Lafayette Hills

"I don't know what's up here," Mary said, as they climbed. "Isn't that strange?"

"More bedrooms than Mr. Longley and I require, the bathroom, and not much else."

"You have so much sex downstairs," Mary said, looking over her shoulder, and she was surprised when the older woman laughed loudly.

"Yes. Yes I do."

"So much sex."

Mrs. Longley led her down a long hall, back across most of the length of the house, to the room at the end.

"The energy in here is different," Mary said, shuffling her feet across the carpet. "It washed over me as soon as I entered."

"You feel it too?" Mrs. Longley said. "I knew it."

"It's not bad, it's just... different. Like a cool blue to the warm orange of downstairs."

"That's exactly what I was thinking," the older woman said, with her hand held to her chest. "Here."

She pointed to the vast bed, and Mary crawled onto it. Mrs. Longley moved around to the far side, shifted her pillows to support her in a leaning position, and then settled in on top of the cover. One bedside lamp was on, and another light in the hall came in as well. It was darker, but not so dim that Mary couldn't see clearly.

"So," Mrs. Longley said crisply. "You have questions. Ask."

"What should I ask about?"

"The cards said I was supposed to help you, so it should probably be something I can speak to with authority." Again, her hand went to her throat. Her fingertips ran gently across the skin, sometimes ranging as far down as her smooth, prominent collarbone. "Tell me, are you still a virgin?"

"Yes," Mary said, nodding.

"And you've never had sex before? Anything close?"

Mary shook her head.

"The scenes you write... I don't mind admitting that I've masturbated to them."

Mary took a sharp breath, her eyes widening. "Ohh," she whispered.

"They have a lot of flavor, and your eye for detail ensures a lot of juicy images, but they do lack in other areas. Tell me, what do you know about sex?"

Mary blinked. "The penis goes into the vagina."

Mrs. Longley laughed, and after a moment Mary did too.

"I feel silly putting it like that."

"No," Mrs. Longley said, letting her fingers drift down into the open space at the center of her chest. "No, it's a good answer. After all, sex serves a very specific purpose in procreation. The perpetuation of the species."

"But for you," Mary said slowly, "it's more about... recreation, right?"

"Exactly," Mrs. Longley said. Her tongue ran over her lips again. "God is good, and in his wisdom he has made sex extremely pleasurable. Nerve endings placed just so, here and there, that ignite the brain when stimulated."

"Wow," Mary said, breathily. Her entire body convulsed just listening.

"There are common denominators, of course. The head of the penis. The clitoris. The nipples." The older woman drawled the last, and let her fingertips slide beneath the robe to her breast. "But then there are the unique ones. For example." She reached up with her other hand and touched at the base of her neck again. "If someone were to kiss me, right here, at the corner? Why, I might bend over for him right then and there."

Mary gasped, and then laughed in shock. For her part, Mrs. Longley seemed to enjoy the reaction, and the hand under her robe began to move in little circles.

"What purpose could pleasure at the neck serve? Certainly no man would try to put his penis there?"

Mary ran her hands across the bedspread, gripping and squeezing, and that too seemed to make the older woman's smile widen.

"So you see, sex for pleasure's sake is a natural conclusion of the body. We feel good when engaged."

"So good," Mary whispered, as she moved her hands to her own legs.

"But there's more still. Mr. Stevens, a married man with children. His wife is quite comely, don't you think?"

Mary blinked. "Yes," she said, after a moment's consideration. "She's... lovely."

"And yet the man finds himself here." The older woman spread her legs, with each foot laid flat against the bed and her knees raised and bent. One hand moved down to rest over her generous, dark hair, and she tapped her fingers at the apex of her cleft just as she said the word 'here'. "I assure you, I am not so different than his wife on an anatomical level. I am warm, and wet when touched, as I imagine she is despite Allan's claims of frigidity, so why then?"

Mary blinked, and it felt like a long moment passed. "I don't know."

"Because we all want things we aren't supposed to have," Mrs. Longley purred.

The words passed right through Mary's heart, and she exhaled slowly as she put a hand over it.

"The cookie jar on the top shelf. The green grass on the other side of the fence. The married woman."

Mary nodded, noticing that both of Mrs. Longley's hands were moving. Her eyes were drawn to it, and she watched as the older woman pleasured herself.

"Have you ever masturbated, Mary?"

Mary nodded. "I do, yes. Mother says I shouldn't, but.. Sometimes. At night."

"After you've watched me?"

"Sometimes," Mary said, feeling a flush of heat in her cheeks. "At night."

"There's a word for those things which we aren't supposed to enjoy, my dear. The things that others have decided we should deprive ourselves of, but which we cannot keep from our minds. We call them 'taboo'."

"Taboo," Mary repeated. "Oh, I like the way that word feels when I say it. Ta-booo."

"It's wonderful," Mrs. Longley exclaimed, as her middle and ring fingers slid down and in. "Other people have decided these things for you, Mary. Society, religion... your parents. But I say you should decide those things for yourself. No one knows you better than you, Mary. You are in control of your own life."

"I am in control of my own life." It felt wonderful to say, but she realized just after saying it that it also felt wonderful in a very tactile way and she gasped when she looked down and realized she was fondling herself. Her hand, pressed over her heart only moments before, had slid down and around her modest flesh while her thumb was working slowly over her nipple through the fabric.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Mary said softly.

"It shouldn't have to be more complicated than that." The older woman removed her fingers, middle and ring fingers pressed together while her pinky and index were curled outward at angles, and slid the two wet fingers into her mouth.

"How does that taste?" Mary asked, her eyes transfixed on the older woman's lips.

"Vaginas in general, or mine specifically?"

Mary's cheeks flushed greatly at that. "I-in general," she stammered.

"You should find that out for yourself," the older woman said. "But all in due time. Tell me, Mary, how do you feel?"

"I feel good," Mary replied.

"Take stock of your body. Take a moment. How do you feel?"

Mary breathed in slowly through her nose and rolled her head back. "My neck hurts. It's always sore."

"You spend a lot of time hunched over while writing, don't you?"

"Yes," Mary whispered.

"Come here."

Mrs. Longley patted the space in front of her, and Mary moved across the bed without hesitation. She turned, sitting cross-legged with her hands on her knees, and found that she could feel her clothes in a way that she'd never felt before. The way they covered her, protected her, and kept her warm, left her feeling so grateful for them.

"Here," Mrs. Longley said, producing a silk scarf from her nightstand and tying it around a fistful of Mary's massive curls in a rough approximation of a ponytail. As soon as that was done Mary became aware of the cool night air on her skin again, and it was even more pronounced for how infrequently she felt that on the back of her neck.

That first moment, when Mrs. Longley touched her, was a revelation. Mary could pick out all ten fingertips as they pressed into her neck. They moved, leaving traces in their wake, around and over her upper back. Pushing and swirling. Kneading.

"There's a knot there... and another one."

Mary gave a low moan, as the older woman's fingers merged with her back, and in the melding there was such joy. Such relief. Mary's head fell forward, chin tucked against her chest, as knot after knot broke apart under an expert touch. Mary became aware of the fact that she was rocking to and fro, humming softly as she did, and giggled to herself.

"That's a beautiful song," Mrs. Longley whispered over her shoulder. "Are you making that up as you go?"

"Yes," Mary said sheepishly.

"It's as lovely as its creator."

Mary giggled again.

"Here," Mrs. Longley said. "Raise your arms."

Mary dutifully followed instructions, and thought nothing of her shirt being lifted except that it felt amazing as the cotton brushed over her skin. With so much more of her upper back exposed, Mary could feel the older woman's breath caressing her back. Mrs. Longley's thumbs continued to press deep.

After a few minutes of glorious sensations, Mrs. Longley shifted to sit closer, and brought both of her legs out and around beside Mary. Cradling her. Mary could not stop herself from reaching down and running her fingers along the older woman's legs. Tracing along the tendons behind the knees, or the outline of her calf. Drawing circles along the inside of her thigh.

"That feels amazing," Mrs. Longley purred.

"That just makes me want to do it more," Mary said. "Isn't that strange?"

"You dear, sweet girl. It's not strange at all. This is you connecting with someone else. I told you that you weren't a stone." The older woman's lips pressed against the base of her neck, and Mary shivered. "You're flesh and blood, like the rest of us."

"I am," Mary slurred.

"But you're so much more as well, Mary. So much more. I can't believe I found such a beautiful gem in the middle of this wasteland, let alone one so criminally overlooked."

With a little pressure on her shoulders, drawing her, Mary leaned back into the older woman. The robe was gone, and there was nothing between them. Both hardened nipples pressed into her skin near her shoulder blades. She fell into the warmth of it completely, and arms enveloped her like a blanket.

"Your skin, Mary, it's incredible. Can you feel how soft you are?"

"I can," Mary said, fondling both of her breasts. Her eyes drifted shut, and she moaned louder when the older woman reached down beneath her panties and shorts. The warmth there was even more incredible. "Oh God, I can."

"Focus on that feeling," Mrs. Longley whispered, her lips grazing the very edge of Mary's ear. "Live inside of it."

"I am love," Mary replied weakly, and in that moment the touching became so much more.

She parted her legs, opening herself to the moment both literally and metaphorically. Two fingers moved in circles around her clit, and that glorious note played a sweet harmony to the feeling she gave herself playing with her nipples. It never occurred to her to bare her breasts because the cotton material between nipple and thumb was giving a sensation all its own, and the sensations were already verging on more than Mary could handle.

Best of all, though, was the labored breath in her ear. Mrs. Longley said nothing, whispered nothing, and Mary did not need her to. They were existing in such close proximity that just the minute variations in breath, drawn faster one moment and exhaled slower the next, were a novel unto themselves.

On and on, the touch continued, varying in pace and direction but unwavering in intent. All of her energy was collapsing in on itself, and the result it would lead to was so plain that Mary was surprised it wasn't literally written all over the walls of the room.

She had a singularity. A perfect moment of oneness between her mind and body. Her entirety, from her curly hair to her tightly curled toes, was humming at the same exact frequency, and the sound became light, became music, became Mary.

Strong arms held her, encompassed her. Legs entwined with her own. Skin against skin, with nothing but sweat between them. After a time they rolled as one, and Mary burrowed back into the curled shape of the beautiful woman who shared the bed with her. Arms and legs interlaced in a pattern more complex than any weaver could match, and even in the middle of that cocoon of flesh, the touching continued. It had never really stopped, but Mary had definitely stopped noticing it after a while.

Fingertips moved slowly, searching and probing. Mary pictured herself as a vast, unexplored land full of mountains and valleys. Of deep rivers and dark woods. An enigma desperate to be solved.

After a while, Mary became aware that she had been moaning almost non-stop. She didn't want to stop, because it felt good, but behind that awareness crept a sliver of doubt. A pale shadow in a realm of light.

"It's nearly ten o'clock," Mrs. Longley whispered, drawing Mary back down to the world of words, and rules, and time. She had seen beyond those things, however briefly, and they left an impression on her as she sat up. Mary had tasted something new.

"Thank y—" Mary coughed to clear her throat, finding it rough and her voice hoarse, and the older woman laughed musically.

"Come. Let's get you some water and get you home."

Mary grabbed her shirt and pulled it back on over her head, struggling briefly as she was reminded that her nest of curls was tied up. She went to remove the scarf, but the older woman caught her hand and stopped her.

"Take it," she said. "Keep it."

Mary looked back at her, wide-eyed, and nodded. Mrs. Longley retrieved her robe from where she'd discarded it beside the bed and slipped it on over her body, but not before Mary took a long look. In that moment, Mary's definition of the world beautiful was permanently changed.

Mrs. Longley ushered her downstairs. In the kitchen, the two of them shared a glass of water. Neither she nor the older woman said anything, but Mary felt like she understood the looks she was being given. The text and the subtext. The nuances in the way Mrs. Longley glanced at her legs. The older woman's robe was still untied, and Mary could not help but stare down in appreciative jealousy at the thick hair of a full grown woman. It even seemed that she was leaning against the counter in such a way as to show it off to Mary.

With a nod between them, she followed Mary to the front door, only wrapping the robe across her front completely at the last moment.

Mary floated home. She could feel her faculties and senses returning to normal, but the memory of it burned so brightly in her mind's eye. It wasn't until she set foot in the door of her parents home that her feet even touched the ground.

"Mary?" her mother called. "Is that you?"

"Yes." Mary replied. "It is."

After a long pause, her mother asked, "Are you okay?"

"Very okay. I think I'm going to go to bed now."

"Wash up first."

Each step up the stairs felt more grounded, and by the time she stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, Mary felt completely exhausted. She brushed her teeth and washed her face, and removed the scarf just before turning the lights out. The long piece of silk fabric still smelled like Mrs. Longley, and Mary fell asleep holding it tightly to her chest.

***

Gregor crouched, low behind the hedge, as the watchmen pair passed by. The crunch of their thick-heeled boots served well for a sounder, and after they turned a corner the boy made his move. 'Cross the pathway, over the fence, and onto the terrace.

The layout was just as the map he'd been given suggested, and in no time at all Gregor was running his hands over the brick face, looking for the one to press. He found it in short order, popping the latch, and the secret door swung inward. The door was much harder to close than it was to open, and doubly to do so quietly, but within a minute he was on his way. Counting his steps. He felt the trip wire on the floor, exactly where they said it would be, with his left foot, and stepped over it with care.

All his efforts to memorize the path paid off as he found himself behind the painting faster than they'd said would be possible, looking through a tiny slit in the canvas. Barely the height of a blade and no wider than his thumb. In the absolute dark in the passageway, it was easy to simply align his eye and wait.

The signal was subtle. A handhold on the inside of the darkened corridor, turned gently. Not too fast. They'd been very clear on that. After a slow count of one hundred, he repeated the motion, and stopped when he heard the echo of musical laughter from deeper within the estate. Coming closer.

"I can't," the voice laughed. A woman's voice. Her voice, most likely. "You know I can't!"

"Surely you have not led me all this way for naught," replied a man. "Surely not."

"Though the world beyond these walls may be crumbling, sir, I assure you that you my propriety is not."

"Come now!" the man pleaded. Both voices, much nearer. Just in the hall out of sight. "I am just a man! You cannot leave me this way!"

The woman backed into the archway and reached out in both directions to grab the doors, but her head was cocked ever so slightly. Shoulder lowered. Presenting a kind of demureness even as she stood her ground.

"Then," the woman said, drawing the doors in slightly, "speaking to the man you claim to be, I must prevail upon your inestimable sense of honor and limitless patience."

He protested wordlessly but the woman shut the door, without allowing him more than that, before turning to face the room. Her attire was stunning; a cream colored gown that fit her tight across the bodice before flaring outwards nearly to the floor in a cascade of fineries. After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked right at the painting. Gregor held his breath, though he knew there was no reason to be so afraid. She had to know he was there, but still, there was something arresting about her gaze.

She glided across the floor, hardly seeming to possess any sort of bounce in her gait, and the wall in front of him swept open. Gregor's eyes were not prepared for the rush of light, for though the sun had set and the room was only lit by candle, the candles were numerous.

"Gregor?" the woman said softly, and when Gregor nodded, she continued by saying, "I've heard much. Your timing is... fortuitous."

Gregor opened his mouth to reply, but the tall woman grabbed his arm 'round the biceps, pulled him out into the light, and dragged him over to a darkened corner of the room.

"We haven't much time," she said briskly. "Quick. Behind here."

She reached out with her other hand and pulled a sheer curtain away from the wall, and Gregor pressed himself flat. He could see through the curtain, partially, as the material was sheer, and thought it either good luck or careful design that the corner of the room where he stood was not well lit, rendering him indistinguishable.

"Watch," she whispered.

Gregor nodded, but the woman had already turned and walked away. 'Surely,' he thought to himself, 'this is her.'

She deftly unlaced her bodice, pulling strings here and there, and in less time than Gregor imagined possible the woman had rid herself of the massive garment. Her shift was discarded even more quickly, and Gregor had to slap both of his hands over his mouth to keep quiet. The woman had disrobed down to nothing, right there in front of him.

She was surprisingly tall, moving gracefully on long legs. Her rump was the curviest part of her, as her breasts were quite small. Her limbs showed little musculature, a privilege of her status, while the rest of her seemed somehow more angular.