Sadie Hawkins Day

by Sydney Michelle

 

Chapter Eight

 

"The allegory of the creation and union of man and woman illustrates an important point. A wife was not created from one of Adam's foot bones, to be trampled underfoot. Nor was she created from a piece of his skull, springing forth like Diana to spurn him and rule over him. Rather she was created from his side, that she might stand beside him, and be given shelter under his arm, and support him when he is weak, that she might truly be a partner and a helpmate, each supporting and rejoicing in the joys of the other. So may it always be."

We might have been willing but that didn't mean we weren't nervous. Four couples stood at the Stud Center, not a tux in the bunch. Every face in evening make up without looking like a ten spot would buy a good time. Even the girls were nervous since it just hit them that they would be seen dancing with other girls.

Jan had the best hair, or at the least most elaborate, a mass of strawberry blonde spiral curls perched atop his head, spilling down onto his forehead. Except for the hair, he was very demure, Drew having watched one too many Grace Kelly movies. Bare shoulder and back, he has a great back, were hidden under a little wrap, a crossed halter snapped behind his neck giving the illusion of a bosom. With mid-length gloves and chandelier earrings, he was the image of the debutante waiting to have her fire lit.

I had the best formal, an emerald green number with bare shoulders and a side split skirt that showed just the tiniest bit of midriff if I did a full stretch. My auburn hair was full enough to fill above my ears but drawn under a mass of ringlet curls just before my crown. Tendrils coiled before my ears, at my nape, and from my temples. Thelma had chosen elbow length gloves in blue that complemented rather than matched the color of my gown.

Jean was the most eye catching. A mass of small spiral curls perched on his crown. He wore a fiery red full skirted dress with matching shoes and opera length gloves. The bodice covered what wasn't really there, with broad straps pulled off his shoulders. There was plenty of sparkle, rhinestones hung from his ears, and a broad rhinestone bracelet encircled his wrist. If any of us would win the top prize besides me, it would be Jean. But I had practiced.

Jodi had the best jewelry, thanks to Shelby, a pearl necklace and a matching four strand bracelet over elbow length gloves. We guessed he would finish barely in the money since he looked nice but was too nervous and shy to go for flash. His white empire dress complemented the softly sweet hairdo, but the overall effect was a little too innocent.

Our women were in dark gowns, since they were the evening's escorts. The wore short white gloves but carried no purses since we had the duty. Only Shelby was in pants, full black crepe under a beaded bolero jacket. Her mid-back golden hair was in a French Roll that climbed over her crown on a slightly pouffed base. Blake wore deep wine red in a straight line skirt, her black hair braided and coiled in an elaborate chignon covering the back of her head. Drew was in cobalt blue, a striking background for her auburn, be honest, red, hair. Drew's curly locks had been tamed with gel so small strands could be worked into a continuous braid for a broad snood for her locks. Jeweled pins highlighted the seam. It was simple but breathtaking. Nikki's shoulder length brown hair was in a French Twist that moved across the back of her head to blend with an asymmetric wave off her bare brow. She was in a long version of the basic black dress, the perfect contrast to Jean's spectacular look.

When people began to mill around us, we took deep breaths and walked in. Our tickets were for participants, so we were issued round stickers for our backs. We were numbers twenty through twenty-three. As the ballroom filled, we realized that most of the couples were dressed in college formal: the tee shirts had band tour logos and weren't ripped. There was a smattering of males doing something, usually scarves or skirts, but you could count the number of couples where both looked feminine on two hands. So we were sure to win something, but it also meant we stuck out.

The punch bowl and the cash bar were virtually off limits. Too much liquid in, and the urge to let it out would be irresistible. There was no way we could get out of and back into our outfits without an army of dressers. Besides, which restroom would we use? Event or no, the cracks we would get in the restroom would certainly be cruder than the ones we got on the floor.

The judges were easy to spot: they wore red circles and carried notebook computers. They made a point of introducing themselves to each entrant, talking awhile just to check us out. The final judging would be at eleven. They assured us we could slip out if we changed our minds; just let registration know so they didn't try to call us up. The last one told Blake the participant count was up to fifty. The prospect of a free Spring Break had overcome a lot of inhibitions.

We were dancing a slow dance, following Thelma's instructions when we spotted them. There were three couples, blonde, blonder, and flaxen. We gravitated together in self-protection. The guys, identifiable by their voices, were drama majors, multi-year participants in the student kickline. Wining a vacation was going to be tougher than we thought. The smallest, Dave, was really cute, honey blonde hair falling in big curls on his shoulders, done up like a cheerleader from Best Little Whorehouse. He even bounced in the right places. Our only comfort was we agreed they were a little too dramatic.

The good thing about meeting them was that it expanded our circle for trading dances. We had been approached a few times too many, Okay, twice, by couples where the guy wanted to dance with me and the girl with Blake.

We danced, and talked, and eyed one another. When you're in a gown and a 'do, you gain an appreciation for why women talk about clothes and hair. It's either that or who's doing what with whom, and we weren't on good enough terms for that. Once we exhausted the "Do you know?" gambit, and avoided sports since we were conference rivals, that didn't leave much else. We talked for a good ten minutes about the tricks lighting plays on choosing the proper shades of makeup, but unless you're a makeup artist, that's about all the time that's good for.

I didn't ask whether the couples were steady items, but Talullah, Dave's date, certainly had roving hands. She wasn't shy about dipping me either. I made a point of saying, "I'm taken," and sticking close to Blake after that. I noticed the others rubbing their tails as well. Drama majors! Their reputation for random randiness is exceeded only by religion majors.

A dozen participating couples occupied a long table when the band broke at eleven. Four were definitely in the "lark" category. We guessed there might be twenty serious contenders for the prizes. When the Mistress of Ceremonies took the mike I was more relieved than nervous. Soon, I was going to be out of those heels and get a much needed bladder break.

"Good evening, Ladies and Ladies!"

Lord spare us! She thought she was a comic! Blake squeezed my hand and kissed my cheek for luck.

"Welcome to ESU's fourth biannual Sadie Hawkin's Dance and our first 'I Enjoy Being a Girl" pageant." She droned on, thanking everyone but the janitors, introducing the judges, and hogging the limelight. The natives were getting restless. "You're ready for our main attraction: the DAMES? Here to bring them up, is our own Nellie Forbush and her own sweet Honey Buns!"

They wouldn't, but they did. South Pacific will never be the same. A petite blonde in a curly bob and too big sailor suit waltzed out of the wings, dragging along a guy who looked like he played linebacker. In the pros. He had the grass skirt, the cocoanut bra, the yellow dye mop wig and a huge joke cigar. The audience roared its approval.

Honey Buns grabbed the mike. "Hello, Ladies and Germs." He waggled the cigar and was off. It was so bad it was good. They did the Hope Oscar introduction, complete with the "short undelivered acceptance speech" on a toilet paper roll. They launched a list of thank you's from unfolding computer paper. They did the "that's your line" routine off an invisible Teleprompter.

"But Bob, Honey Buns, the crowd wants to see something really exciting."

"What about my tee shot? That's always exciting."

"Only if you like ducking for cover. What they want to see are the GIRLS!"

The audience whooped and hollered, chanted: "Bring on the girls! Bring on the girls!"

"We have girls?"

"Why Bob, Honey Buns, we have more girls than guys here tonight."

"Sounds like my kinda place, Nellie. We should meet here more often."

"But Bob, my boyfriend will get suspicious if we keep meeting like this!"

"Why did you think I wore this disguise? He'll never know me in this get up."

"One look at you, and he'll spray the area. He's a machine gunner you know."

"A machine gunner? Maybe I should leave?"

"It's Okay. Every night we're together he shoots off lots of blanks."

You could have flown ocean liners with the eye bats she got in.

"Why not come to my tent afterwards and we can exchange beauty tips?"

"I don't know if I should. You know why girls always stand close to you?"

"Because I'm handsome? Debonair? Make almost as much as Bing?"

"Because close to you, it's never a lie to say, 'I'm the pretty one!'"

At least the humor let us relax. We were just part of the show.

The "Message from Major Hindquarters of Headquarters" was the magic envelope.

"You better read this, Honey Buns."

"The story of my life. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride. But here they are, in no particular order . . ."

Dave's number was the first called. He bounced up on stage to hoots and hollers, strutting all the way. He even did a jumping jack split before he came to rest behind "Honey Buns" and "Nellie." At least there was the half-price condo with air fare.

Jan's number was next. He floated up the steps, turned, smiled big, and did a perfect curtsey. The crowd went wild.

Jean was called up two later. At the top of the stairs, he did a little kick turn that showed an ankle in a red strap pump and you would have thought he had done a full frontal. What had they put in the punch anyway?

I was sixth up. Besides doing the hand over the mouth bit and hugging the rest of the table, my mind went blank. All I could remember was look at the audience and smile, smile, smile! I sashayed completely across the stage and had to promenade back behind the announcers.

Jodi's number was the last called. His entrance was demure, proper, head erect. The look in his eyes, if you were close enough to see, was that he preferred to be anywhere else. The return of the drummer beating out the runway beat to Stripper and the crowd shouting, "Take it off! Take it all off!" didn't help any.

We clustered together squeezing hands through our gloves. A quick glance found there wasn't a joke on stage. Two of the drama majors made the cut. There were only two contestants who looked overdone.

The announcers swung back into work, calming the crowd with patter and jokes. The final ranking would be based on our appearance and poise and the crowd reaction.

"It sounds, Nellie, like the natives are restless."

"Don't worry, Honey Buns. I'll protect you."

"Speak for yourself and don't do a fellah any favors."

"Now each lovely contestant will introduce herself to the troops. The kiss line starts outside at the stage door."

"I should leave so they can finish for the troops. Don't restrain yourselves, girls."

"Sorry, Honey Buns. They all came with escorts tonight."

"Curses, Nellie! Foiled again!"

"Call the numbers, Bob."

We were called forward in the same order. If there had been an applause meter, Dave would have wrung the needle off. He did fine until one last jumping jack. He slipped, fell in a heap. He tried to recover, to make it seem planned, but his hobble betrayed a turned ankle.

Jan was the picture of sophistication, raising a gloved hand to shade his eyes as if from a hangover. "Good evening, everybody. I'm Jan, and I'm fine. And you're fine, too. Are you having a good time? Isn't Newport wonderful?" The crowd roared. "That's wonderful." He turned to Nellie and Honey Buns. "And you're wonderful. Have you seen Bing or Frank? Are you having a good time? That's wonderful, too. We're all wonderful. 'It's so wonderful, the second time you fall.' Oh!? What would Nikki say? It's not yar. But I'm good at polishing bright work. Goodnight everybody. Have a wonderful time. I am." Jan swirled around, the picture of High Society.. The crowd clamored for more.

When Jean's number was called, he floated to the mike. In that breathless voice, he intoned, "I'm Jean, Norma Jean. I just want to say how wonderful it is to be here for all of you tonight, 'cause 'A kiss on the hand may quite Continental, but diamonds are a girl's best friend.' You know girls, 'Pear shaped or square shaped, these rocks don't loose their shape' do they?" He drew fingers up from his waist over his bust and up into the air. He blew a pursed lips kiss off his glove. "Doesn't the cool air feel wonderful?" He hunched his shoulders, lifted his skirt and gave the material a shake before turning back. He looked back, dropped a shoulder strap down to his elbow. "Ooops! A girl could give a fellah the wrong impression." He made a perfect moue and the crowd was standing. So he's a brunette instead of a blonde, they didn't care.

I barely had time to think. Talent wasn't supposed to be part of the judging but my buddies had practiced on the sly and the crowd was with them. Dave, despite the fall, was a hot item. If I didn't do something, it would be a gift certificate at some pizza place.

"Number Twenty-one!" That was me.

"Hi! My name is Jaimie! What's yours? I just have to say, 'And if you're real good, I'll make you feel good, I want your spirits to climb." I turned, raised an arm and peeled a glove, dropping it behind me. I walked back, my behind giving a little twitch. I pivoted and dropped the best curtsy of the evening. The crowd held nothing back. It wasn't much, but for spur of the moment, it was pretty good.

Billie, the other drama major, was after me. He looked a little shook and I guess he was. He was tall, with flaxen braids drawn over his head, the bier halle fraulein to a tee, including bulges over a low cut ruffly blouse. The use of something from the Drama department besides tape helped that along. The look didn't quite work with his Blue Angel Dietrich. He struggled. There were hoots and whistles, but it just didn't quite work.

Jodi was stiff as a board, suffering from terminal stage fright. We comforted her without being obvious about it before the call for "Miss Twenty-three!" He didn't have anything prepared, and he wasn't about to wing it. He stood at the mike, looking over the audience until it quieted down. "Hello." You could have heard a pin drop. "I'm Jodi."

Some clown had to shout, "How's Hannibal?"

Jodi shuddered, waited for the laughter to die. "I wish I had her money, and so do you."

"You tell him, girl," rang out from the back.

"I, I don't have anything prepared. I just want to say . . ." Jodi swallowed big. "I want to say that it's been an incredible experience. I wasn't sure I would do this when Shelby, she's my girlfriend, suggested it, but I've learned a lot about how the other half lives. Shelby, I'll never complain about you being late for a date again. It's really hard guys, getting all gussied up. I never really appreciated how hard until now." Jodi stepped back, returned to the mike. "Thank you."

For awhile there was silence, then a few claps, then a rippling of applause. It wasn't thunderous, and I suspect it was mostly from the women, but at least it was applause.

"While we await the judges' decision, we have our own 'Singin' Swabbies.' Hit it, guys."

And out they came to There Is Nothin' Like a Dame. In campy drag. Honey Buns led the kick line. It gave us time to assure Jodi that she had been fine. Then the big moment, another message from "Major Hindquarters." This time Nellie read the results, from tenth to first, so Honey Buns could present the roses. The overdones went first, then a fellow who had done 'Enry 'Iggins. Billie was next, he really needed better material. Then Jodi. Sincerity hadn't made the top five, but dinner for four at River Bend was nothing to sneeze at.

Dave was next. Apparently his flop had cost presentation points. Then Cristin, an Oriental with a N'Awlins accent who had crooned I Enjoy Being a Girl, took fourth. With a shiny French Twist and a red thigh split skirt dress with a Mandarin collar, somebody sure was. We clasped hands. However it came out, we had the condos nailed.

"Third place, with dinner for eight at The Briars, a hundred dollar gift certificate at Dillon's, a seventy five dollar gift certificate at Cunningham's and a year's regular maintenance at Ron's Service, goes to . . ." What was keeping her? "Twenty-one, Miss Jaimie!"

My heart sank. I walked forward smiling. I had really thought I would get one of the condo prizes. I took my eight roses, the gift envelopes, smiled and waved, and stepped back into the shadows. At least I would know better next time. Next time? Not on your life!

"Second place, air fare and s deep discount on a week's stay in an ocean front condo at The Breakers in Pensacola, Florida, goes to. But if for any reason our beautiful winner is unable to fulfill her duties during her reign, . . ."

"What are those, Nellie?"

"Gee, Honey Buns, I don't know. But I'm sure she'll do her duty tonight. Anyway the second place winner is . . ." Jan and Jean held their hands and breaths. "Number Twenty-two, Miss Jan!"

Jean did the whole open mouthed teary eyed bit. Winning is winning, and in this case it meant he would be a real winner for an entire week. We would share, but she and Nikki would get air fare and a car rental, the whole nine yards. Damn that Marilyn imitation!

Jean accepted his certificates and a full dozen roses. The Mistress of Ceremonies reappeared. Jean bent down to be draped in an oversized pink satin sash and have a small crown pinned in front of his curls. It was one of those little Halloween Princess costume affairs, but Jean was as proud of that as if were real platinum and diamonds. The whole affair ended with us parading across the stage, waving to the crowd, as the band played Here She Is. Our women crowded around the stair off the stage.

There was one more dance, a slow dance Queen Jean and Nikki had to lead. After the Ball Is Over was sung by a real girl, and then it was. We and the drama majors parted company, headed to our own private parties. Talullah helped Dave limp off, promising to "kiss it and make it all better." I hope he held her to that.

At the condo, the first order of business was getting out of layers of boning and latex. The toilet lines were next before getting into something more comfortable, and out to garner real appreciation. Jean still had on his sash and little crown but we were in no mood to tease our Queen. In a way, we had all won those little pieces of tin and satin, and we weren't about to belittle them.

When the women produced a spread and wine, we realized we were hungry. No wonder there used to be post event suppers! Timing was everything, and the opportunity to take a squat was limited until the evening was done. We ate, and we laughed, and we relived the evening's triumph and consoled Jodi. Our women kissed us and told us we were special and beautiful, and we didn't mind being called beautiful one bit.

When the nibbling turned to us, we learned a whole new set of lessons about the pleasure of being seduced. Blake kissed her way from my palm to my elbow. When her tongue probed its hollow, my breath went away. I didn't swoon, but I couldn't have stopped her if I had wanted to. I got a quick glimpse of each of us being nuzzled by his woman, neck, shoulder, back. Each of us succumbed willingly to her advances. Ball bearings for heels? You better believe it. We had earned our rewards and we were going to enjoy every delicious moment of it.

 

§§

 

The next morning started late. It wasn't even morning when Jan and I began fixing breakfast. Our hair was tangled, hair pieces still in, our faces shiny where we had freshly removed makeup. We had on thin robes and low heeled sandals. We looked like a couple of girls the cats had drug in, but we had big smiles on our faces that wouldn't quit.

"Sleep tight?"

"Who slept?"

"Me either. Maybe a little." Jan turned to the fridge. He had big red pucker marks below his nape.

"Jan?"

"Uh-huh?"

"You been sleeping with an octopus? There's more marks back here than you can count."

Jan smiled. Obviously there were good memories. Very good memories. "Drew likes my back. I like that she likes it. What she does makes a girl feel really appreciated."

"Girl?"

"Whatever. It's nice being pretty and appreciated. I've never been so drained in my life. I want to do it all over again."

Ever since, Jan has really been into updos. He loves baring his nape and shoulder so Drew can hold him from behind, nibble bare skin and turn him into a moaning minx. Don't get me wrong, I like a neck nibble myself. I'm partial to French Twists, but he's really into it. Blondes must want more fun, especially ones who are honey or strawberry blonde depending on how the light hits it, but if this red-head were having any more fun, he would die, just die.

"Jaimie, let's not go back tonight."

"What about class?"

"I don't have anything important tomorrow. How about you?"

"Not really."

"Let's stay over. It's Valentine's." Jan cracked an egg before looking up, "What we've got going here is much more important. For the rest of our lives."

Who was I to disagree?

 

§§

 

We managed to get to Transformations that afternoon for a touch up, more of a do over. We had a ton of toner on our faces and necks trying to hide our hickies. Loretta was off, so Josephine took on Jan and me. Adelaide was in seventh heaven. One of her girls had won the big prize and she had to hear all about it. She made us promise to provide copies of our prom pics so they could see the full effect of our gowns.

Every employee made a point of coming by to congratulate us. Adelaide even phoned the owner, Mrs. Holder, who sent back congratulations. I was just happy to snooze under the dryer. Jodi and I were last up for our combouts. When Josephine turned me around to work my side, I was surprised to see Jodi sitting under a ball of hair, Adelaide back combing for dear life.

"You want it really big today, Sweetheart?"

"Yes I do. I felt under done last night."

The finished 'do was big alright: a ball of overlapping petal curls, sprayed so stiff they wouldn't move in a hurricane. Jodi was pleased, saying Shelby wasn't going to have a shy mouse if it killed him. His lipstick was several shades brighter and we swore his sweater stuck out a little more leaving than going in. When the light was right, he looked definitely blonde.

We felt very domestic and romantic. We had never thought of those two going together before, but that night they did. A trip to the grocery set us up to prepare supper for our women. We figured out a way to have separate tables in the condo. We were all ready to cook gourmet, thanks to the freezer and micro wave. Each of us really planned to be the main course, but it's the thought that counts.

We shooed the women out to give us time to prepare. Putting everything in it at once and putting the nuke a couple of notches below the recommended level gives a girl time to get ready. I hadn't had enough sleep, but was I ever ready. Under an A-line sheath, I had on a black corselet waist nipper, a black garter belt holding up seamed stockings under French cut, side tie panties, and a black tricot nylon slip that ended above my knees. I had on new high heels, my hair was swept up, and I was powdered and perfumed. I was ready for action, and Blake damn well wasn't going to have any doubts about it.

The other girls, and for one more night we were our women's girls, were similarly ready. We didn't look the same of course, but none of our women was going to hear, "Not tonight. I have a headache." They had pursued and seduced us last night; tonight we would return the favor.

The tables were set, a single rose on each, candles lit. The china wasn't fine, and it didn't even match. There were wine glasses and napkins. The lights were dim and there was music from the stereo. The food was hot and so were we.

Our women hit the door just as the CD changed tracks. It couldn't have been more appropriate: Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets. We took the sacks from their hands and danced with them the way we had wanted to last night, cozy and up close. We sat them down, and pampered them, and fussed over them, and kissed them in places they had shown us would start the juices flowing. The music was slow, but pulses raced as we served and fed them.

Blake stole away long enough to catch her breath, empty her bladder and fetch a couple of boxes. I glanced around the room. Each of us waited for our woman to return. We had huge smiles on our faces. We were lucky, we knew it, and we were about to get even luckier.

"It's not much, Sugar-Bear, what with getting you ready. Besides, we need to save up. Know I love you, and I appreciate what you did to get ready for last night."

In one box was a pair of baguette half circle earrings. The other held a rhinestone leaf shaped hair clasp.

"Oh, Blake they're perfect! Put them on me? Please?"

It's amazing how your lover's fingers brushing your neck makes your navel flutter. I bent my head so she could slide the clasp into the hair above my ear. Her warmth spilled off her breasts onto my shoulders. The nearness of her was unbearable.

Done, she looked down. I looked up. Our eyes closed, our lips parted, met. My fingers stole to the back of her head, stroking her thick chignon, caressing her nape. Her hands grasped my shoulders, lifting me up.

We never did get to desert.

 

Chapter Nine

 

"If any persons should know of just cause why these two should not be joined in Holy wedlock, let them speak now or forever hold your peace."

Okay, now's the time for clowns and confetti. It's all really a joke, right? Then we'll have one whale of a party and I'm going to go off and be a nice, sane, single librarian. What's everybody waiting for? An invitation? She just gave you one!

Jan takes my bouquet, she and Blake steady me as I kneel. She straightens my skirt, then stands back eyes gleaming.

". . . Enable them to grow in love and peace with Thee and one another all of their days, that they may reach out in love and service to the world; . . ."

"Do we have everything?"

"We better. There's barely room for us to squeeze in with all Jan's hair."

"It's not much, just two pieces. You've got a hairpiece for everyone else."

"And a box for the cascade you're wearing. Do you and Drew have everything else?"

"I hope so. We have to pack light for the plane."

"You and Drew and Jean and Nikki drive careful tomorrow. Give yourselves lots of time."

"You guys drive carefully. Take lots of rest breaks. Don't bust a gut getting to Pensacola. We've got all week."

"Could we get going? Or are you two out to break Polonius' long goodbye record?" Honestly, Blake can be so impatient sometimes.

"Got your cell phone?"

"Right here." I patted my pocket, panicked, patted the other, relaxed.

"Call when you stop for the night."

"Bye."

"Can we get the 'Hairball Express' underway?" Blake practically danced by the driver's door. Shelby and Jodi stood patiently by the slide. "Has everybody gone?"

"Yes! For the umpteenth time, yes!"

"Just checking. I don't want to stop 'til time for gas."

We buckled up, me, the navigator, making sure maps were in the door pocket.

"Gimme sugar." Jan stuck his head in the window. How that stack of barrel curls got through, I'll never know, but there it was.

Kissing Jan's cheek while in dresses didn't seem strange at all. If we'd been in pants, anything more than a wave driving out the parking lot would have overdone it. We squeezed hands. I was abandoning my buddy, leaving him in the clutches of a rapacious fiend who would take full advantage of our absence to ravish him. Never mind he was a willing victim, looking forward to being thoroughly violated by Drew, his insatiable redhead. I still felt I was leaving a lamb with the wolf. She would have him in and out of a negligee before we made the River.

Once we made the divided highway, Blake settled down. I guess the Cheetah handled stiffly from all the passengers and luggage, but once I had assured her for the fourth time we were headed the right way and we didn't have a turn for a hundred miles, the cruise control was on three miles per hour under the limit, and the CD was playing Gershwin's Symphony in Blue, Blake actually smiled.

"You look nice. Your hair is very pretty."

"Thank you. Nice of you to notice." Loretta and I had spent hours deciding what would travel best and still look good. Actually Loretta spent all of five minutes, but I had worried over style books forever. It was a French Twist, the top a smooth bouffant, hair swept across my brow. Tendrils graced my ears and nape, complementing the wiglet curls pinned in my crown. I had barely had time to rush straight to Transformations and be done. I had gone to a lot of trouble to look nice, but not too distracting, and this was the first time she had noticed.

Blake's thick, black hair was coiled into a braided bun at her nape. I wanted to reach over, unpin it, and bounce her bones, if I hadn't been so miffed with her.

Blake and Shelby swapped driving. Jodi and I offered to take turns, but the women just smiled and said that wasn't necessary. Somehow I got the feeling they thought we weren't quite capable of handling the task. Somehow we'd make a turn and next thing we knew, we'd be in Nashville or worse, St. Louis.

It had been a long day, driving down from NSU, so I snoozed on Blake's shoulder. I didn't wake until we stopped for gas, my head cradled in her lap, her hand stroking my hair. It was nice, very nice. When Blake saw my eyes open, she kissed her finger tip and placed it to my lips. I kissed it back and felt loved, cared for.

We died in Vicksburg. Not literally, but Jodi and I were getting grumpy from the long day. Apparently Blake and Shelby had been up late the night before, paring down their luggage. The nodding was pretty heavy and it didn't get better after we stopped to eat. Blake wanted to drive straight through to save money, but it was obvious we wouldn't be able to keep a driver awake. We voted three to one to find a place for the night and push off early the next morning.

A suite motel turned out to be the cheapest solution with the driving club discount. Finding luggage in the middle of a clump we hadn't planned on undoing until Florida was another matter. We settled on hauling out Blake's bag, knowing there were enough night things to get by. The lobby sold toiletries, razors and toothbrushes and little tubes of toothpaste. I worried about the razors but Blake reminded me that women often had to touch up their underarms. They were pink and overpriced, but they removed stubble.

You would think we would be all hyper, this being our first major trip together, much less Jodi's and my first trip in dresses. If we had been juiced, we'd still have been headed South. A quick call to ESU got only the machine, and then four nightie clad bodies tucked under the sheets. Besides some brief kissy-face and a little nose rubbing, there was no action that night. None. Nada. Zilch. It's comforting to feel someone's hand gently stroke your tush as you go to sleep. Just familiarly, not erotically, just nice. That and to stretch a foot in the middle of the night and find a leg there, expected, warm and still. It was like being old marrieds, and it was nice.

Six is awfully early. Five comes even earlier. With four people squeezed into one bath and Blake counting the miles and minutes to Pensacola, we were pushed to get presentable. The women were lucky. They could catch their hair back in a pony, twist it into a bun, and do little or nothing with their faces. Shelby and I couldn't scrimp. When you aren't the real thing, every flaw jumps out at you. It took us almost an hour, but we left the picture of demure Southern womanhood. Besides, it was good for the women to wait for us for a change.

We made Mobile just after lunch, just about the time the others would lift off from Memphis. To break the monotony and keep ourselves from killing one another, we decided to take an hour to tour Oakleigh. Antebellum homes do have an appeal, the image of magnolias and moonlight, of handsome swains and beautiful belles, crinoline and lace, gracious hospitality and hot nights made even hotter.

The young docents didn't disappoint, shoulders bare over layers of ruffles, hands gloved, positioning their parasols to keep off the sun when outside. Hair swept up, blonde, chestnut, or black, long curls fell behind or on shoulders, as they swept us through, handing us one to the other to show off furnishings, extol the residents, and explain the workings of what was a business as well as a home. It was clear the women who lived there were a good deal more than gracious hostesses and producers of heirs. Educated, prolific in the arts, they managed the plantation and their men with grace and style.

We talked with Ann, the last docent, a gracious blonde with sparkling blue eyes. We didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved for her when she told us the costumes were not authentic for the period. Anne escaped being laced into a corset, although she did wear a shaper, she avoided the ruffled pantaloons altogether, and her comfortable running shoes were hidden beneath her billowing skirt. "And of course, no decent woman would show her shoulders except in social occasions with close friends," but Hollywood had generated certain expectations that had to be met. She did look elegant, a controlled sophistication that all Southern ladies aspire to. We stayed too long, but it provided conversation topics all the way into Pensacola.

Jan, our mother hen, was half beside himself when we pulled up. We were only three hours late and had tried to call from Mobile. He did not take it well when Jodi said what he really worried about was his precious hair supply. It didn't take all that long to get distributed, Blake and I in with Jan and Drew, Jodi and Shelby with Jean and Nikki.

The condos were fabulous! They really faced the water, not one of those lean way out and crane your neck for a "Gulf view" setups. They had big decks with hot tubs, and a bath with each bedroom, and one large, parqueted room with a kitchen bar at the end. They were built for parties, with a little sturdy furniture. The service changed the linen once a week, but there were extra sheets and towels, and a map of the complex showed there was a laundromat. I, for one, had no intention of sleeping on smelly sheets. It would be fun getting them all yeasty, but fresh, cool sheets were more appealing than stale ones.

Our clothes hung or put away, our hair and cosmetics stashed on the vanity, we gathered in Jean and Jodi's place. The flyers had made a grocery and liquor run, so we planned to enjoy the place and each other that night, leaving the club scene until we recovered from the journey. It's not like we had to find action. We all got in some serious lip lock before supper was ready, before we settled down to food and drinks and a glorious sunset in the gathering twilight.

Of course we had to catch up on the trips down, but when we got to Oakleigh, the women really got off on picturing us as hoop skirted belles, flicking our fans, cinched into waists so tiny we could barely breathe, much less eat, flowers in our dressed hair, eyelashes fluttering as we tried to fill our dance cards. Jan would have to be reminded she was not Marie Antoinette, to tone down her hair. Jodi would have to remember to show up and that a belle's best feature was rapt silence, letting her intended talk rather than rattling on. Jean would have to forget Marilyn, although a little cleavage showing behind a lace handkerchief wouldn't hurt. As for me, I'd have to mind my parasol or I'd be soaking in buttermilk to turn freckles into a proper alabaster skin.

It was fun, it was nice, being curled up with your sweetie, cuddling, feeding one another, nibbling more than the food. A pitcher of drinks disappeared, followed by another, and another. Blake would kiss me awhile, and then I would kiss her, and then we'd kiss each other. The sun went down, the moon came up, and we huddled closer. The murmurs and moans built in pitch and frequency for awhile, until I heard Jean's soft voice.

"No, Nikki. Not here. Not now."

I stood and stretched. "It's been a long day. Let's leave the dishes until morning. Night all." I took Blake's hand and lead her out.

As I fumbled for the key. Blake's arms stole around my waist. "What was that about? Things were going so well."

"Too well. They need their privacy, and so do I. Now if you could escort a lady to her bedroom, . . ."

Jan and Drew loomed up just as we crossed the threshold. No one wanted to stay and chat; we quickly disappeared into our bedrooms. I was standing before the closet, down to my panties, trying to decide which negligee was the one for our first night, when I felt arms slide around my waist, lips nibble my nape.

"What would you like me in, Blake? The red, the blue, or the black?"

"What I'd like you in, my Dear, is nothing at all."

She was absolutely right.

 

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Of course we brought clothes. We couldn't possibly let those gowns be used only once. We tried the club scene, but who wants loud and raucous when you have someone? When what you want is to sway close together, sit close together, lie close together? The beach was nice, the water warm, and so was the sand, and there were spots where you could be private, protected from even overlooking condos. So we hit the beach, and that meant we had to have suits, so that meant hit the stores. Shopping with your sweetie makes it a whole different experience, a lot happier than when we were first outfitted. Eight girls trying on swimsuits, or negligees, or cute tops and shorts gets service but keeps a sales staff too busy to pay too close attention.

We were getting into it, but the problem with skimpy is that it shows what you haven't got. Our women helped us with covering up Afterwards, they helped us with uncovering, and then they appreciated what we did got. We loved them for loving it, and we played house, shopping, and cooking, and cleaning, and making sure there was a reason we do laundry. Every day. We weren't nesting, but those cute little knick-knacks began to seem more appealing.

Beach Blanket Bingo is fun, but it's hell on a girl's hair. We had found a little supper club where we could show off our gowns again, and that meant we should look the part. That meant a salon, a regular wash and set salon to give us the works. Our nails were shot, our skin a little burnt, our hair fried from salt and sand and all that crow's nest activity. So Wednesday afternoon, we trooped down to Trudy's, having booked it for most of the afternoon. It's a good thing Wednesdays are usually slow, because eight heads for three stylists keeps a place busy. The best part, besides everything about being pampered, was sharing dryer and comb out time with Blake. My cascade wasn't long enough for full corkscrew Southern Belle curls, but Trudy was able to create a reasonable approximation. Blake's thick waves actually gave body to a beautiful off center Gibson Girl with interlocking curls ending in short corkscrews. With a clip, it was stunning. I admit to being very pleased, but a still a little jealous. The trick to making that style work is a feel for proportion, and Trudy's Elaine definitely had it.

It took three hours to get us all through, shampoo, facial, set, combout, manicure and pedicure. We even got our brows arched and our eyelashes put on. After all, this was an evening, and we wanted, no needed, to look the part. Everyone had a little time on their hands at some point, so everyone got a fresh piece of jewelry from the boutique. Blake's was her hair clip, rhinestones and fake rubies, very showy but very nice. I couldn't let her show me up, so I picked up a pair of chandelier earrings, a fleur-de-lis on my lobes and five strands dropping over two inches down my neck. When we left, the staff was very happy with a profitable afternoon and we were very happy that we would show well.

There's just one problem with looking good and getting ready for an evening. You are ready, really ready. Half way dressed, I was all for canceling the night out and showing Blake what all that effort was really for. Blake would hear none of it: I was going to have to learn to look good in public. I couldn't cancel out just because I was too stiff to walk.

Blake was very, very good. I was on my back before I knew what hit me, stockinged knees spread, my panties down around my ankles. One spread hand covered my tail, her finger probing my ring. The other captured my magic wand in a hand towel, pressing, stroking, coaxing my fluids through me. I was so ready! The whole salon experience had me as hot as a cat on a hot tin roof, so I popped in short order, a release, rather than complete exhaustion.

"Return the favor. I'm hot too."

My head was straddled, carefully so as not to muss my coif. Her warm slit was front and center. She liked how I did it, and I liked that she liked it, although her taste was not totally my favorite cup of tea. I knew how to undo her buttons so she shuddered to a close quickly.

There's nothing like a good salon session to give depth of feeling to a quickie. We'd had mental foreplay for over three hours. It's a wonder the lot of us weren't arrested on the way back.

A few splashes of water on the cheeks, a little talc, a little cologne, a little lipstick, and we were good as new. We were just enough behind to be "fashionably late." As it was, we had to wait. For some reason none of the other couples were ready on time. You can't just stand there holding your handbags, and if we got too close too soon, we'd never make supper.

Try bustling around in opposite corners sometime, too put together to do housework, not daring to watch the tube together. You could have cut the tension with a knife and my tail was beginning to twitch when Jan and Drew emerged. Jan was a little flushed, and not every hair was in place. Drew just had this happy, far away look in her eyes. The scamps.

Dinner was wonderful. I have no idea what we ate or how it tasted, but we were all relaxed and happy. The bandstand was lit, the dance floor discretely dim. The band played slow dances so it was wonderful. Blake led and we kept our distance in case any of the couples there were taken aback by two women dancing together.

My hair looked nice, Blake's looked nice, everyone's looked nice. That was so nice. My gown clung just right; Blake's showed that she had curves. Everyone's gown was nice. That was nice too. Everything was nice.

Nicest of all was going back to the condos for a little wine and cheese. This time Jan and I hosted, hostessed, whatever. We girls changed into something "more comfortable" while the ladies uncorked the wine and sliced up the cheese. A little more cologne, something loose and filmy, a shaping something only she should see, and her waiting presence can do a lot for a guy. We had to work to stay tucked in to sweep back out into dim light and soft music.

The cheese was barely tasted, the wine only half drunk before we danced slowly in the dark the way we really wanted, clinging to one another. The room was lit by not much more than a full moon. We sensed rather than saw each other smile and react. We were close, and secure, and we loved one another. There was the couch, and a loveseat, and a couple of big chairs, and soon they were all occupied while the stereo played on. Shelby had put on some crooner reissues for "mood music" as a joke. The joke was on us. We would have accused the songs of being mush in daylight, but when you dance in the dark with your lover, they're perfect.

We kissed, and cuddled, and stroked each other. We were in no hurry to reach below, knowing it was there for the asking. But soft kisses on your neck, nibbles on your ears, holding each other close does stoke the fires. Soon enough, there were moans in the dark, mutually arousing moans. Then I moaned until I couldn't hear anyone else. I whispered in her ear, "Take me, I'm yours." I wouldn't have known or cared if anyone noticed our leaving.

Over, under, sideways, it was all the same to us. My negligee bunched around my waist, then disappeared, then we lay exhausted and happy in yeasty sheets. Whatever I had was hers. Whatever she had was mine. And I was hers once more, rocked slowly into the cradle of the deep. It was comforting to feel her softly stroke my behind while I drifted off. Thank goodness the women were going shopping in the morning and I could get some rest.

 

 

 

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