Mary's Innocent Passion

She sighed regretfully as she turned off the TV. She shut off all the downstairs lights, then walked up the stairs to her master bedroom on the second floor, passing the empty guest bedrooms on either side.

Four bedrooms up here, and three never get used. The last time was when Darren visited from home, and he was only here one night. Mom and Dad wouldn't come to Iowa if I paid them. They wouldn't want to risk becoming contaminated by breathing Yankee air.

She lay down, turning on her bedroom TV and flipping through the channels, searching for a distraction. Her fingers slowed, then stopped, as the movie channels appeared. "Ah, good old Skinemax," she smiled. "You never let me down." An adult movie was playing, and she was thankful she hadn't gone channel-surfing while Mary and the girls were in the house. The children would be too young to understand, but Mary would be horrified and Evey embarrassed.

But since she's gone...

She slipped out of the sheer blouse and the snug pair of jeans she was wearing, worn especially for Mary. She had noticed from the first night they met how the young woman was in equal parts scandalized and fascinated by her fashion choices, especially when she never seemed to wear anything but long dresses or the most conservative of blouses and skirts. Her apparel would have made her seem drab, if that were possible. But even a potato sack was not enough to hide her extraordinary figure.

"Ahhh," she moaned softly, cradling her breasts, as a pair of buxom women embraced on the screen. She stroked the curves, her fingers moving inward, massaging the bundles of nerves at the tips. Almost immediately, she could feel her nether-lips dampening. Simply being in Mary's presence put her on the hair-trigger of arousal, and it didn't take much to get her body ready for sex.

The only downside, of course, was that there was no one there to actually have sex with.

She lay back on the plump pillows on her bed, her fingers softly kneading her flesh. She watched through half-lidded eyes as her nipples peaked, and gently scratched the sensitive aereolae with a fingernail.

She turned off the movie, preferring her own fantasy. Not a pair of silicone-injected nymphets on a soundstage, but a shy, quiet girl, with a sweet smile and a body made for loving. A woman with a gentle temper and a core of flame-tempered steel.

She fumbled open a drawer in her nightstand, pulling out a vibrator. She switched it on, and ran the buzzing tip down her body, from her throbbing nipples, across the flat planes of her belly, the gentle rise of her mons, and down to her cleft. She gave a frustrated hiss as she encountered the barrier of her sheer silk panties, worn in futile hope of a sexual encounter which still had not occurred. Dropping the vibrator for a moment, she hooked her thumbs around the waistband and pulled them off, discarding the wisp of silk in a moist, limp heap on the hardwood floor.

"Much better," she sighed, as the cool air of the room hit the hot petals of her labia. She ran the tip of the vibrator along the edges and smiled as delicious feelings coursed through her body. Her straight girlfriends in college had always described being horny as an urge, a need to be filled. Not her. She had experimented once or twice with men, but the encounters had left her with a firm understanding of her own lesbianism. Not 'confused,' as her mother had tried to suggest.

Not even close. I don't want anything in my pussy. Except, maybe, Mary's fingers. Or her tongue.

She shivered as the image came to her mind, full-blown and startling in its intensity; her blond-haired friend sprawled carelessly between her legs, her lips and tongue busily lapping at her womanly core. In her fantasy, her skin had darkened, free time allowing her to spend more time outside, resulting in a healthy tan. The lights struck golden highlights from her glowing body, but her honey-blond hair retained its angelic glow.

Her passion peaked, her orgasm moving in on her with almost frightening speed. She moved the vibrator to her bud, her free hand gathering her juices from her lower lips and coating her clit with lubricant. She pressed the buzzing tip to her clit. Harder, then softer, then harder again, shaking as her arousal grew. Her fingers pushed down on the rise of her pubis, and her thighs shook.

"Oh, oh fuck," she gasped, her climax racing through her body. Stars danced behind her closed eyelids as a noiseless explosion echoed in the vaults of her mind. When she came back to herself, her body felt limp and boneless, suffused by a gentle languor.

She gave her nipple a teasing pinch as she turned off her bedside lamp.

Soon, she promised herself, as she drifted off to sleep.

Soon.

*****

Thanksgiving Day dawned dark and cloudy, with a cold bite in the air. Evey monitored the weather forecast with one ear as she prepared for a huge holiday feast. Potatoes were scrubbed and peeled, ready to be mashed. Cans of green beans were decanted, needing only to be heated up. Putting aside the habits of years of indifferent cooking, she even rolled up her sleeves and made up a batch of crescent rolls. The condo began to fill with the smell of cooking food, reminding her of holidays long past, before she had become estranged from most of her family.

Mary and the girls arrived a little after three o'clock, Mary carrying a tray of cold vegetables and dip.

"Nice," she said, taking it from her as the three of them shed their coats and jackets. "But you shouldn't have spent your money on a veggie tray, sweetheart. Those are expensive."

"What?" Mary turned a faintly scandalized look on her. "Do I look dumb enough to spend money on one of those trays? I made this myself. It was easy. All I had to do was buy raw vegetables and cut them up. I can't believe how lazy some people are. Why should they spend twenty dollars on a tray when they can make one like this for so much less?"

"Well, I guess I've been told," Evey said mildly. Mary had the grace to look embarrassed by her outburst. "You look beautiful, girls," she told Rebecca and Deborah. They were dressed in matching white blouses with red skirts and black patent-leather shoes. If not for the difference in their heights, they could almost have been mistaken for twins. She picked each one up and gave them a hug and kiss on the cheek. "Did you make those?" she asked, nodding towards their outfits.

Mary shook her head. "Not these, no. I picked them up at the thrift shop a few days ago. They looked so nice and fit so well I couldn't resist."

"They look beautiful," Evey repeated, noting with pleasure how Mary's skin blushed a pale pink at the compliment. She placed the tray down on the kitchen counter and lifted the lid, then picked up a carrot stick and dipped it in ranch dressing. "Are you girls hungry?" she asked. "Or would you like to play for a while?"

"Play!" said Debbie authoritatively, then trotted away, by now familiar with the layout of her condo. The two adults traded an amused look as Rebecca hurried off to watch over her younger sibling.

"You look very nice today," Evey said into the sudden silence.

"Thank you," Mary replied. As usual, she was wearing a dress. This one was a deep, midnight blue, which brought out her eyes. With graceful simplicity, it accentuated the flatness of her belly, the sweet curves of her hips and rear, and the proud outthrust of her breasts. Evey's eyes narrowed as she drank in her form. Was it just her imagination, or could she see the faint outline of Mary's aereolae pressing against the fabric of the dress? Was she not wearing a bra?

Evey felt her breath grow short in her chest. If Mary had come to her home braless, it signaled a change in their relationship which even she might not be ready to acknowledge.

Carefully, girl.

Oh, but I want her so much.

She poured them each a glass of wine, and they talked as they worked together, preparing the meal.

"So where is this fried turkey?" Mary asked suddenly. "Or were you just making it all up?"

"Making it all up?" Evey repeated, trying to sound offended, which was difficult, when one had to fight to keep a straight face. "As if a well-brought-up girl like me would evah do something as...as low-class as that," she drawled. "Come out on the deck and see."

She led Mary through the door out onto the wooden deck that opened off the kitchen, where on more pleasant days she relaxed with a good book in one of the wrought-iron patio chairs.

"What," Mary asked, "is that?"

She smiled at her. "This," she replied, "is what is going to give us an awesome meal in an hour or so."

Sitting on the patio was a propane tank. Leading from it was a hose, which was in turn connected to a multi-flame burner. Sitting on top of that was a large stainless-steel pot, about two-thirds full of cooking oil. Suspended above the pot was what looked to be an ancient instrument of torture, but was, in reality, a simple rope hoist. Dangling from the hook, with its legs tied together with metal wire, was a huge turkey, covered with aluminum foil to protect it from the elements.

"Actually," Evey said, "I should probably start heating the oil." She took a packet of matches out of her shirt pocket. She then turned on the spigot for the propane tank and lit the burners. With a muffled whoomph, blue flames emerged, and she nodded in satisfaction.

"Three things near and dear to every southerner's heart," she grinned, taking another sip of her wine. "Alcohol, fire, and meat. All we need now are some guns and a couple ugly hound dogs, and it'd be like a family reunion back home."

"I don't like guns," Mary said quietly. A cold breeze swept over the deck. She wrapped her arms around her chest and shivered, but made no move to return indoors.

"Here," Evey said. She moved closer and put her arm around her. Her hand slipped from shoulders to waist, and she smiled as her suspicions were confirmed. There was no telltale bra-strap on Mary's back.

They stood for a long while, content to luxuriate in each other's company as the oil slowly heated, Evey leaning over from time to check the thermometer suspended in the pot.

"What happened to her?" Mary asked abruptly.

"To who?" she replied, confused.

"The girl you said you were in love with. The one that made your parents so upset."

"Ah," she smiled sadly. "Lorraine." She sighed. "I was in love with her. Unfortunately, she was not in love with me. We broke up before I left for Wake Forest. It's probably for the best. My parents could accept -- barely -- a daughter who was a lesbian. Living with, maybe even marrying a black girl? That would have been beyond the pale. And I don't think Lorraine's family was too fond of me, either. It's asking a lot for a black family to get used to the idea that their daughter is going out with a girl whose family used to own slaves."

She bent over to check the temperature again. "All ready," she said, changing the subject. Very carefully, she lowered the hoist until the turkey was fully immersed in the oil. With a hiss, frothing bubbles rose to the top, and a savory odor began to emerge.

"I hope you're not planning on us eating that entire turkey," Mary said nervously, stepping back into her one-armed embrace. "That thing is huge. How big is it? Fifteen pounds?"

"Eighteen," she replied complacently. "But too much turkey is a self-correcting problem." She grinned down at the smaller woman. "Turkey sandwiches, turkey gravy, turkey soup, turkey salad...after a while, there's no more turkey."

"Hmmm." Mary seemed unconvinced, but didn't argue the point. Her body felt tense, and Eveline wondered what was going through her mind.

Abruptly, she turned so that they were face to face. Evey was astounded to see tears in her eyes.

"Mary? Are you all ri-"

And then Mary kissed her.

*****

It was wonderful, blissful, beyond her wildest imaginings or her most pleasant dreams. Evey's arms wrapped tight around her, holding her close, while their lips and mouths danced with each other.

She moaned, shaking, as Evey's hands stroked up and down her sides. The wood deck of the patio seemed to wobble under her feet, and she realized she was only a few seconds away from falling over, overcome by love and desire.

Her hands tightened on Evey's waist as she fought for balance. The older woman pulled away slightly, and their mouths parted. She didn't have time to voice her disappointment before Evey guided her hands around to her denim-clad rear.

"There," she whispered into her ear. "Squeeze it. Yeah." She gave a throaty chuckle as Mary obeyed her. "Oh, I love that."

She pulled her close once more, her lips brushing Mary's. "I love how you fit against me," she whispered. Her tongue reached out and licked Mary's lips. "Mmm," she murmured, low and loving. "You taste wonderful." She repeated the gesture. "Why not let your tongue come out and play?"

Hesitantly, she moved forward. As if sensing her fears, Evey simply stood, quietly waiting. Mary tilted her head up, her mouth opening shyly. As their lips touched, she seized her fears in both hands and extended her tongue.

Oh!

It was incredible. Nothing like the sour-breathed reek of Brother Ezekiel, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth like a slab of rotten meat. Instead, Evey's tongue was warm and sweet and oh, so skilled, winding its way around hers until Mary thought she was going to pass out from sheer pleasure.

She realized she was moaning, her breath coming in sharp, short pants. Her breasts felt hot and tight inside her dress, and an urgent ache was growing in her groin.

"Please," she said, her voice a cracked half-whisper. In her aroused state, she wasn't even sure what she was asking for.

"What are you doing?" a voice asked.

Her head whipped around, and she saw Rebecca standing on the deck. A few feet away, Deborah was in the doorway leading from the house to the outside, her thumb securely lodged in her mouth. As she watched, she walked onto the deck, the clatter of her shoes loud in the sudden silence.

"We were kissing," Evey explained in a tone of such matter-of-fact honesty that Mary had to stifle a sudden snort of laughter.

Becca's brows pinched together in a suspicious frown. "Mommy never kisses me like that."

"I'm sure she doesn't," Evey agreed. "Oh, no, you don't," she said, catching Debbie as she approached the pot where the turkey was gently frying. "You have to stay away," she warned the toddler. "See? That's hot." Carefully she knelt on the deck and showed her the flames, extending her hand so she could feel the heat. "Little girls need to stay away from this, or they could get hurt. Do you understand?" Her look took in both children.

Becca nodded, her face solemn. "Rebecca, can you take Debbie inside?" Mary asked, proud of the way she kept her voice from quavering. "We'll be back in a few minutes."

When the girls were back indoors, she turned to Evey. "That was a mistake."

"No," the dark-haired woman corrected gently. "It wasn't." She took up her hand, her thumb caressing her knuckles. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do that, Mary? Almost since the first time I met you. You're beautiful, and brave, and strong, and I want you."

She shook her head numbly, not daring to believe. That such a woman could say such things about her!

"I'm not."

"You are." Her head snapped up at the tone in Evey's voice. "Listen to me," she continued. "I don't know what happened to you, to make you think you are worthless, or dumb, or ugly, or weak.

"Regardless of who is saying it, I am not going to listen to a good woman being slandered any longer. Do you hear me, Mary Durham? I say you are lovable, and worthy of being loved. If you can't believe in yourself, believe in me."

She nodded her head, overcome by the fierce passion in her friend's words. "Now," Evey went on more calmly. "Let's go inside and warm up before we catch pneumonia. The turkey will do fine without us staring at it."

*****

Thanksgiving dinner was like a feast out of one of the fairy tales in Rebecca's book.

While the turkey was cooling after being hoisted out of the pot of boiling oil, Evey had hurried upstairs to, as she said, 'put on something less comfortable.' She had returned wearing a dark green dress that would have cost Mary a month's salary and a string of pearls that circled her slender throat like snow on a mountaintop.

Mary remembered that meal for the rest of her life. How the candles glowed against the polished wood of the dining room table. How Becca tried so hard to look grown-up, balanced on cushions that brought her high enough to eat. How Debbie had to sit on several copies of the Encyclopedia Britannica, since Evey refused to have her sit in Mary's lap as she first proposed.

They ate off fine white china, until they were stuffed, the turkey moist and tender, the mashed potatoes and gravy and all the other side dishes melting in their mouths. And all through the meal, Mary could feel Evey's eyes on her. She smiled at her, toying with the stem of her wineglass, until Mary blushed and looked down at her plate in embarrassed memory.

After the last bite of pumpkin pie, which Mary had brought from the diner, the adults lingered over the meal, but the children were excused to watch TV.

"Oof," said Evey, finally staggering to her feet. "Why did I eat so much?"

Mary smiled and followed her example. The table looked like a war zone, with platters and trays of cooling food scattered all over. "We better put this away before we sit back down, or it'll never get done."

Evey gave a mock groan. "Some day, girl, I'm going to have to teach you the benefits of being lazy." In defiance of her words, however, she started to carry the dishes to the kitchen.

Soon the leftovers were safely stowed in the refrigerator, the table cleared, and the dirty dishes stuffed into the dishwasher, which chugged merrily away. Evey poured them each a last glass of wine, and they drifted into the living room.

Becca greeted them with an excited smile on her face. "Evey! Mommy! It's snowing!"

"Is it?" Mary looked out the picture window towards the backyard. True to her daughter's words, fat white flakes were spiraling down out of the dark sky. Caught in the light pouring through the window, they gave the backyard the look of a winter wonderland. Already most of the grass was covered.

"Can we go make a snowman?" Becca asked eagerly. Beside her, little Debbie, who was too young to remember the previous winter, stared outside in open-mouthed wonder.

"In your good dress? No. It'll get all muddy and dirty, and besides, it's dark outside. But maybe we can do it tomorrow," she finished, catching her daughter's crestfallen look.

"I know what I'm going to do," Evey said, coming up behind her. "I'm going to light a fire and play some Christmas music. Now that we've had our Thanksgiving dinner, it's officially Christmas season, isn't it? And we can sit here and talk and watch the snow come down."

In a few minutes a gas fire was lit in the stone fireplace, and Evey had loaded some CDs into her stereo. Haunting, beautiful music, played by a full orchestra, whispered through the room. The children sat down near the window, watching the snow fall, while Mary and Evey sat on the couch.

Mary curled up next to her friend, letting the warmth of her body soothe her. "Thank you," she said quietly. "This has been a wonderful day."

She felt Evey chuckle. "It's not over yet. I think you should all sleep here tonight. I don't trust that old car of yours in bad weather. And the Snow Maid said we're supposed to get five, maybe six inches tonight."

Mary frowned. "The who said what?"

"That's right. You don't have a TV, do you? So you wouldn't know about the Snow Maid. She's a local thing here in Iowa.