don’t.”
She murmured, “Don’t you dare stop,” in response. The crotch of her panties grew damp and fragrant. There was nothing sweeter than being responsible for the scent of a woman totally turned on and eager for me to have her. I moved the elastic of her pastel panties aside, slipped a finger between her slick folds, and supported her weight on one thigh. She threw her head back and rested on my shoulder, while I played with her from behind.
After a while, she got up and turned to face me. She pulled me up from the chair and kicked it aside, quite the feat in tight quarters, and ran her hand over my crotch. Her face lit up and her cheeks turned slightly pink. A great look, but not as perfect as when she screwed up her face. She drove me wild when she did that.
I whispered in her ear, “Tell me what you want, Billie.”
Instead of answering, she lifted my T-shirt, and her mouth soon found my tits. My hips automatically lunged forward searching for contact. I didn’t want to come too fast, but at this rate, I would if I wasn’t careful. I hiked her skirt up and pulled her panties down. She kicked them off the rest of the way but left her skirt rolled up around her waist. Was leaving a few items of clothing on a security measure in case she planned a hasty getaway?
Not likely judging from her voracious appetite. She kissed me with such hunger that I backed her up against the door to regain some semblance of control. She unzipped my fly, getting my cock out before I could object.
“I want this for Christmas and I want it now!”
“Whoa there, take it easy.” I took hold of her wrists, unlocked her fingers from around my dick, and started rubbing it around her opening, moistening both her and it copiously.
I needed to slow this down, but she was the most ravenous, insatiable woman I’d ever met. Her thrusting her hips into me with force was an aphrodisiac like no other. Her body searched for penetration, and I wanted nothing less than to give it to her good and hard. But I resisted. I reined myself in as best as I could, only to give in completely almost immediately. I slid into her slowly, but she pushed back hard. I started to withdraw my dick, but she sucked me right back in with the strength of twenty women, taking my cock all the way to heaven. I was losing control of her, and she was fucking with me in more ways than one.
I held her hips back against the door and attempted to do it my way, but she protested, “More, more, I want more. Give it to—”
I covered her lips with mine and fucked her mouth hard and fast with my tongue while keeping up the deliberate rhythm of my cock inside her pussy. Man, she was gorgeous, all squirming in my arms, submissive, rocking her hips, trying so hard to get more of my cock deeper inside, but letting me lead the next. She was putty in my hands.
Then I let down my guard. Bad move. Without warning, my cock was left stranded as she pulled my pants all the way down.
“One sec,” she said, fetching something out of her bag. With glee, she held whatever it was behind her back.
“Whoa there, partner. What have we got there?” I asked, reaching for it.
She shook her head, but then whipped out the last thing I expected.
She probably hadn’t bargained on me packing, but I hadn’t expected her to have a vibrating dildo, either. Each time I had the upper hand, she evened the score. With my jeans around my ankles and her arm around my waist, she held me in place as if I was a fool. Not that I really wanted to be anywhere else. I slipped two fingers deep inside. Soon her pussy was squeezing the life out of my fingers until I was forced to surrender or die. I withdrew my fingers and kicked my pants away. She moaned for maybe a split second, but I had my cock back inside before she could draw breath. I was certainly up for fucking her with her own device after using my own. Maybe I would just tease her with both at the same time.
We were fucking machines. As I pumped her pussy, her hands were quicker than my eyes. She managed to put a rubber on the thick wand before placing it up against my cunt—from behind. No time to stop her. With the bulk sliding around in my juices, the next thing I knew, she had abandoned one hole for the other. She had the sheathed thing slicked and between my butt cheeks, pushing and twisting it into my ass faster than a bucking bronco throwing off a clueless rider. I’d have clamped shut, but this was not something I wanted to miss. Not many women were so bold. I had hit the jackpot with this one!
“Fuck, that feels good. So damn good. But…uh, you better stop.”
She didn’t listen to a word I said, but I couldn’t shut up. “So fucking good. Stop or you’ll…regret…it.”
“Doubt that.”
She was gonna make me come, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. Or was there?
As I pulled my cock out of her, she pushed her plastic wonder harder into me, then pulled it away as I thrust into her again. We developed a rhythm that worked. I wasn’t going to last long going at it like this, feeling intense pleasure from every orifice. We picked up speed. Without realising what was going down, I had given into her whim. I fucked her hard and fast and she was doing likewise. We were evenly matched, or so it seemed.
But my orgasm built up too fast.
“Damn it,” I said. I couldn’t stop myself. As I reached my crest, my dick playing my clit with each and every thrust into her pussy, she pushed her dildo into my ass. She was a frickin’ magician, I tell you. Where she got the wherewithal to also suck my nipple, I haven’t a clue, but she did that, too. When she bit down hard, I came like a fool with my head on her shoulder, shaking like a baby.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck, I thought, shuddering like a pussy the whole damn time. What a letdown, I was used to calling all the shots, especially when it came to my own damn orgasm.
When my shaking subsided, she kissed me and slowly pulled the phallus out, which threatened to make me come again. I stifled the intense urge and blurted, “Fuck me. Sorry, I couldn’t wait.”
She pushed me back and we fell onto the lower bunk bed. She stripped off her skirt, straddled my hips, and pulled her camisole off. I unhooked her bra and set her breasts free. Completely naked, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her and reached out for that first handful of silken flesh, but she stopped my hands.
“No touching. Hands by your sides. If you move, I’ll stop.” I surrendered. What the hell. Looking at her was prize enough.
Moving herself over my cock, she pulled herself open so I could see all her secrets. She proceeded to rub the end of my cock along her slit and around her swollen clit, then slowly taking me inside again. I lifted onto my elbows to watch my cock slide in and out until it got to be too much. I then flopped back onto the pillow and lifted my hips to meet her waiting pussy. I was getting closer to round two. She placed her hands against my chest to keep me down.
As she fucked me she played with her clit, getting herself harder and wetter. Feeling the start of another orgasm, I determined not to come before she did. I was supposed to be the one in charge here.
While rubbing her clit harder, she leaned closer. “Look into my eyes, Rue,” she said. There she was, sliding up and down on my cock, and she wouldn’t let me close my eyes or she’d stop.
“Watch me while I come. This one’s for you.”
With hardly a blink—well, maybe one or two—we came together. Again, I was reduced to mush. We came hard, and for me, this one lasted longer than the first.
Our shudders subsided after a time and she lay her head on my chest. Finally, with strength seemingly restored, she arose, her bottom still hot and moist on my belly, causing renewed stirrings down below. Leaning in to place tender kisses on my lips, cheeks, and nose, she lingered as she nursed my lips again.
“So, Rue, who did you say was in charge of this fuck?”
Was she kidding me? Did she really have to rub salt in my wounded pride? I didn’t need to answer. She had made her point.
“Look, why don’t you come with me to Paris? We could have a great time.”
“It’s a mighty tempting offer, but don’t hold your breath. I have some shit to do.” I didn’t mention promising Mama I’d visit Granddaddy’s grave. Gallivanting to Paris to fuck my brains out wasn’t what Mama had in mind.
Billie looked crushed. Christ, why did I have such a big mouth?
She bolted, picked up my things in a messy bundle and handed them to me. Then she said, “Well, then, I enjoyed my Christmas present. Thanks for that. You can go now.”
Fuck, fuck, and fuckity fuck. I dressed and left her cabin as fast as possible. What else could I do?
I must have fallen asleep, because the morning alarm call startled the crap out of me. My neck was sore. After all I’d said and the way I’d behaved, I didn’t bother searching for Billie. I couldn’t face her after she fucked me like I’m some kind of novice. At least she’d be gone soon. I planned to keep out of her way until the all clear. Trouble was, I had grown fond of her. I missed her sass and, okay, her ass.
I made it to the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial in Colleville-sur-Mer, now a far cry from what it was like in 1944. I was in awe. Me, someone from shit-stomping country, who had never ventured farther than a stone’s throw from home, was actually standing on the same soil as the men who fought in WWII. Unbelievable! I strolled around in an utter daze, holding directions to my granddaddy’s grave in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other. I’d never met him, but Mama shared her childhood memories often enough that it felt like I had.
The enormity of the history in that place was so grave and disturbing, I was glad Mama wasn’t there to see it. Solemn sadness consumed me. I couldn’t begin to imagine what went through my family’s minds that day.
I was as proud as Mama was that her father had served his country, but the needless loss of human life put everything into perspective. Sure, there’d always be war, but on a more personal level, if I didn’t plan for my future now, when would I? Mama worried about me being alone after she was gone. I made her hush up every time she mentioned her mortality. I didn’t want to hear about it, and she knew that.
I was so deep in thought, I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard my name. I ignored it, but the voice grew insistent and closer. I saw her when I turned. She had gained on me, all out of breath from the run. I couldn’t get away, but damn it to hell, there was no avoiding her now.
“Rue. Rue wait. We need to talk.” She tried to take my hand, but I pulled away.
“You are such a horse’s ass, trying to avoid me.”
“I thought we were on the same page after I told you the score. Besides, you kicked me out, remember?” If I’d clenched my jaw any harder, my teeth would have broken. “Look, I have something I gotta do.”
“Who are the flowers for?” She glanced at the rows and rows of white crosses. Her brown eyes softened enough to break my heart. We had one night. Yeah, it was a great night, but how could she have developed such compassion for me in such a short time? Caring too much, especially loving someone, meant loss was inevitable. Why risk it? I’d been doing fine on my own for thirty-five years. I didn’t need Billie or anyone else to tie me down.
She tentatively placed her gloved hand on the sleeve of my jacket. I didn’t withdraw this time. “You have someone here, don’t you?” she asked.
“Granddaddy is around here somewhere.” I looked off into the distance. The cemetery seemed to go on forever. There was a chill in the air and I couldn’t imagine how the sun could shine or the plants could flourish on such a bleak place. But the sun did shine and the trees were winter-barren, but majestic and strong, some of the lofty pear trees having lived for 300 years, so maybe there was hope.
“Let me see the paper. We’ll find him together.”
I handed her the directions and gripped the flowers tighter. It was easier to let her lead the way.
I don’t know how she did it, but she found him. Lt. Col. Inf. Division…my sight blurred. With her hand on my shoulder, I knelt down and placed the flowers on his grave.
“Are you okay?”
I gruffly replied that I was, but I wasn’t really sure. I had no idea that seeing 10,000 graves would be this overwhelming and so profoundly sad. I stood there for some time just looking into the distance, fighting tears. There were white crosses and a few Stars of David, as far as I could see, and this was just the American portion. There were graves from other countries as well. I had never felt so humbled, so worthless with my arrogance, or so insignificant. After a while, I pulled myself together.
“Thanks for helping me find it.”
“It was no biggie. I know what you said about last night, but I also know that it was more than just…you know. We were good together. Really good.”
I had to agree with her.
“But if you’d rather waste your life, thinking you’re better off alone, then suit yourself.”
I had no answer. She was right, there was nothing I could say to fix the way it had always been with me. I swallowed hard, but just walked on past her up the road toward more graves, feeling sorry for myself. What was I doing? Standing in the middle of a massive graveyard. This scene could break even the strongest of hearts. I stopped dead in my tracks.
So many. I had no idea it would move me this way. It’s not like I’d never been to cemeteries, for Chrissakes. I stood there for some time, just staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. Mama was right—we must never forget, and I needed something this Christmas to make me realize how precious life was and how wasteful it would be not to appreciate every moment of this ultimate gift.
The bus ride back to the hotel was very quiet. I guessed everyone felt the same as I did, silenced by so many young lives lost for the freedom we took for granted.
Billie kept her distance.
Later that day, we met up in the lobby while we waited for our ride to the Christmas dinner at a nearby restaurant. I thought Billie would be gone by then and I relaxed some.
But throughout dinner, I couldn’t swallow away the sour taste in my mouth or ease the pain in my chest. Not even the French bread with creamery butter enticed me. Nor the wines I found downright delicious and the rich French food and pastries I’d been enjoying. I was busy chewing on regret when I glanced up from my seat to find her staring right at me. I couldn’t look away. It was true, she was one fiery lady, too much for me to handle, but I knew I’d miss her.
She caught my eye and mouthed, “Come with me.”
Maybe Billie and I would fizzle out, but if I didn’t give us a chance, I’d never know that, would I?
I was tempted to turn away quickly, but I had no reason to go home alone, and I had ten thousand reasons to take a chance.
“I think I can fit in a trip with you to Paris. Care to join me for this lovely Christmas dinner in Bayeux first?” I asked. “If all goes well, we can do Paris after that.”
Her eyes lit up with excitement, which made me feel like dancing around like a schoolgirl with her first crush, but I resisted. That’s when I noticed she was dressed in her Christmas best, a velvet green dress with red trim made brighter with the biggest smile I’d ever seen. The kind woman seated to my left generously offered Billie her seat, and I thanked her profusely yet again. Maybe she was my guardian angel or something. I held the chair for Billie as she sat down, and I got the sweetest whiff of her perfume. I was ready to skip dinner and head right for dessert.
After I sat down, Billie leaned in close and slipped her arm through mine and whispered, “You won’t regret this. We’ll be good together. Merry Christmas, Rue.”
“Merry Christmas, Billie.”
And we’ve been really good together ever since.