Chapter 2

“How do I look?”

Lindsey posed like a Hollywood starlet from the old days, with her hands on tilted hips, knees slightly bent, and pouting red lips beneath a dark, smoldering gaze. Her straight blonde hair had been brushed so that it shone like white gold and fell over her bare right shoulder. She’d picked a dark blue mini-dress that looked almost, but not quite painted onto her tight young body. It was perhaps a half size too large, and so she wasn’t perfect, but that only made her even more attractive to me.

“Pretty fantastic,” I decided, truthfully.

“I should take off the bra,” she said, looking down at her chest with a tiny frown. “It feels clunky.”

“I, uh...” I had to clear my throat. “I can’t even tell you’re wearing one.”

“Really?” She smiled at me, now holding her boobs with both hands underneath, as if weighing them.

She didn’t have overly large tits, about the same size as my own and I wore a plain old B-cup, but she was several inches shorter and definitely a few pounds lighter. I went to the gym three times a week just to hold myself at 122 pounds. It had been 120 for a long time, but my red line was creeping upward and I hated it. Anyway, Lindsey’s tits were perfect and I knew she was teasing me, but I didn’t care.

“I guess I’ll leave it on then,” she decided. “But, hey ... Do you think I could borrow your shoes? The black strappies? I bought some to go with my dress, but they really pinch.”

“Sure. They’re in my closet, uh...” I started to get up from the sofa. I had my laptop on a pillow on my thighs and papers all over the couch, and...

“Stay there,” she said. “I’ll find them. Thanks, Emma!”

Lindsey turned around and I stared at her butt as she disappeared down the short hallway leading to our bedrooms. I could too easily picture the sexy bra and thong combo she was wearing, and I’d always loved stockings on a girl. Not on me. I hated them, usually, but on the right pair of legs? Yeah. Lindsey was rocking that outfit and I just wanted to unwrap her like a Christmas gift.

Five minutes later, and I was watching the clock, believe me, Lindsey reappeared wearing a pair of stiletto heels that I hardly ever wore. I just didn’t get out enough. I didn’t have old college flames calling me up in the middle of the day and saying, “Hey, Baby, guess who’s back in town ... Wanna fuck?”

Jealousy was kicking in hard as I realized Lindsey had just spent two hours getting gorgeous for someone else. I’d spent most of that time relieving stress in my bedroom, not that it helped very much. I’d gotten myself off, sure, but it didn’t change anything. I wanted her so badly and the girl just didn’t seem to care. I almost felt a little used, to be honest and now she was even wearing my shoes. I’d probably end up giving them to her, because everyone knows, those shoes were made for walking, Emma, and that’s just what they’ll do.

“Shoot! I’m running late,” Lindsey said, bustling about as she collected her purse and an old leather jacket that she wore with everything. It shouldn’t have gone with her dress at all, but of course, it was perfect.

“Have fun,” I offered, chin up and smiling bravely.

“I will,” she promised, reaching for the door.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“But ... You’re gay, Emma!” Lindsey laughed, sticking her tongue out at me and then pulling the door shut behind her as she left.

I felt rejected.

And stupid. Why had I said that right at the end? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do? Jesus. Every time I turned around it seemed like I was doing or saying something stupid. Basically, I’d just told her to go ahead and have sex with the guy. That’s one of those sayings that means the opposite of what it sounds like. But then again, it wasn’t like I’d actually have sex with a man, so ... If it came from someone like me, did it really mean don’t go out and have fun and do that nasty straight girl stuff, stay home and be miserable with me.

Fuck, I was getting dizzy thinking about crap that didn’t matter in the least. Who cares? I was sitting there alone, looking at market reports, getting a headache, and feeling totally, utterly, and completely rejected by the girl I loved. Self-pity, thy name is Emma.

I had a full bottle of red wine, however, and a bathtub. Some girls like cookie dough, some buy a handgun, I drink alone in the bathtub. Well, not usually, but I was going to do exactly that on this particular evening. I shoved all my work aside and went to the kitchen. All the ingrediants for our pasta night sat forgotten on the counter and that made me frown. We were supposed to be cooking together, talking and giggling and being silly while we made a mess. Drinking wine over a checkered tablecloth, with candles and Dean Martin or somebody singing That’s Amore on my old iPod. I’d envisioned Lady and the Tramp, except with two Ladies.

This should have been our best night yet, but Lindsey was out with...

“Shit.” I stopped dead in my tracks upon entering my bedroom.

Could my stupid life get any more embarrassing? I had the cheapest bedroom set in the world, but it had come with the apartment, so I didn’t complain. I had a full-size bed, a dresser with a mirror mounted on top, but more leaning against the wall, really. It was cheap. And a nightstand with my clock radio, a skinny lamp that looked like a Cap Cod lighthouse, and a pink, nine inch vibrator with a somewhat sticky Rough Rider studded condom rolled down most of it. There was a small bottle of open lubricant and moist towelettes, as well. Used towelettes, I should say; the open packets had been carelessly dropped on the carpet. The condom’s foil wrapper as well. Perfect.

I wonder what Lindsey had thought of being greeted by my ready-for-action sex toy when she’d come into my bedroom looking for shoes. She must have thought I was a real pervert. Yeah, because I’m the only woman in the world with a vibrator, right? But I hadn’t ever expected Lindsey to actually see it! God. Why hadn’t I put the damn thing away? I usually clean everything up, but after seeing Lindsey in the bathroom I’d needed some immediate relief. And then she was almost ready to go and I wanted to be working, all lonely and stoic and holding down the fort so she could feel bad about having fun and ... It was like I’d done it on purpose.