Settle in, my sweet lebbis and gents, for we are charting some new territory. This is a heart-wrencher, and a period piece. New story, new characters, old era. I’m taking you way back to my early, early years for this one. Not that I’m ancient, mind you whippersnappers. If you were around to enjoy the mid-1980s, welcome back. If not, take my word for it: the global situation was far from perfect, but the pop culture, dudes and dudettes, was, like, totally bitchin’ tubular. (That’s early/mid-’80s for “rad(ical),” which is mid-/late ’80s for “great” or “cool.”) Okay, that’s subjective. We could also use “awesome,” but that word’s been just as popular and ubiquitous ever since. Like “dude.” (Although “dude”’s female counterpart crashed and burned before those four non-aging, adolescent, mutated, crime-fighting, pizza-loving Manhattan reptiles stopped saying it.) Besides its unique aspect, this is a love letter from me to this quirky little epoch. I’m inclined to say—though I shan’t…if you don’t like this story, you’re wrong. Enjoy. And no spoilers, but it might not hurt to have a tissue nearby.
P.S. I’m keeping my Lit handle for the Readers’ benefit, but am now going by the nickname Sapphire Smokey. You can find me with another presence for my writing under that moniker.
Girlfriend Is Better
Saturday, January 5th, 1985, 11:12 a.m.
It was so frigidly cold in the suburban heart of Juniper, Minnesota, the temperature was barely double-digits F. Three hundred miles and one national border north, it was 12° below zero C. The cloudless, sunny sky was all that kept Juniperites (and Ontarians) from being buried in lovely white crystals. Many outdoor creatures—and indoor humans—lay in cozy hibernation. One of those humans relaxed wrapped in a blanket on her comfy sofa at 908 Silent Shadow Court, in Harper County.
30-year-old Trish Lowery was on the couch, under the covers, her stuffed rabbit Trixie in one arm, Zenith remote in the other paw. She lay snug in her p.j.s, a large neon velvet bow atop her head. After a long week at the office—excepting Tuesday, the calendar-recycling holiday—she’d earned some quality R&R time to veg with the tube. She indulged her adult side with shows which were filmed, and her kid side with ones that were drawn. She looked forward to another wonderful weekend with her girlfriend Sonya Ross, who’d be home from the market any minute. They’d been together seven years, staying at Trish’s almost the whole of the time.
Sonya, 28 going on 29, performed errands like groceries and such in the wintertime, preferring cold over warm. And Trish, who preferred the opposite…made sure the car’s AC was in top shape in the summer…when Sonya also did said errands. Both worked, and while Sonya didn’t really mind taking care of these things, and knew her girlfriend’s job could be taxing…she got tired as well, and was less up to them some times than others. She tried not to let on, though, as she liked the feeling of Trish needing her around. Her job was important, but on her off hours, Sonya frankly liked feeling domestic. Trish could be a little…okay, a lot tidier for her, but Sonya tried not to let this get to her either. They loved each other so very much, emotionally, and passionately. Tuesday at midnight, they’d shared both their most sensual New Year’s kiss and New Year’s bop to date.
Trish put the remote on the coffee table. Her 2-year-old Maine Coon daughter Fluffernutter hopped up and strode across. She stepped on a button, changing the channel.
“Tab’s got Sass! Ooh, you’re gonna love it! The sassy crisp taste—” Bzzt! “—Sun-Maid Raisins. I wouldn’t dream of using anything—”
Fluff then turned attention to her Mommy, sniffing and rotating her ears.
“Hey! Ca-at!…” Trish playfully scolded, picking up the ragamuffin. “Why’re you such a cat?”
“Oh, is that so?” Trish countered. “Yes, well, Mommy’s watching TV right now. I’m sorry, but you may not watch Heathcliff. The cats may be great and superior, but they won’t always get their way. Ha ha ha.”
“…talking part of this complete breakfast!” “Snap”-“Crackle”-“Pop!” “Rice Krispies!”
The station Fluffernutter’d just selected wrapped up its break. Mel Blanc’s voice greeted them with a returning bumper.
“Hee-hee-hee! Now back to Heathcliff!”
An incredulous Trish whipped her face to the screen, as her feline companion began kneading her under the boobs.
“…Oh! Oh, rubbing it in, are we?” the amazed human asked the purring cat, scratching her ears and under the chin. Fluff slowed up her kneading, shutting her eyes tight with intensified purrs. She cocked her little head, leaning into the petting—until both heard approaching footsteps. Fluffernutter promptly jumped off, using Trish’s tummy as a launchpad to meet her second Mommy at the door. Outside, Sonya shifted grocery bags to one arm, freeing the other to retrieve her key. Her frizzy, teased-up hair was even more flipped and tossed by the windy gusts. And she’d have to make sure she still had her Ms. Pac-Man earrings on. As per usual, Fluff waited for her to get both feet inside, and immediately began figure-eighting her legs.
“Mrrrrow. Mrrrrow. Mrrrrow. Mrrrrow. Mrrrrow. Mrrrrrow.”
“Mmph! Hi, cat. A’right, scoot,” Sonya replied, hefting the bags. Trish snapped her fingers to reclaim Fluff’s attention—“Kitty! Yo. C’mere”—as her partner assumed the kitchen. Kitty about-faced back onto Trish’s welcoming warm belly. Some groceries were to be cupboarded, others converted into lunch. Sonya put away all items not required for the repast, then crossed back to return outside for the Gazette. She slipped in, locked the door, took off her shoes and socks, and offered Trish the baggied periodical.
“Goody!” Trish whipped off the baggie and noisily leafed to her favorite section. “Funnies, come to Mama!
“Oh—Sonya, honey?” she called as her beloved wandered back towards the kitchen. “There’s nothing I wanna watch on TV, and I’m not really in the mood to let Fluff make me watch her cartoons right now.”
“Seriously?” came Sonya’s voice. “Eighty channels, and you can’t find anything? What the hell’d we get cable for?”
“You wanna please put my tape on, honey darling?” Trish sweetly entreated. “It’s cued up.”
“Oh, Trishy, can’t you do that yourself?”
“Well, uh, I could…but y’know, Fluff’s on my belly, and all comfy. You know how Her Royal Kittyness gets when I make her move.”
A slightly exasperated Sonya retraced her footsteps, once more gracing the living room with her presence.
“Fine…” She knelt before the entertainment system, her back to Trish. She heard a giggle.
“Nice view of the bottoms of your feet, babe.”
Sonya made a strangely amused face.
“It’s so weird you like my feet.”
“Why? You like my hands and arms.”
“Yeah, ’cause hands and arms’re…sensual, and powerful, and…hot.”
“Well, feet can be too. Whether you just have a little thing for ’em or it’s a legitimate fetish, they can almost be almost like seeing someone’s privates. It gets me excited.”
Sonya decided to let her have this debate’s last word. She tuned the knob to the VCR input and fetched up the videocassette labeled “TRISHY’S FAVORITE STUFF,” as Trish perused the Gazette’s comics section.
“Awww-w-w-w!” heard Sonya from behind her. “Garfield!”
“Oh, what’s that fat Heathcliff knockoff up to now,” Sonya asked, polishing the query with a period instead of a question mark.
“Ah, the usual: shoving poor Odie off the table. Just ’cause he’s so ‘pushoffable.’ And I’ll have you know Heathcliff and Garfield are very unique in their own ways,” Trish asserted. She affected a childish voice to consult the cat. “Isn’t that right, Fluffernutter?!”
In went the tape to auto VCR play, and Sonya started yet again to the kitchen. A very familiar piano theme chimed out.
“That Kate & Allie episode again, huh?”
“Yeeeeeeessss…” answered Trish, sardonically matching Sonya’s tone. “I have nothing against anything new or different, I just happen to take comfort in the stuff I already know I like a lot too. Especially if that stuff’s a Kate & Allie with lesbians in it! Pride!”
“Well, I’ll give ya that,” Sonya called from the kitchen. “But I’ll have you know those tapes won’t last forever. Y’know how it started to get worn out in Fast Times, when you rewound it a zillion fast times to drool at Phoebe’s ‘beebees’? Even though the other chick was naked too in a different part, I might add? That’s what’ll happen if you keep playing the same thing over and over.”
“We happen to be living in a golden age of movie boobies, darlin’. Valley Girl, Vacation…Trading Places, Risky Business…Sixteen Candles, Bachelor Party, I’m sure the list goes on. ’S a great time to be alive. I can’t wait till we get to see beavers too.”
Sonya couldn’t disagree with that. Silence settled, as she whipped them up some soft-tortilla tacos, with sour cream and fruit on the side. Trish went on enjoying her funnies and her show, as Fluff stretched atop her and caught a few winks. Her Mommy’s eyes glazed as a spell of deeper thought set in. It was true, she worked hard and behaved formal all week as a purchasing agent. And felt she was entitled to her lazy weekends lounging about. Of course, Sonya should be as well…maybe it wasn’t fair to “make” Sonya do the shopping and cooking, and ask her to do little things like putting on her VHS tape too. Trish’s gaze rose as she realized something.
…She’s got a point. Put on my tape for me? What am I, five? Of course I can do that myself, like I said. Then again, she does know a little more about the VCR, and…no, no, Trishy, knock it off. We can’t let ourselves get away with that. That’s rationalizing. And lazy rationalizing at that. But even so, on the other hand…
Earlier on in their relationship, Sonya really did seem to enjoy performing these little tasks for her. She’d genuinely liked doting on Trish and making her feel special. And Trish did. She enjoyed being pampered and taken care of. And it seemed that if something made her girl happy, Sonya was all for it. But Trish would be the first to say that both partners deserved to be happy. If they weren’t, something in the relationship wasn’t working. Something was defective. Malfunctioning. Fucked up. She had to put in her share of effort and look out for Sonya’s feelings too. However…she couldn’t help but question how much Sonya valued her feelings lately. It wasn’t a great way to think of her room-, play- and lifemate, but…these days, Sonya struck her in part as…a nag. A critical nag.
She loved Sonya. She loved being with Sonya. More, she loved that they were girlfriends. She loved the word. “Girlfriend.” It was a wonderful thing. Trish was gay and crazy about girls—as well as their “beebees” and “beavers”—while as attached and committed as could be to Sonya Ross—and also much enjoyed having friends. She was interested and charmed by the fact that phrasing “girl” with “friend” referred to commonplace female companionship. But the simple act of removing the space and making it a compound word introduced romance. Like “galpal.” They were lovers, but fundamentally also friends. As friends, they liked each other. They enjoyed hanging out and spending time. They were on the same team. And being a lesbian couple was unique. Trish relished the reciprocity. She got to have a girlfriend, and also be someone’s girlfriend. And as a lesbian, she too harbored mixed feelings about her inability to get married—to Sonya or to any other woman. On one hand, she felt peeved, indignant and hurt over the fact that something she had no control over making her “different” restricted her rights, due to narrow-minded social convention. On the other…
She rather liked the way things were presently going. If she looked past the injustice of not enjoying this right, she questioned just how much she’d miss…by remaining a Miss. She’d observed interactions between wed couples. While harsh to say their relationships had lost their “magic,” or gone plum complacent, it didn’t seem inaccurate. Worse, they appeared to take one another for granted and fight more. She didn’t know how much she’d like to be someone’s wife. “Wife”…this word made her turn a bit of a face. It made it sound as if bartered for livestock or something. She was unsure how much she trusted marriage.
But getting back to Sonya…in a way, some things were good to be nagged about. Doing chores. Not being messy. Exercising. Getting some fresh air. Unless that air was ten degrees. Sonya couldn’t really throw this one in her face during wintertime in Minnesota. But there were things for which Trish could shake a t’sk’ing finger her way too. Like…ummmm…
…Oh, watching her language, there’s one. I don’t like when she curses at me. (Well, unless it’s pillow talk.) I think in expletives, but as a rule I don’t say them out loud. I dunno, maybe that’s just me. Part of the ladylike way I was brought up. Guess it was a little different in Sonya’s house. I’ve met her folks, she’s met mine. They are pretty different. So’re she and I. But…I love her. There’re so damn many things I adore about her. She’s self-sufficient, self-confident, self-empowered, hot as fuckin’ hell, and… and…
And, she…takes care of me. Oh god, I am dependent on her. I do need her that way. She’s right, I oughta be more responsible. After all, when I moved in here, she was practically right there with me from day one. I probably couldn’t live here on my own. Maybe my parents spoiled me. Maybe that’s why I’m not…no, Trish, stop. We’re doing it again. We can’t blame Mom and Dad ’cause we’re not as “grown up” as Sonya. She did kinda volunteer to start fixing the place up and making it nice when I/we moved in. I told her I wanted her to make the place feel like her own too, and I meant it, and I still do. And I let her. With good reason. She’s so great at that kinda thing. Look at this place; it’s gorgeous! Why am I so capable and professional at work but not at home?…Well, I guess I already answered that question: ’cause Sonya takes care of me.
She laid the newspaper aside and stroked Fluff’s head. The cat “prrrrow”ed in her sleep, shifted to the side and spread out the kitty digits of all four paws. Trish’s expression softened, watching her middle serenely rise and fall.
“You’re so lucky you’re a cat, cat,” she soundlessly mouthed. “You make us treat you like the royal little thing you are, and you get away with it ’cause you’re so golly-gosh-darn cute. And ’cause now I can’t imagine life without her or you.”
Trish took a moment to shut her eyes and let them dart beneath their lids. Susan Saint James and Jane Curtin went on being their wacky titular Moms, in their semi-lesbian-themed “Landlady” ep. Sonya, now in cozy domestic mode, plate in each hand, returned in her apron—and barefoot, which she knew Trish liked. She accidentally stepped on one of Trish’s fluorescent banana clips that had found its way into the carpet, and gave a small wince. But she forced herself to maintain composure, and fortunately didn’t drop the food. This was, after all, precisely why she’d gotten used to walking slow and careful around the house.
“Lunch is—*ahem!*—served,” she announced, handing Trish her plate and utensils. She set her own down, picked up and passed Trish her hair clip as well, and ambled back for their drinks. Trish detected just a bit of a limp in her stride. Realizing Sonya must’ve found the hair clip with her soft sensitive sole, Trish apologized.
“Oh gosh, honey, I’m sorry.”
Sonya returned, sans apron, and set down their glasses.
“It’s a’right, sweetie pie. You can massage the ol’ tootsies later. I know you love that.”
Taking her own seat in the nice big recliner they called the La-Z-Girl, Sonya got comfortable as they began eating, letting Trish’s tape play on. Fluffernutter smelled the grub and awoke, giving obligatory sniffs. She could have a small shred of cheese, so Trish granted her the morsel and sent her on her way. After the Kate & Allie episode in October, the last and most recent thing they’d taped was The Never-Ending Story. Mid-bite, Trish grinned, dancing back and forth in the sofa while the music played.
“God, this movie’s so awesome,” Trishy gushed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.”
Sonya smirked, closing her eyes so Trish couldn’t see her impishly rolling them.
“You’ve only made me watch it with ya like five fuckin’ times so far, sweetie,” she teased. “Give it another few years and a couple hundred viewings. Then you’ll have it memorized and you can just recite it to me.”
“You’re cruisin’ for a ticklin’, darlin’,” Trish “warned” her. “Want me to ‘massage’ those feet, be careful how much ya taunt me.”
“Little cute and goofy you like tickling me too…but then, where’d we be without whimsy.”
“Nothin’ says lovin’ like a poke at your giggle spots, cookie bear. Hoo-hoo!”
They took their time dining, stretching the meal to accommodate the film. Once done, Sonya returned their plates and glasses, gave them a rinse, placed them in the dishwasher and returned, as the Story indeed Ended. She pressed stop.
“Hey,” said Trish. “Babe, I wanna see the credits. You know that’s as much of the movie for me as any other part.”
Sonya turned back her way with a purposely sexier smirk.
Trishy popped her eyes open, raising her brows. She flung the blanket off herself and got up.
“Who needs credits, they all know what they did. Let’s go bop our daylights out.”
She Bop (Girls Just Want To Have…)
Saturday, January 5th, 1985, 1:30 p.m.
And so it was to the bedroom with them, where Sonya led Trish by the hand. She shut the door, maneuvered about a few of Trishy’s floor-strewn belongings, let their paws unclasp, and herself roll out into the mattress. The bed and corresponding room belonged only to Trish upon acquisition of the house. When Sonya began staying with her in the late ’70s, she dozed on the generous sofa, under the nice heavy blanket. And when the time was mutually decided right, they began sleeping together—in each sense.
Once comfy, cozy and on her back, Sonya reached out for Trish’s tender embrace, offering her own. Trish took her time, drawing out each magic moment of foreplay. Reaching the bed herself, she mounted, scaled, and ascended.
Her all fours left the ground, crawling onto the cloud. She slithered forth, inching around Sonya’s still jeans-clad gams. Their brows cocked. Their eyes locked. Sonya smirked, winked, and threw Trish an air kiss with just her lips. Trish tingled, narrowed her eyes to smoky slits, scrunched her nose and bared her teeth. “Rawr,” she sensually growled. Sonya tossed her a similar expression, manipulating her cheekbones and jaws into a biting motion. Trish moved in on her, one limb at a time…slow and silent, like a panther, making Sonya wait. Her top hung low, letting more cleavage peek out.
As Trish slunk around Sonya’s middle, the latter sprawled herself and held out her arms, for erotic snuggles and caresses. But to her surprise, Trish took initiative, control, and their romp in a different direction. She teetered up onto her knees, clutched Sonya by the wrists, and shoved her arms back down into the mattress, thrusting herself atop.
Taken by force and a bit aback, Sonya’s expression reflected the same. But she’d only seconds to squeal a quick “Mmm!” as Trish seared her lips with her own. Sonya allowed her eyes to flutter shut to enjoy the sensations. Body heat engulfed her. Trish’s poofy mane of feathery Bonnie Tyler whips spilled about Sonya’s face. Trish idolized Bonnie Tyler…at least her hair. And her couple mega-hit songs. Her lashes and nose respectively butterfly and Eskimo kissed Sonya. Trish aligned horizontally, arching down, leaving her left leg to lie as was, bending her right between Sonya’s. Her unique pheromones fetchingly toyed with Sonya’s olfactory sense.
Now that her girl was down, as it were, Sonya slipped her wrists out of Trish’s grasp. And set about, with increased zeal, to toss her arms around Trish and pull her close as possible. Trish’s belly lapped Sonya’s. Her left tit rested on Sonya’s right, and vice versa. All four nipples gradually awoke. Feeling them twinge through their shirts, all four eyes closed, the girls curled their mouths up, into knowing smiles of pleasure. It began to feel very good, on bottom and top. They just let minute after minute float on by, cuddling and kissing, bringing the foreplay to the desired temperature.
Trish’s (front) paws were momentarily free, and she no longer needed them for propping or balance. So she let them wander. One found its way under Sonya’s shirt to fondle her side. The other palmed her ass in her jeans. Sonya’s hands worked together on their tasks. They drew up the back of Trish’s top, and slowly undid her bra. Anything they could do nice and slow, to make the moments last and prolong the passion, was fair game. When all four hooks were unfastened, Sonya let go, and smoothed her palms down Trish’s lower back. Reaching the hem of her jammie pants, Sonya snuck her digits beneath them, and under the panties as well. Her fingertips rode the shapely curve of Trish’s own tush, squeezing two nice handfuls.
Trish tingled, realizing Sonya’d claimed a bit of an advantage over her. She had Trish’s bra undone, and so too was going for naked flesh under her bottoms. Trish saw she’d a modicum of catching up to do. Not wanting to rush, she pondered how to proceed, and chose her next move. She penetrated Sonya’s lips with her tongue, turning their long, lusty kiss into a long, lusty baiser. Welcoming this feeling, Sonya burrowed her head in the pillow, encouraging Trish lower. Moans began to sizzle up the room. What with the limited accessibility of Sonya’s bra for the moment, Trish elected next to unhand her ass, dance her fingers up to the front of Sonya’s jeans, and just barely tangibly grope her pussy through them, before approaching the fly.
Sonya gasped through the nose, and felt her own fire fueled on. Feeling more aggressive, she snatched the gore of Trish’s now loose bra, plucked it off her, and flung it to the carpet. Trish’s girls bobbled free. Sonya grinned through their kisses—which were breaking more and more frequently for oral respiration—lost no time, and grabbed Trish by both exposed boobs. Trish’s response was a grunt that signaled she—not unlike her companion—was becoming a libidinous animal. Trish took in the whole of the breast grope, willed it to tide her for the moment, and hissed a command.
“Now get your bra off, you dirty whore.”
Sonya smiled, pecked Trish’s cheek, released her tits and snuck her paws under her back and shirt to start. While she was doing this, Trish pushed herself up a second, whipped off her shirt and sent it to join her bra on the floor. Next were her stretchy comfy pants, which slid nice and easy down her legs. Once they were to her ankles, she took hold of Sonya’s hem, and unlocked the denim barrier to her womanhood. As her fox of a girlfriend’s own brassiere popped off, Trish again locked fiery eyes with Sonya.
“Grrrrrr,” purred Trishy, gritting her pearly whites.
Taking the hint, Sonya lifted her ass, making it easy for Trish to free her coochie. Sonya smirked, batted her baby teals, and whispered the word “roar.” Next went her own bra, flying to the floor with the other discarded garments. Trish flipped her eyebrows at Sonya. Jeans unzipped and tugged down a bit, she abruptly dove into her midsection, and through now only her panties, sank her teeth into Sonya’s cunt. Sonya’s gut reaction was a gasping lurch upwards.
“Fuck!” Sonya’s hands seized the mattress and grabbed two fistfuls, as a first strike of passion nailed her. Trish grinned wickedly up at her, absolutely loving the effect her tactics were earning. She growled like a dog once more, and pulled on Sonya’s panties with her teeth. Her chompers took down the front, as her paws undressed her from both ass cheeks. Sonya’s musky scent emerged as she dampened. Face in Sonya’s moist drape-matching carpet, Trish giggled. Sonya caught her breath and smirked.
“…’The hell’re you gigglin’ at?” she cooed.
“Your bush tickled my nose.” The pants and undergarment descended. While Trish’s guard was down for the moment, Sonya got her own salacious idea. She kept her butt elevated, took Trish by the back of her head, smushed her face in her crotch and vigorously wiggled it. Trish screamed with laughter, smacking at Sonya’s arms. Sonya let go, enjoying her own laugh at her beloved’s expense. Trish looked back up to leer at her through strands of messy hair.
“You filthy little slut.”
Sonya shrugged. “Your filthy little slut.”
Sixty seconds more elapsed, during which the bottoms and panties joined the tops and bras. This left two big-haired, bodacious-breasted, sweaty hot naked babes occupying the bed, about to pounce one another. Each intended to go slow and steady, but neither could help herself. They seized one another about the shoulders, veritably locking horns as if grappling in a wrestling match—an activity not unlike what was about to happen. They moved in, rapidly closing space between, generating yet more groans and growls. A dozen patches of ripe pink flesh rubbed exquisitely, intimately together. Hot breath flew into both faces. Torrid kisses resumed. Fingers dug through locks of hair, groping at one another’s nape, shoulder blades, torso, spines, hips, pelves. Their tits plumped. Their pussies wettened. Their rumps shook like those of cats in huntress mode, which they very much were. They went at each other on their knees, until gravity compelled them to surrender.
Trish and Sonya rolled end over end, and Sonya ended up on top for the moment. Moans filtered out. Enveloped in each other’s arms, Sonya’s hands were a bit pinned. Trish’s roamed up and down Sonya’s back, digging in her nails, leaving red scratchy streaks. She grabbed one of Sonya’s ass cheeks and sank her fingernails into it as well. Groans grew and escalated. The four gams kicked and flailed until finding a desired position. Sonya peeled her lips off Trish’s long enough to rasp another sexy sweet nothing.
“God, I fuckin’ love you so much.”
Trish leered up into her face. She normally didn’t swear out loud, but made exceptions in cases like this.
“Back at’cha, ya dirty fuckin’ whore.”
Something in Sonya had always been partial to profanity, as she felt it amplified her point. What was more, exchanging such smutty pillow talk lit her ablaze. Her nipples stiffened, rubbing adjacent to Trish’s and exciting hers in turn. She leaned into Trish, ground her pelvis and began scissoring. She watched with ecstasy as Trish visibly reacted to the scissor sex, wincing and grimacing in a helpless moan. Sonya bared as many teeth as an ear-to-ear smile would accommodate.
“Yesssssss…that’s it, ya little fuckin’ bitch. Say ya want it.”
“I want it.”
“Say my name.”
“I want it, Sonya. I want you so fuckin’ bad.”
Sonya nodded. “Damn right ya do, whore. Now take it.”
With that, she threw it home. She went to town on her. She plucked her dominant right paw out from under Trish, shoved it between their pussies and began ramming her fingers inside. Trish’s eyes almost instantaneously rolled back in her head as it whipped and slammed her pillow. She abruptly started to shriek with burning, white-hot lust.
“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” Trishy screamed, taken utterly by surprise. “AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!! OMIGOD! OMIGOOOOD!!”
“YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! YES! YES!! FUCKIN’ YES!!” countered Sonya. Flaming bursts of passion exploded through both lasses like pinballs. Their skin blotched red. Trish scratched up Sonya’s back ever more and more, as Sonya licked and spat on her hand to ensure they were lubed all over. She thrusted and pumped on Trish, index and middle fingers of one hand in Trishy’s cunt, the other in her own. Trish decided to take some initiative next. She summoned some impressive strength, leaned up, bit Sonya’s lower lip, flipped her over and rolled on top. This culled quite the reaction out of Sonya.
“NNNNGGGH!” she squealed. Trish released her lip and chuckled seductively down on her. She whipped her own hand free, licked her fingers and started furiously rubbing Sonya’s pussy and clit back. Sonya agreed to assume the bottom for just a second, as the two of them settled into a mattress-surfing rhythm, mutually scissoring and masturbating each other. Need to both breathe and scream limited their powers of speech, to single-syllable sounds and expletives. Sonya eventually tossed and wriggled her way back on top. Just outside the bedroom, the thermostat clicked up a degree as a result of their body heat alone.
It was perfect. Both felt as if about to blast loose from an orgasmic Sapphic cannon, into the loving bosom of lesbian heaven. Their lust-drenched screams harmonized into a cacophony of ear-splitting delirium. Everything built, at a pace and intensity neither could control. Balls of sizzle showered like hot meteors, engulfing them in flames. Their bodies generated sweat angels in the sheets. It was so incredible, both lost focus and fell out of rhythm. But they needed neither step nor sync anymore. They had the wave up and cresting fast, and were strapped in tight for the ride’s momentous end. Sonya had herself propped just enough to maintain her thrust. She’d both fists planted in the mattress, fiercely gripping wet fabric. Trishy flailed about underneath her, whapping her front and hind paws like a tantrummy child. Sonya forced the most recent of singeing French kisses on her, holding Trish’s tongue firm with mouth suction. Trish felt herself about to lose it. She was ready to erupt. She could count it down with pinpoint precision. Sonya wasn’t far behind, but a bit. She was just about to blow her girlfriend through the portal of no return, and shortly follow. Trishy’s swollen red pussy contracted and clenched against Sonya’s, quaked, trembled…
And at last exploded.
Sonya felt Trish’s cum pelt and splash her mere nanoseconds before Trish confirmed the big ‘o,’ with a croak, a gasp for breath, and the most primal banshee yell of the evening. Her entire frame spasmed and convulsed, as the climax relentlessly, mercilessly jolted her. Sonya held her pussy fast and steady against Trish’s, as if pumping her full of electric shocks, making her jerk and flop all over. Inevitably, she wound down. Her monster orgasm was complete.
All of this was of course to take nothing away from Sonya’s own big bad ‘o,’ which was imminent on the heels of Trishy’s. As her girlfriend’s lung-piercing screeches died down, Sonya discerned she no longer need finger Trish off. So she collected some of Trish’s cum, and rubbed it into her own sex. She let herself down, draping over Trish, feeling her belly rapidly rise and fall. God, it was wonderful. Her darling’s naked, spent body now lying there so peaceful and serene. Finding herself near Trish’s ear, Sonya did her best not to scream, but gave off a series of groans in lieu. Her legs kicked and lurched, toes burrowing into the sheet, as her own orgasm finally assaulted her. She couldn’t say she’d expected anything more.
“OOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH…” she caterwauled, trying to muffle herself in the mattress so as not to disturb Trish. Trish often enjoyed a few winks following such an Earth-rocking motherfucker climax. Even in the afternoon. She was getting to the ages when the value of naps was appreciable. Following this, in fact, both could use quite a while of shut-eye. So while Sonya wasn’t about to suppress herself, it wasn’t necessary to break the decibel meter. She proceeded to cum as well, as beautifully, as splendidly, and for as long as she could manage. Once done seeing stars, her bearings slowly came back.
Damn…what a fuckin’ head rush.
Sonya gazed down to assess. Still breathing deep, full breaths, Trish had her eyes mostly closed. It looked as though she was half-asleep, but not quite all the way yet. Sonya let herself down by her side and called softly.
The faintest reply emerged. “Ehh?…”
Sonya smiled tenderly. She mouthed the words “I love you,” then nuzzled and kissed Trish’s ticklish nose. Trishy approved with a semiconscious little smile back. At last, Sonya retrieved another pillow, placed it beside her beloved’s, laid her head, and slipped her arm back around Trish’s middle, to snuggle her to sleep.
Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?
Saturday, January 5th, 1985, 8:06 p.m.
The sun was completely down. Trish danced through Dreamland, to the song she and Sonya had adopted as their special couple’s song: “We’ve Got Tonite” by Bob Seger and The Silver Bullet Band. The song came out in 1978, just a few months after Trishy and Sonya officially began dating steady. While she’d admit it sounded a tad awkward, Trish preferred the phrase “dating steady.” “Going steady” was too high school for her. They weren’t teenagers anymore; they were young yet grown women.
She stirred and awoke, as she felt Sonya crawl over her and get out of bed. She probably just needed a drink of water, thought Trish. Or to go to the bathroom. Or both. While she had the bed to herself for the moment, Trish stretched her limbs.
Trish’s eyes popped open.
Realizing something was quite wrong, Trish too rose from the bed, in alarm, and staggered to the door. She stepped just outside it, to see Sonya clutching a foot in her hands, face cringing in pain.
“Babe?…What’s the matter? What happened?”
Sonya looked up…to glare at her.
“I’ll tell you what’s the matter and what happened, Trish: I stubbed my toes on your damn shoes!”
Trish looked down. Indeed, sure enough, there lay a pair of her knotted bow leather heels, overturned on the carpet.
“Oh god…oh god, Sonya, sweetheart, I’m so sorry! Lemme…lemme kiss it. I’ll make it all better. Okay?”
She took a knee, and reached for Sonya’s injured ped. To her unpleasant surprise, Sonya denied her request.
“No, Trish! Not okay!” she hollered at her. “You are always fucking doing this! You’re always leaving your shit all over the place! It drives me crazy! The other day I slipped on that magazine of yours and fell flat on my back, then that ridiculous banana clip in the living room, now this! How the hell hard is it to pick up after yourself?!”
Trish furrowed her eyebrows, stung by these harsh remarks. But one of her go-to objectives in tough situations was humor, so she thought she’d try to alleviate things with it.
“Well, maybe your…feet don’t like you. Or maybe they want you to let your beautiful sweet girlfriend rub and kiss ’em all better!”
Sonya pierced her with a constant, seething dagger. Trish saw she was in no mood to laugh. She reiterated her contrition.
“Sonya…I’m sorry! I said I’m sorry! Look, I…I know I’m not the neatest girl in the world, okay? Yeah, it’s one of my shortcomings, I know. But I’ve-I’ve…I’ve got my good points too, y’know! There’s good and bad to both of us, honey; you and me.”
The next words Sonya growled at Trish simultaneously froze and scorched her blood.
“Fuck you, Trish.”
Trish felt her heart stop mid-beat.
“…What did you just say to me??”
The ever-oblivious Fluffernutter contentedly trotted by, and again set about to figure-eight Sonya’s legs. “Mrrrrow.”
“Oh, stupid motherf—”
Clearly in no mood for Her Fluffiness either, Sonya reflexively reared back with her hurt foot, but stopped herself. But Trish noticed.
“W—…were you seriously just about to kick my cat?!”
Ignoring the question, Sonya stormed past Trish back into the bedroom, making a beeline for the closet.
“Sonya! I’m talking to you!”
“Yeah, well, I’m not talking to you,” Sonya shot back, snatching enough articles to throw together an outfit. She began dressing.
“Wh—…what’re you doing?” Trish wanted to know.
Deeming this query rhetorical as well, Sonya gussied herself to the socks, and marched back out of the bedroom and down the hall. Trish followed, still wanting to know just what on Earth was going on.
“Sonya Ami Ross!”
Sonya crossed to the living room, found and put on her shoes, adjourned to the coat closet, and retrieved her jacket and scarf as well. Next, she grabbed her purse off the arm of the sofa. The still naked Trish watched her, hands on hips.
“Where are you going??”
Sonya knew what she was saying, but didn’t seem to care an iota.
“Somewhere you’re not.”
Trish continued to disbelieve what she was hearing.
Quickly ensuring she had her keys and wallet in the purse, a bundled-up Sonya paced as deliberately to the door, and exited. Trish, nude, and for once indifferent to the frigid temperature, stamped to the door behind her, and held it open to repeat her question. The unforgiving chill hardened her nipples almost instantly.
“Sonya, answer me! Where do you think you’re going?!”
All she heard through the whistling winds were a few last muttered words. Though she couldn’t be sure, she thought she heard—
“…hate you fuckin’ bitch.”
Trish snapped. Even if this wasn’t quite what Sonya’d said, she’d managed to rattle the hell out of her girlfriend’s brain in just a few short minutes. And pushed her remarkably rapidly to the blood-boiling breaking point. She lost all control. Abruptly, she neither longer cared what came out of her mouth, or to whom she said it.
“You’re the fuckin’ bitch, and I hate you too! Go to hell!!” she yelled after. Wasting no more time or words, she slammed the door. Four Maine Coon paws pranced across the room, their owner turning up her gaze to address her Mommy.
Trishy sighed, feeling tears stab her eyes. She couldn’t believe this! Ten minutes ago, everything was fine! How…
She stooped and picked up the cat.
“C’mon, Fluff, let’s go lay down. You don’t yell at me, and you’re smart enough to actually watch where you walk.”
Love Will Tear Us Apart / Don’t Let It End
Saturday, January 5th, 1985, 11:12 p.m.
Trish and Fluffernutter resumed their places on the couch, launching another hour of more or less idle television. Trish had cleared the coffee table, fixed a mug of hot cocoa and dumped out a puzzle, but since touched neither, only the remote in her hand. Again, nothing on the myriad of cable channels seemed to please her. Even as a native Minnesotan, she was apathetic to the election news.
Bzzt! “—one of the most overwhelming landslide victories in United States history, President Reagan is to be sworn in to his second term in the White House, with 59% of the vote. Winning 49 of 50 states, excepting only Mondale’s home state of Minnesota, th—”
Bzzt! Trish tried yet another station. MTV popped up, kicking off Pat Benatar’s “We Belong” video. Trish set down the remote, figuring she couldn’t go too wrong here. Of course, in her turmoiled state, just about anything right now brought her mind back to Sonya, how much she missed and yet remained angry with her. Like Pat’s earlier hit “Love Is A Battlefield.” How true.
Thinking she might as well try to do something literally constructive, she took a sip of cocoa, sat up and started turning up puzzle pieces. She’d assembled a few edges and located the four corners when Fluff abruptly leapt up again.
“Fluff? Girl? What’s up?”
She found out a second later. A sudden series of loud, insistent-sounding knocks came at the door, startling both Fluffernutter and Trish. The cat sprinted away down the hall.
“Oh m—” She got up, wrapping the blanket around her birthday-suited figure, and approached the door.
“Wh-who is it?”
Alarm permeated Trish’s face. What the…?
“…O-ok—uh, gi-give me just a moment, please!”
Trish dashed into her bedroom, dropped the blanket, snatched a robe from the closet, donned herself scampering back down the hall, tied it shut, quickly made sure everything was concealed, and returned to the living room.
“Coming! Coming!” Click. She opened the door. Indeed, there stood a policeman. Her heart sped.
“Cohabitant and emergency contact of Sonya Ross?”
Trish’s eyes and mouth opened wider.
“Oh my—yes, yes, I am. What happened?”
The cop paused for the first time. He glanced down, and back up into Trish’s unsettled face.
“I’m afraid there’s been a severe accident.”
Trish’s blood ran cold.
“Miss Lowery…earlier this evening, Miss Ross was in a CVS parking lot, on foot…when she was struck by an intoxicated driver.”
Trish’s heart stopped beating and cracked open.
“I’m very sorry, Miss Lowery, but…
“She was killed, almost instantly on impact.”
Trish abruptly felt as if about to die herself. She felt her legs give way under her. A storm raged her eyes.
“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am. She was rushed to Mayo Clinic following the incident, but it was already…”
The officer went on, but Trish’s cognitive processes didn’t. Her mind fainted into shock. The policeman went blurry and fuzzy before her quivering eyes, his voice a distorted echo. The trembling Trish went into a mental tailspin. She couldn’t discern how much longer the officer spoke to her, what else he told her, or when he at last let her be. She didn’t hear the TV anymore, or notice Fluffernutter approach and paw at her, as she sank into the floor. She merely remained in paralyzed shock.
Sonya was dead.
Sonya was dead. Her girlfriend had been hit by a car and killed. She couldn’t swallow it. It was too much to bear. The worst of all was that she had to wait out and endure the prelude of shock before it all actually sank in. She couldn’t hear, speak or think. Her dear, beloved girlfriend…her sweetheart, her darling, her romance, her heart, the love of her life…
Eventually, the shock indeed began to metamorphose, into the be-all and end-all of heartbreak. The first tear seeped out, and was absorbed by the plushy robe. Continuous tears followed. Her feline companion nudged with her head, but Trish couldn’t feel it. She sat, still but shivering on the carpet, legs folded to the side. Minute after solemn minute passed, as Trish’s quiet weeping grew, and grew, and grew, to tortured wracking sobs. It was simply unfathomable. Her brain wouldn’t compute it. She could not bring herself to grips with the realization that… that…
…That she would never see Sonya Ami Ross again.
She’d never talk to her again, Trish thought as she bawled her heart out. She’d never spend time with her again. She’d never more hold her hand on dates, or relax at home with her. They’d never share another meal or movie. They’d never laugh or cry together. They’d never hug or kiss. They would never snuggle, make love or fall asleep with each other…ever again.
The tears wouldn’t stop. Each represented another strand of their relationship, another reminder of Sonya, another memory. All the wonderful things they’d done together, and all the wonderful things they’d now never do together. Each tear she lost corresponded to a small chunk of her heart chipping and breaking away.
She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.
Trish found herself wishing beyond hope the officer’d return to her door, with Sonya, and announce that he was just kidding. Even if playing a horrible joke on her, she wouldn’t care. She’d just be so happy to have Sonya back. She wouldn’t have even cared about…
Oh god… she thought, as an entirely new wave of tears spilled forth.
The fight. Their fight had occurred just before Sonya had left. It was this inane, stupid fight that triggered her fit and compelled her to storm off. Trish’s sobs grew yet again, to absolute wails of anguish, of despair, as she realized…she’d driven Sonya out.
Oh, god…oh, god! It’s…it’s my fault! I made her leave! If I hadn’t been such a slob, this never would’ve happened! She wouldn’t have hurt herself on my hair clips, my magazines, my shoes and who knows what else! We wouldn’t have fought, and hurt each other’s feelings so much, and…and…
Trish’s next cries turned into screams, as she threw herself on the floor, pounding with her fist.
…And I called her a fucking bitch and told her to go to hell! she remembered, chastising herself. Oh god…those were my…
“You’re the fuckin’ bitch, and I hate you too! Go to hell!!”
The echo haunted her tormented mind, as the most horrific detail dawned.
Those were my last words to her!! My last words! The last thing she ever heard me say! I told her I hated her, and to go to hell…and she died! OH GOD!!
She didn’t think she’d ever be able to stop crying. How could she have been so callous? So thoughtless? So stupid?! Sonya’d seemed unreasonably rageful at this most recent encounter with Trish’s floor-bound belongings. It would appear her last straw snapped, and her proverbial camel’s back broke. She went off on Trish, letting her have it. And what did Trish do? She let herself lose control, and yelled back at Sonya. She cooperatively let Sonya go away, out into the cold winter night, alone. She could’ve handled things so very differently. She could’ve issued a stronger apology. She could’ve pleaded with Sonya not to go, to stay here with her so they could work this out. She could’ve planted herself in Sonya’s path, steadfastly blocking her departure. She could’ve tackled Sonya to the carpet. Anything to keep from letting her out that door. But…she hadn’t. She’d angrily let her go. She’d taken Sonya and her love for granted, and ended up paying the most dear price of all for it. …And she couldn’t undo it. Nothing was resolved.
Oh my god! she bawled. …I killed her!! It was my fault! I let her go! She’s dead because of me! Oh god, Trish, why??!
Deep down, a rational portion of Trish knew that she didn’t really kill Sonya. True, Sonya wouldn’t have walked out like this if they hadn’t had this fight. But this accident could’ve happened anytime or anywhere. If Sonya’d stayed home tonight but left another evening, she could just as likely have become a drunk driving casualty. Another statistic. Trish knew realistically she didn’t have to take the blame, but somehow…she…wanted to. It seemed almost right this way. Karmic. Nothing could restore her spirits right now, but accepting fault after making Sonya so angry and getting angry herself…at least made sense.
Inevitably, she began to calm down, only for want of energy. She rolled onto her side, hugging herself in a fetal position.
“Oh, my baby,” Trish silently blubbered. “My darling, my sweet angel…I’m so sorry.”
Some immeasurable time later, Fluff strolled back into the living room to see her Mommy crying on the floor. She sat watching, swishing her tail to and fro. A few moments later, she approached, and gave Trish a kitty kiss on the jaw with her little wet nose, following up with a head rub. Trish collected Fluff and pulled her close.
As shattered and destroyed as she felt right now, Trish had to admit that holding her cat extra near and listening to her steady purr did make her feel a little better.
Material Girl / The Ghost In You
Sunday, January 6th, 1985, 12:00 midnight
Trish had no idea what time it was, but could neither have cared less. Nothing mattered. Everything hurt. Her broken heart bled. So much of her wanted to die just to be with Sonya again. But she couldn’t do that to her own loved ones as well as Sonya’s.
She finally let Fluff go, and located the strength to get up. She turned the thermostat up a few degrees. She went to the bedroom, retrieved a pair of her own pajamas and socks, put the robe on over them, and slipped back out. She picked up Trixie and her no longer quite so hot cocoa, ambled into the dining room and perched at its table. She set down the cocoa, hugged Trixie tight and shut her eyes. She still couldn’t believe it. Any moment now, she expected Sonya to come back through that door, like everything was just fine. They’d had fights before, and everything was resolved. They always forgave each other. They never went to bed angry. Or back to bed angry. She knew she got on Sonya’s nerves sometimes, and heaven knew Sonya could get under her skin now and then. But it was one of the things relationships were all about. Like any couple, they celebrated the good times and fought for each other through the bad. One way or another, closure was always achieved. But Trishy couldn’t make up with her this time. Sonya was gone. For good. And their last words to each other had been spoken in anger. Trish didn’t want to remember her this way.
She hung her head and tried to stave off any more tears for the moment. Both her head and heart ached so much already. This may have technically been her house, but Sonya’d moved in years ago. Everywhere she looked, another memento tugged her heartstrings. Everything in this home reminded her of Sonya. It was Sonya.
Trish didn’t think she could handle this. Perhaps…perhaps she should call her parents, and…maybe stay with them for a little while. Or…maybe that wasn’t necessary. She didn’t know. All she knew was that her girlfriend had abandoned their world. And that she was alone. Irreparably crestfallen…
…And all alone.
“Oh, Sonya,” she sniffled, all but literally squeezing the stuffing out of Trixie. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart…I’m so sorry.”
A cold breeze abruptly swirled and swept across the room.
“I know, Trish.”
Trish’s eyes shot open. She reflexively looked up.
Her blood froze…and curdled.
The translucent entity stood eight feet from her, where the living and dining rooms divided. Trish did not believe her eyes…and yet…
There she was.
Trish kicked over her chair behind her, scrambling backwards to the dining room wall.
“NO! NOOOO!! You’re dead!”
Clad in only glowing, long white linen, the ghostly Sonya’s limbs were not visible. She radiated iridescence, as if stepping out of a neon rainbow. She bore two large, glittery gossamer wings. A halo rested atop her bed of auburn hair, like one of Trish’s big bows. She shuffled a few steps towards Trish. The cold breeze returned. Trish slid down until she was sitting against the wall. She held up her hands at arms’ length, palms out.
“No! Please!” she implored in horror, sobbing all over again. “Get away! Stay away from me!”
Ghost-Sonya spoke softly.
“Don’t be afraid, Trishy. I haven’t come to haunt you.”
“Please…” repeated the tearful Trish. “Sonya…you’re dead. And, I…I don’t believe in ghosts.”
Ghost-Sonya neared, closing the space between them. Trish tried to push her dining table chair in the way, but Sonya passed right through it. The petrified alive girl on the floor tucked herself into a weeping ball and covered her face.
“Please just leave me alone!”
Trish cried hysterically on the carpet, as Sonya knelt beside. Though her spectral state did not alter, her chilly breeze vanished. Her translucence enhanced to full opacity. Fluff saw her, meowed and trotted to greet her. To Trish’s utter disbelief, she felt arms envelop her. The same warm, snug embrace she’d come to know and love so much all these years. The tangibility was weightlessly light, but there. But Trish’s mind still would not allow her to accept it. She screamed and wailed through her paws.
“Shhhhh…” Ghost-Sonya soothed. Trish could not feel breath or body warmth, but thought she just barely felt Sonya kiss a tear away.
“It’s all right, sweetheart…shhhhh…it’s okay…”
Trish’s screams gradually settled to whimpers, though she certainly didn’t feel it was all right or okay. Her specter-girlfriend scooted in close until all space was occupied. Trish could not find the courage to stop crying or uncover her face…but she couldn’t honestly say that Sonya’s loving hold and lulling whisper weren’t comforting either.
“Don’t worry, dear…” Sonya continued. “Don’t be scared, baby…you’re all right…shhhhh…it’ll be okay.”
Fluff examined and sniffed Ghost-Sonya all about her bare legs and feet, which with her arms were now visible, as she sat curled around Trish. She then maneuvered between them, and head-rubbed and nuzzled the both together. Trish peeked down from between her fingers to see her Maine Coon daughter…and the linen-gowned knees of a no longer transparent—yet still aglow—Ghost-Sonya Ross. She cringed in tears, shaking her head.
Sonya stroked and kissed her fluffy curtain of hair. “I know, honey, I know. Please try not to be afraid. My mortal being is dead, but you’ll always keep my memory alive. That’s what’s happening. You’re remembering me. You love me, sweetheart. And I love you.”
Post-midnight seconds ticked on. Slowly but certainly, Trish’s crying tapered down. Sonya held her as long as she needed, and when Trish screwed up her acceptance, she at last dropped her hands.
There it was. The face she fell in love with seven years ago. And was still in love with. She couldn’t help it. Her eyelids began to hurt.
“It’s okay, darling,” whispered Sonya, cradling Trish’s head with her chin and arm. “You just cry it out. As much as you need to.”
As freaked out as Trish still felt, as shredded, as absolutely devastated…she slowly, timidly reached out…
…And ever so gingerly, ever so tenderly, slipped her arms around her, hugging Sonya back.
Talking Back To The Night
Sunday, January 6th, 1985, 1:00 a.m.
It took the better part of another hour, but Trish finally settled down. And let herself accustom to the fact that believable or not, paranormal or not, love it or not…she actually had her girlfriend back with her…even if in a lesser form. She obtained her bearings, stood, quiveringly made way into the kitchen and turned on the radio. After enough adjusting between static, she located a Top 40 station, launching into a very recent number one hit. Knowing all the big hits, Trishy naturally recognized it. Unfortunately, it reflected an ironic counterpoint to her situation. She let her hands drop and slap her sides.
“Unbelievable. I think a little music might be nice, little distraction, help take my mind off things, and what does it give me? ‘I ain’t Missing You at all.’ Not funny, Mix 96 FM Juniper.”
The sparkling ghost and angel sitting at the dining room table patted its surface with her palm.
“Never mind the music, Trishy. Come sit with me.”
Trish timidly padded back into the dining room, and uncertainly seated herself beside Sonya.
“This can’t be possible. I mean, I’m sitting here talking to the ghost of my dead girlfriend! This doesn’t happen in real life!”
“Some things cannot be explained in the rational universe, sweetheart.”
“Oh, but Sonya…” Sigh. “…If you could’ve possibly known what I felt when that policeman told me that awful news, what went through my head…there…there was a crack in the Earth. My entire world ended. I just…I-I j—…I just can’t believe you’re gone!!”
“I’m sorry, Trishy…I shouldn’t have left like that.”
“N—ar—no! No no no, I’m sorry, Sonya! My god, I am SO so so sorry! It was all my fault! I…I have to learn to pick up after myself! Oh my god, if…if I went around tripping and slipping and hurting myself on everything on the floor, it’d drive me crazy too!”
“It’s all right, Trish. I love you, flaws and all. I know you feel the same about me. And, by the way…
“I hope you know I never meant to treat you badly. And now I know just what a…girl-friend like you is for.”
Trishy let some silent time pass for her expression to shift. Something fond and bittersweet pulled at her heart. She shot Ghost-Sonya a look of amusement, with just a dash of chiding t’sk mixed in.
“…You stole that right from that song in the Garfield specials. And…” Sniffle. “…And I love you for it.
“I just…I just can’t help it, Sonya, I’m just so sorry. For everything I’ve ever done wrong in our relationship. I didn’t mean it either.”
“Now don’t you go taking all the blame for yourself, Trishy. It’s always more polite to share. I did a lot of bad things too.”
“But…but, we, just…we never went to bed angry. It just crushed me that the last words I said to you were so nasty. I wish more than anything I could take it all back and make everything okay again. I just want things back the way they were. I…god, I just…”
She paused, trying to stop her mouth trembling, as again her eyes leaked and nose ran.
“I just want you back so bad, Sonya! I’ve never wanted anything more in my life! I just can’t believe this…I’m so heartbroken.”
“Oh, my darling…broken or not, I’ll always be in your heart. And you in mine. I’m right here with you quite literally in spirit. Just talk to me, Trishy. Tell me everything you ever wanted to say. I’m all ghost-ears. Pour your heart out to me.”
Fluffernutter trotted into the room and leapt up onto the table. She paced and sniffed about a moment, before pushing into Trish’s hand for some obligatory petting.
“Oh, my…goodness, sweetheart, I…like, don’t even know where to start.”
“Hee…I love it when you accidentally make a poet out of yourself. I love everything about you, Trishy.”
Trish gave in to the inevitable next wave of tears.
“Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry all over again.”
“Aw, Sonya, please, please don’t. I’m the one who owes you the apologies. Virtually everything that’s gone wrong in our relationship’s been due to something I did. That’s what I wanna pour out to you: ‘I’m sorry’s.”
Sonya placed her hand on top of Trish’s. It felt as light and soft as the clouds Sonya’s soul now slept in.
“Now you kindly stop that, Trishy. I won’t have you verbally kicking your own ass. That’s my job.”
“Heh…well, please at least let me explain that…I dunno, honey, I guess…my folks never really got after me to clean my room, or do chores around the house. I guess…” She sighed. “I’m-I’m not trying to throw the blame on them, I just…never had that maintenance ‘gene’ drilled into me. I…feel like I should at least apologize to your feet, for making you step on stuff and stub your toesies.”
“Well, I’m in no danger of that now. But, um…”
She smiled coyly, lifting her ghostly, pristine size 8 peds up onto the table, and impishly waving them.
“…You can kiss ’em anyway, if you want.”
Though this whole situation still seemed quite…weird…Trish went with it. For some reason or other…she loved Sonya’s feet. She loved rubbing them, kissing them…even orally “worshiping” her toes. She guessed, like she’d remarked to Sonya earlier in the afternoon…maybe it was a foot fetish. Odd, but interesting. She admired them.
“Really?? Aw, sweetie! Okay…oooh, they’re so silky! They’re like…baby soft! They…oh my gosh, they even smell sweet! Does the rest of you feel and smell this nice too?”
“Oh, I should say so; you do get nicely pampered when you’re an angel. In f—he-ey! Trishy! You’re nibbling my toes! That tickles!”
“Angels’re ticklish? Ghosts’re ticklish?”
“When their name’s Sonya Ross and you nibble on their little piggies, they are!”
Trishy felt a trifle freer to loosen up and have some flirtatious fun.
“Well, you were wiggling them at me!” Trish countered, now indeed giving Sonya’s soles the ticklin’ she’d been cruisin’ for. Sonya laughed out loud, pulling away her feet and whipping them back off the table. “They were begging for it, being all adorable like that!” her girlfriend went on. “It’s like you flashing me that ultra-sexy grin, winking at me and just daring me to resist kissing you.”
“You think it’s easy holding back from absolutely smothering you with my lips?”
“Sonya, when you turn your charm on me, I can literally barely keep my clothes on. And I mean ‘literally’ correctly, by the way. Although, I’m…I’m not sure if I should be saying that in the…present tense…”
“No sweat, sweets. Just pretend I’m sitting here with you like everything’s, like, totally normal. Whenever you need a little time with me, just look in your heart and your memory, Trishy. I’ll always be there.”
Trish caught and swallowed a considerable lump in her throat.
“Oh, Sonya…now I wish I’d sat here and talked to you so many times like this when you were…y-y’know…”
Sonya’s gentle eyes shimmered as Trish gazed into them. They were filled with sympathetic love and limerence.
“Baby, don’t focus so much on regret. It’s crummy for your complexion. Everyone knows smile lines are prettier than frown ones.”
It took a moment, but Trish cheered up a little.
“Okay, well…if you’ll always be ‘with’ me, and we can still ‘talk’ anytime we want…then, good; let’s talk about nicer stuff.”
“Like the song on the radio right now,” agreed Sonya, gesturing toward the kitchen. “‘Mo-ving, side-walks, I don’t see under my feet…’ ’S a cool song. Dunno who sings it.”
“His name’s Dan Hartman.”
“Oh, okay, cool. See? I just posthumously learned something. ‘I can dream about you…if I can’t hold you tonight…’” Sonya sang along. Sigh. “I’ve always admired that about you, Trishy, if I never told you before. You know everything about this stuff.”
“Well, it’s…easy to know when you have such a mondo fond interest in it. ’Course, we were given a lotta good stuff last year. Y’know, if he was still alive, I’d wanna write a letter to George Orwell and say sorry, bud, but you were kinda off. I know it wasn’t exactly the point of your book, but 1984 was awesome. Then again, if he was still alive, he’d know that already.”
“I think he’d be 84.”
“Close enough. Seriously, though, look at all the neat stuff that happened last year,” elaborated Trish. “We got to go to New York for the first time, and we got that big ol’ ‘I-heart-N-Y’ snow globe and that incredibly cute rocking horse—along with those other couple souvenirs…I started taking karate after that wicked cool movie…”
“Yeah, the Juniper Mall expanded; there’s an arcade in there now,” Sonya contributed. “We saw Bruce Springsteen live…even if we didn’t get to dance on stage with him…”
“Oh, I’d have died. Oops, uh…I-I didn’t mean that. Oh—speaking of The Boss and Who it is, though, Tony saw Angela naked…”
“Ha! Oh yeah! Let’s see, what else…Alexis got arrested…Sam and Diane got together and broke back up…everybody cut Footloose…we found out what it sounds like ‘When Doves Cry’…which is apparently when it Rains Purple on ’em…”
“Heathcliff’s back on TV…Bill Cosby’s on TV, playing someone named Heathcliff…all the most recent stuff on my tape—Never-Ending Story, Kate and Allie, all those Ghosts we Busted…oh, erm…whoops. Uh, again, honey, I didn’t mean you. I meant Slimer, and the…big Marshmallow guy.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” assured Sonya, flashing between opaque and transparent states. “We ghosts ain’t afraid of no ghosts either.”
“Hee hee, that’s good. And along with all the other stuff, my parents got me the new Teena Marie album for Christmas…” Trish went on musing. “…And, you got me all that My Little Pony and Rainbow Brite stuff. And it’s gonna take me till next Christmas to play with it all…’cause you somehow never minded that little part of me that never grew up.”
“And Madonna somehow managed to convince us she was Like A Virgin.”
“Oh, I know! Talk about pushing it over the ‘Borderline!’ Gosh, I…” Trish dreamily let her eyes wander. “I can’t wait to see what happens in ’85. I wonder if that’s when ‘Ahnold’’ll be ‘bahck.’”
“And once again in spirit, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
Trishy dropped her eyes and poor achy head. A wayward tear plinked into her cocoa.
“…God…Sonya, I’m…I’m gonna miss you so damn much!”
“Awwww, Trishy…” Sonya slipped both of her angel-soft hands around Trish’s. “I’m gonna miss you too. I love you more than anything in the world…though to be honest, you’ve got me a little torn with all those tears. On the one hand, they’re breaking my ghost-heart. I can’t stand seeing you suffer. On the other, they’re…kinda flattering.”
“Hee hee…even stone-cold, you can make me giggle.”
Sonya batted her eyelashes.
“When you laugh, I just wanna roll you over on your back, and blow raspberries all over your tummy. When you cry, I wanna literally hold you forever, and figuratively go get the heart glue so we can fix everything together.”
Trish felt she could certainly use a bottle of heart glue right about now.
“…If you’re trying to make me stop crying, you’re failing miserably.”
“I’m not, baby. I just want you to know you can still talk to me whenever you want. Just trust me and be patient, Trishy: we’re gonna have a thousand of these conversations before you’re in heaven with me.”
Trish tried to hold off on any more crying, if only to keep her headache at bay.
“I just can’t believe I’m never gonna see you again, Sonya. You dunno how much this hurts. I’m so sad! I wanted to share the rest of my life with you! You’re so much more than my partner. You’re my soulmate. You’re the other half of my heart! I wanted us to hold hands and take on all these challenges together. Especially our biggest one of all. It was gonna be you and me against this cold, cruel, not extremely gay-friendly world. How the hell’m I gonna go on without you?? Even if I wanted to see anyone else, I don’t know how to meet any other lesbians. Let alone one that could come close to you.”
“I know, Trishy. I feel the same way. I’m sad too. I’d do anything to keep you from feeling the least bit of pain. Seeing you like this just kills me. Uh…no, eh, pun intended.”
Again, Trish couldn’t help but chuckle the slightest bit. As destroyed as she was, she nonetheless felt so charmed and elated by this little extra Sonya-sugared time. Her beloved was doing just as she did best: sitting and hanging with Trish, seducing her mind with quirky wit, and her heart with effortless beauty and sensuality. As they talked and talked and talked some more, long, long into the small hours of twilight, their electronic kitchen companion took them, amongst many others, through a series of love and lust songs: “What’s Love Got To Do With It,” “Centerfold,” “Jump” (by Van Halen), “Jump (For My Love)” (by the Pointer Sisters), “Just What I Needed,” “Careless Whisper,” “Oh Sherrie,” “Heart Of Glass,” “You’re The Inspiration,” “Here Comes The Rain Again,” “Can’t Fight This Feeling.” Ad infinitum. And Sonya went on sending Trish through emotional rollercoaster loop after loop after loop.
“…You’re making me laugh and cry at the same time.”
“…What’re girlfriends for?”
Trish let herself fall into Sonya’s cherub eyes. She was indeed unable to resist. She laid one paw on Sonya’s arm, the other aside her breast, and kissed her. Caught a bit off-guard, Sonya again glowed at the feel of the kiss. The celestial aura of neon color surrounded her. Her halo shone, and her wings flitted with excitement. She palmed Trish’s jaws, as on the floor they played footsie. Trishy’s tears turned joyful. When she sensed the moment was right, she cautiously opened her mouth, entreating entry with her tongue. Sonya granted. Trish worked up more moxie, took Sonya’s silky hand mid-kiss, slipped it between her thighs, and they stroked and fondled one another. The kissing and pussy-stroking went on and on…on and on…on and on…until to their amazement, the lasses achieved a quasi-tantric…dual orgasm. Neither could believe it. They kept going. Post-climax. The glorious spiritual romance lingered several more brilliant moments…till both needed to breathe. Especially the stuffy-nosed Trish. Sonya gazed lovingly back at her.
“That was nice.”
“And…fascinating,” Trish added. “I’ve never kissed—or felt up—an angel before.”
Sonya caressed Trishy’s temple with the back of her hand.
Her words reached inside Trish, took hold of her heart and squeezed it.
“Oh god, sweetie,” she murmured. “I never realized how much I really did lose everything…when I lost you.”
Sonya leaned in and hugged her again.
“You may have lost my physical being…but you’ll never lose my spirit.
“…Hey. Hey. Sweetheart…” Sonya gingerly patted her thigh. “Stand up with me a minute.”
“Huh?…W-why? What for?”
“Just get up with me real quick.” Trish did as asked. Sonya pointed her thumb in the direction of the kitchen and radio once more.
“You know every song that’s ever been recorded. What’s that one?”
“Uh…‘Into The Night,’ by Benny…something. I dunno, I can’t remember his last name. But it’s over.”
“Exactly. Now what’s this one?…”
They paused. Trish pensively cocked her head as “Into The Night” faded out…and as a short series of warm piano chords opened the next song. It took all of two bars for the familiarity to trigger. Trish closed her eyes as she felt her heart squeeze again. As if she hadn’t been overcome by enough emotion tonight. Speaking of “Tonite”…
Sonya soothed her fingers over Trish’s cheek. She opened her mouth and took a breath, softly singing along to her.
“I know it’s late…I know you’re weary…”
Trish shook her head. “I don’t believe it…”
“I know your plans…don’t include me…”
The non-ghostly heart melted.
“…It’s our song…” The lump caught in her throat again. Sonya nodded, seeing her own eyes mirrored in Trish’s.
“It is. …May I please have this dance?”
Trishy chortled. Sonya just kept upping the emotional—and romantic—ante on her.
“Why, yes…we can dance if we want to. The night is young, and…so am I.”
So Trish and Sonya clasped opposite paws, rested their other hands on one another’s shoulders, and began to sway, to and fro. Fluff eventually returned to “dance” with them, routinely figure-eighting their gams. Just a few measures later, Trish sat her head on Sonya’s free shoulder. Sonya couldn’t blame her. The poor girl needed some rest after everything she’d been through. And as wistful and dejected as Trish still felt, dancing one more dance with her beloved, to their song…made her so happy. She wanted these blissful couple minutes to last forever. She still couldn’t believe it.
“…How’d you know??”
“It’s like I told you, baby. Some things can simply not be explained in the rational universe.”
“Hmm…y’know, Sonya, when Kenny Rogers and that Sheena what’s-her-name chick recorded this song, I couldn’t decide which one I liked better for a while. But eventually I decided: Bob Seger’s forever. The one from when we got together.”
“Totally,” Sonya whispered, just before she resumed singing along.
“…Still, here we are!…Both of us lonely…both of us lonely…
“We’ve got tonite…who needs tomorrow…”
Trish raised her head and joined in.
“Let’s make it last…let’s find a way…
“Turn out the light…come take my hand now…we’ve got tonite, babe…”
The lyrics finally clicked in Trish’s mind. She realized her eyes weren’t done. One more bitter sting of tears needed out. She cried out those last four heartbreaking words, stretching them all into multiple syllables.
“Ohhhhhh…why don’t you stayyyyy…”
Their song ended. Sadly and ironically, Sonya kissed Trish on top of the head, and lamented to her—
“I’m sorry, sweetheart…I have to go now.”
Trishy’s stained eyes opened. Her face fell.
“What?? Oh no! Sonya, why??”
To her dismay, Sonya let her go, and faded translucent again.
“I’m afraid it’s just time, Trishy. We’ll meet again soon.”
“But-but…no! I…I don’t wanna say goodbye! Please don’t go!”
Sonya let the linen billow over her limbs again, shining luminescent just as when she’d first appeared. She continued to fade.
“Don’t worry. We’ll always be together, Trish…I’ll always be with you…”
Trish wanted to run after her, but she couldn’t move. She dropped on her knees, reaching desperately to get her back.
“Sonya, honey, please don’t leave me!”
“I’ll always be with you…”
“Please!” Trish sorrowfully repeated. “Stay!”
“Always be with you…”
At last…Sonya vanished. The final vestige of a cold breeze brushed by. Trish finally had to resign herself. She slowly, slowly sank into the carpet, suddenly feeling very dizzy. She had to pay the toll the evening had taken on her. She felt her system shutting down. There was no want of a pillow or blanket. She merely settled on the floor, let her head down, shut her stingy red eyes…
…And gave up consciousness.
Total Eclipse Of The Heart (Faster Than The Speed Of Night)
Saturday, January 5th, 1985, 9:06 p.m.
Somewhere between asleep and awake, Trish Lowery flailed about, jerking her legs and reaching with both arms, amid whines and whimpers. She struggled through a stupor of turmoil and distress, until her surface of wakening was forced through. She gasped and jarred herself up, wearing a necklace of cold sweat. She could not think, see or feel through her initial disorientation. Only once she collected back her bearings did she realize what must have happened.
She heard the toilet flush. Three seconds later, a yawn floated from around the corner. Back in wandered Sonya, holding a glass of water, rolling her head around her shoulders and counting the cricks. She stumbled to the bed, rubbed an eye with a knuckle, set the water on the nightstand, and about-faced to lay back down.
“Damn,” Sonya uttered to herself, noting the time. “Long week. Guess we needed more sleep than we thought.”
Behind her, Trish took deep breaths, waiting for her heart to calm, feeling an intense surge of relief set in.
Sonya let her eyes roll back in her girlfriend’s direction.
Trish shot both arms around her and clutched on for dear life.
“Oh, thank god!”
“Errrrgh!” said Sonya, feeling herself practically crushed in a bear hug—which she quite veritably was. But her mind was taken off Trish’s vise-like embrace, as she heard weeping.
“Thank god, thank god, thank god, oh, thank god…” Trishy repetitively rejoiced. She proceeded to wrap both arms—and legs—as far and tight around Sonya as possible, covering the back of her head in kisses. Sonya felt a trifle alarmed, but concluded Trish was happy to have her back in bed. And yet…her curiosity remained less than satisfied.
“Tr—…Tr-Trishy, wha—…sweetheart, like…what on Earth’s the matter??”
Trish sighed and exhaled, loosening her grasp. She eased and coaxed her to roll over so they could speak face to face.
“Turn around, bright eyes…I really need you tonight. More than ever. Every now and then, I…kinda fall apart.”
Sonya arched her brows in a blend of heartfelt affection and amusement. She ran a hand through Trish’s puffy, fluffy hair.
“And…lemme guess: if I only hold you tonight, we’ll be holding on forever. Right, Bonnie?”
“Oh, Sonya, my baby…I just had the most heartbreaking dream I can remember in…in…ever.”
“Awww! I’m sorry, darlin’!” said Sonya. She wiped and kissed away some of Trish’s conscious tears. “What happened? Y’know, in it?”
“It was so horrible,” Trish confessed, again pulling Sonya closer until they were literally touching nose to nose. “I dreamt my stuff was all over the floor…like usual…and you got outta bed, and stubbed your toes really bad on my shoes.”
Sonya winced. “Ouch.”
“To say the least. And…you went off on me. You yelled at me, berated me, you almost kicked Fluff…and you said, ‘Fuck you, Trish.’”
“Mon dieu. How harsh of moi.”
“It gets worse. Then I got mad at you too, and you got dressed and stormed out. And, I called you a fucking bitch and screamed at you to go to hell. But…you ended up going to heaven instead, ’cause…you got hit by a car and killed. Drunk driver. Apparently, some scuzz-bucket who didn’t just say no. And I only resort to nasty names ’cause it only happened in my dream.”
Sonya’s eyes widened, making an empathetically frightened face.
“Yikes. Well, I can certainly see how losing me would positively devastate you. Not to mention virtually all of humankind.”
“So after a cop came to the door and told me, I…just lost it for a while. But…then you came to me as a ghost.”
“And…and at first it just scared the hell outta me, but then I got really sad, then really happy, then sad again, and…and…”
She blinked for varied intervals, soothing her eyes.
“It-it just…I’m just so glad it was only a dream, Sonya. Like, you have no idea how much…I…I-I realized how much I’d been taking you for granted all this time. And how dependent I am on you. And how much you actually take care of me. Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal seven years ago, but…I need to grow up, Sonya. And appreciate you. And stop being such a slob. I adore you so damn much…words won’t even do it. So…yeah.”
Sonya let her eyes dart, taking it all in.
“…Wow. That’s…quite a dream.
“Well…y’know, sweetheart, I may not love stepping or tripping on your stuff, but I don’t really mind picking up after you…y’know, unless, of course, my back’s bad or something. And I really do still enjoy taking care of you after all this time. And the cat. There’s just something really…nice and sweet about it, you thinking of me as the domestic ‘little woman’ and all. Even though we both work. And there’s some ways you take care of me too. And I also get protective, of both our place and you, Trishy. I don’t wanna make you feel like my kid or anything. Just saying, it may not happen often, but if someone gets aggressive with you, they’re gonna have to answer to me. Unless that someone is me. Like if we’re playing rough in bed or something.” She chuckled with a wink.
Trish planted eight rapid kisses down Sonya’s face: forehead, right eyelid, left eyelid, nose, right cheek, left cheek, lips, chin.
“Just…please…promise me you’ll never break up with me, Sonya. And that you’ll live forever.”
“Uhhh…I think I can promise that first one…”
“Just…just humor me, sugar bear. Just to put my mind at ease right now. Please, just do it.”
The look occupying Sonya’s face was all but impossible to describe, but she could see how important this was to Trish.
“Okay, baby. I promise.”
Trish smiled for the first time, resumed the forceful snuggle, and breathed out.
“Thank you, honey…I love you.”
“I love you too. Oh, but y’know what—while I was up, I meant to toss the laundry in the dryer. Gimme just a sec, I’ll be right back.”
She motioned to roll back over and again vacate her half of the bed, but this time would not be permitted.
“Uh, no, lady,” Trish insisted, holding on tight to her. “Maybe you didn’t totally understand me. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Not right now,” Trish told her. “Sonya, sweetie, I wasn’t kidding about how much that dream rocked my world. Maybe I’m being neurotic, but, I…just can’t be alone right now. Even if you’re just in another room. I need you here with me.”
“Just please stay with me, and be my girlfriend, Sonya. I love that you’re my girlfriend. I love that you’re in my life. I just want to say it as many times as I can, sweetheart. Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend. You’re my girl, and you’re my friend. I love you, darling.”
“Uhhh…okay. Well…I love you too, baby.”
“We’ll do the laundry later. Or do it again if we have to. Just…stay with me. Right here. Just stay. Remember what our song says. ‘We’ve got tonite, babe…why don’t you stay.’”
Sonya offered her a pleasant smile, lowering her voice to a whisper. Trish did the same.
“…Okay, Trishy…I’m all yours.”
“Oh, thank you, Sonya, thank you. I love you, you’re my sunshine…I love you so much, no matter what. Don’t ever forget that.”
One more reassuring nod.
Somewhere, deep within the suburban heart of Juniper, Minnesota, beneath the icy blanket of winter, a plain, cozy little house sat planted at 908 Silent Shadow Court, Harper County. While ordinary on the exterior, the interior was prone to the extraordinary. Somewhere, between asleep and awake, the young lovers dwelling inside believed in spirits. In the paranormal. Through these twilit rooms passed ghosts and angels, keeping watch over the living bodies secure beneath the veil of sleep. Through their dreams the ghosts and angels danced, keeping forever alive their belief. Belief beyond reality. In supernature. Magic. Heaven.
And eternal true love.