AUTHOR: Missy
EMAIL: lasfic@yahoo.com
PART: 1 of 1
RATING: NC-17
(Explicit M/F sex; Adult thematic material, language, supernatural themes)
PAIRING(s): L/L
DISTRIBUTION: To Myself so far; any other archives are welcome
to ask, but disclaimers must be included, my email left intact. send a URL, and provide full disclaimers as well as credit
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CATEGORY: Romance, Supernatural
FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!
SETTING IN TIMELINE:
SPOILLER/SUMMARY: "I'm a psychic and a laywoman - I see
love and I like to make it happen." - Lavenny,
NOTES: Thanks to Kath and Emily for help with this;
quotation by Emily Saliers.
***
"I'm a psychic and a laywoman - I see love and I like
to make it happen." - Emily Salliers, "Pendulum
Swinger"
**
"You wanna catch a flick?"
Carmine
She knew just from his antsy stance that he had bigger fish
to fry. She remembered instantly that
he'd said something about going to the movies with a girl he'd met during an
audition. "All right, Carmine. Have a good time on your date."
They were in the living room, Laverne pushing hard at the
solidarity of her oak door, but Carmine wedged himself between the jam and
edge. "Are you sure you're gonna be
okay?"
She smiled wanly at him as she recalled the past two weeks
of her life and the constant tending of
Chuck, her Pop, the boys and Rhonda which had frayed her already curse-wrecked
nerved. "I'll live."
He looked her up and down.
"Are you sure? I can fix you
up with someone - there's a cowboy star named Guy who's doing a part on the Tom
Mix biopic at
She briefly considered it.
"How much hair does he have on his head?"
"I dunno - He was wearing a
cowboy hat. But Doctor Millsap said he
has all of his own teeth..."
Laverne barely stopped herself from wincing. Did she look that pitiful? "It's okay - and it's almost seven. I don't wanna stop you from meeting Annie at
the movies."
Carmine's shoulders heaved slightly - he hadn't seemed to
remember the woman's name on his own.
"I'm starting to worry about you, Laverne. You ain't going out as much as you used to,
and..."
"Everything's all right," She said, using her
characteristic DeFazio bark to force him into backing his way out of the
doorframe. "I wanna rest for awhile
after this week."
"Yeah, I understand," he remarked, but gave her
another look of dismay as she shut the door.
Alone at last, Laverne leaned back against the wall and
grunted in relief. After weeks of that
curse-related nonsense, she wanted nothing more than to cocoon at home with
some Scooter Pies and a cold Shotz in front of the boob tube.
Just
like you've been doing the past three months, Her mind taunted on her long
walk to the refrigerator. And you weren't under a 'curse' back then.
Laverne tossed herself into a kitchen chair, glad that
Shirley was a full continent away and couldn't yell at her about wrecking the
furniture. Her Shotz tasted great - and
it helped drown out the nagging voice reminding her she was lonely.
Lonely, she reasoned to herself, was a lifestyle now that
Shirley was married. Years ago this would have been a terrifying thought, but
being fully cured of monophobia had quelled her anxiety most of the time. She still had the boys as her strange
protectors, and Carmine and Rhonda to lean on - when they weren't too busy out
on dates. As the amber of the bottle
turned lighter with each sip, Laverne glanced at the clock. Five minutes to Marshall Cahil. Then she'd at least have the noise of the TV
to keep her company.
As the contents of the bottle slipped down below its
blue-and-white label, Laverne realized she could drink half of the twelve
bottles waiting in the refrigerator and not even get buzzed; that
made her put it aside and start in on the scooter pies. On finishing the second foil-wrapped package
out of the box she realized it was eight on the dot and too-eagerly darted to
the couch, straddling the arm of her sofa as she reached over and flicked on
the tube.
"We regret to
inform you that Marshall Cahil has been
canceled," bleared her set.
"Please stay tuned for our
summer try-out production The Go Go
Gorilla!"
Thanks, ABC,
Laverne thought,
there's the cherry on my shit sundae.
She gave her television a snarl of distaste before turning it off, and
then the emptiness of her apartment closed in, making her shudder.
Maybe she really wasn't over her monophobia. The days were bearable. It was the nights that formed her biggest
trouble, and she knew it too well.
The darkness of Laverne's mood took color and shape,
transforming everything around her. On a
good day she could rationalize her own fortune; able to convince herself that
she had a lease on a nice apartment, a bunch of good friends, a solid
relationship with her father, a decent job and plenty of dating opportunities. But if she looked closer, she reminded
herself, the cracks showed. Decent Job? Sure, if
she ignored the bizarreness of Chuck, the physical difficulties, and the fact
that what she was doing ranked just above glorified line work, her stock in
trade for the past ten years. Good
relationship with her father? If Frank
wasn't bugging her about settling down, he was completely unavailable thanks to
the triple burdens of his pending divorce from Edna, the daily running of
Cowboy Bills and his new job on Burbank's City Council. Nice apartment? What wasn't falling apart would soon roll
down Laurel Vista and deposit itself in the
Date. She snorted.
When was the last time she'd had a good date?
Four months ago. With Michael.
She punched the nearest "Hi Sailor" pillow on
calling his name to mind. It brought
back all of the hurt he'd caused, the knowledge that she'd believed for one
brief moment that she'd found love in the baby photographer. Bitterly, she rankled herself for being such
a sap, such a fool for believing he just might be the one. She might still be deluding herself and
dating him, had she not tried to surprise him at lunch a few weeks ago and
found him mating wildly with one of his fashion model subjects in his office at
the studio - who, she soon discovered, was actually his wife of three
years. And he was just one last failure
in an endless line of assholes she'd dated since getting to this miserable
seaside berg which was supposed to make her dreams come true.
She hugged a "Hi Sailor" pillow to her chest. There wasn't a person in the entire universe
more wretched and lonely than she.
Her front door flew open, admitting a tearstained
Lenny. "I don't wanna live!"
he yelped, throwing himself face-down on the sofa and
hunching into a ball.
Laverne bit back a groan and began rubbing his back as he
wailed incoherently. After peering
toward the closed door to make sure Squiggy wasn't at his heel, she scooted
toward Lenny's prone form. Only her
passionate and overdramatic friend could make a lousy week seem like a stroll
through a beer garden. "Len, calm
down..."
"I can't," he moaned.
"What happened?" she pried - already knowing
somehow what was going on.
He sobbed heavily for a few more minutes, then crawled
toward her, his greasy head hanging heavily upon her lap, cuddling up to her as
he always did in his greatest distress.
She stroked the lines on his forehead and wondered how they'd sprouted
while she wasn't watching. "Karen
dumped me," he whispered.
Laverne winced and called to mind Karen Caldwell, the
world's most innocuous viper. The student had gotten back to
"She said no."
"She didn't just say no!" A wild helplessness entered Lenny's voice,
and it was nearly enough to make her move away from him. "I took her to A Salt And Battery,"
Lenny spat the name of their favorite fancy occasion seafood restaurant like it
was a curse, "I called ahead and asked the chef if he'd do something
special for me, and when he heard what I was gonna do he said he'd do anything
to help me out. Yesterday I brought him
the ring and he hid it under the lobster tail in her surf and turf. Karen's too smart for that, she knew
something was up when our waiter hung around to watch her eat, but the jig was
really up with the chef came out with a huge grin on his face. She asked me if there was something in her
dinner. I told her to eat it and find
out and she said she couldn't marry me."
"Why not? I thought things was
going good for you..."
"They was! But I can't marry her either, Laverne,"
he moaned. "Karen ain't right 'down
there'. She said that if we got married
we'd be 'bigamists!'"
Laverne blinked at her wailing friend, the truth hurting
her. "Len, that ain't a
disease. Karen's already married."
"That's low. She
gave the bigamies to another guy?"
She sighed, his tongue making her dizzy. "'Bigamist' means that she's married to
someone else, and if she married you it wouldn't be legal."
Horror dawned in his expression. "That's worse," he said, his voice strangely numb.
"She said she loved the other guy," he tried a self-deprecating
laugh and shrug. "Her life's in
"Lenny!" she shoved him backward, until he sat up
against the opposite end of the sofa.
She got her first good look at his body and felt her insides sag with
pity. Lenny wore his best gray suit -
the only piece of clothing he owned that wasn't loud or cheap-looking, the one
that matched head to toe and nearly made him seem dashing - if she
squinted. Right now the milky skin of his cheeks were crimson as he sobbed; his
always-open mouth gaped as he strained for air through his Valentine-bow
lips. It was the sight
of his eyes made her toughness dissolve; tears dripping down from their
blue like an overflowing stream. Lenny,
the most helpless of creatures when calm, clearly couldn't help himself at the
moment, and Laverne for once couldn't conjure the magic to calm him. Where was Shirley with her 'High Hopes' when
she needed them?
She wrapped an arm around his slim shoulders. "She ain't worth all of this,"
Laverne coaxed, knowing they weren't the words he wanted but understanding them
to be true.
He turned and pitched himself into her arms, hiding his face
against her neck. The nonsexual press of
his torso against hers confused her mind - usually if he tried to get this
intimate with her she shoved him away.
She wrapped her arms around his middle and held him, the heat of tears
dripping down her neck and his chest shuddering against her breasts. "Vernie, what's wrong with me?" he asked, in a small
childlike voice. "Why don't nobody want me?"
A thousand reasons came instantly to mind, but she ignored
them. Even with his fetishes, his
perversions, his stupidity, his slavish devotion to Squiggy and his lack of
common sense and hygiene, Lenny wasn't the worst person she'd ever known. "I don't know," she said quietly.
He pushed her back gently.
"It's gotta be me," he said, clarity
dawning on him. "I'm weird. I'm ugly and dumb."
"You're not ugly," she cried out, inadvertently
confirming the two other statements.
"I am!" he grasped the edges of the argument and
drew them around his knees. "My
nose is too big and my hair's falling out!"
She bit her lip.
"Your hair's falling out?" he glared at her. "Sorry."
"I'm thirty, Vernie.
I always thought I'd be married by now." He smiled.
"Don't tell Squig, but I don't think I can keep doing this a lot
longer."
Fear clawed her stomach.
He'd leave her all alone..."Len!"
"I don't wanna be alone if Squig gets married. Confidentially, I always wanted someone to
have my babies."
She relaxed. Only
Lenny would yearn for marriage when there was an entire city of girls out there
dumber than the national standard to take advantage of, but that was more Squig's racket.
"You'll get married and have babies some day."
He shook his head.
"I'm ugly," he repeated.
"You're not."
"Oh yeah? Tell me one nice-looking thing about
me!"
She nearly fell back on the usual 'you're a real sweet guy,
Len' speech, but instead she really studied him. Laverne then said, "you
got pretty eyes."
He shrugged.
"So?"
"So?! They're nice - they got a good shape, and
they're really...blue." he snorted and she continued, "like a river or
something," she added, using all the poetry that had brought 'Lou the
Grocery Man' to life. She crossed her
knees and looked at him more closely, "You got nice eyelashes for a guy,
too."
"Yeah? What else?" he squirmed under
her appraisal.
"You got a nice mouth," she continued, "A lot
of guys don't look good with lips like that - full on the bottom - but it looks
nice on you," she continued. His
cheeks continued to heat as she studied him.
Gently, she picked up his right hand and traced his long fingers,
"And you got nice hands. They look
like they should be painting something instead of working on cars or selling
ice cream." She suddenly wished she
hadn't left her beer on the kitchen table as an odd
warmth spread through her. Touching his
hand and looking at his mouth made her want to kiss him, something she'd never
considered before and couldn't fathom ever doing sober. "Anyway, you don't look so bad,"
she finished.
That made him smile; a tiny improvement. "Thanks." Lenny watched her with his intense eyes, his
usual combination of obsession and adoration making her search for another way
out of this discussion. The doorbell
saved her. He winced at its sour tone
and concluded that her Pop had finally spared the time to see her. "You gotta get
that fixed," Lenny grumbled, disappointed at having their intimacy broken.
"I know. Can you
stay?" Laverne wondered.
"Don't got nowhere else to go
- Squig's out with Francine again. Wanna watch some TV?"
"Sure, but they cancelled Marshall Cahil."
"Aww," he whined.
Laverne
headed over to the doorway and prepared to greet the always-disapproving
Frank, but to her surprise, no one stood at her door when she opened it. Instead, a small, oval silver plated box sat
on her doormat underneath a white envelope with her name scrawled in friendly
letters. She carried it inside and
kicked the door shut, settling on the stairs with the box to her left as she
tore open the letter.
"You pick;
"'Laverne,'"
She read out loud, "I thought you
might like to see what I really do for a living. I hope you like them as much as I liked
catching up with you. Love,
'Olga.'" Laverne smiled. "Ain't that nice?"
"Yeah - she don't sound bad for an old crone."
"Len, that 'old crone' was Paula Rosenswine! We went
to school together!"
"Oh yeah?" Lenny grinned. "I guess she ain't doing too good, then. Squig
said he didn't recognize her, and she had blacked out teeth and a hump."
Laverne rolled her eyes as she opened up the tin. "No, I went to school with her...never
mind." Inside were a wide variety
of hand-rolled truffles, all dusted over with cocoa powder. "Mmm,
chocolate," she drooled. She bent
over the box and sniffed, drooling at the heavenly scent. "They smell so good!"
Lenny licked his lips, dancing from foot to foot. "Can I have some?"
She ignored him for the moment, enchanted by the
slightly-fruity scent of the treats. She
plucked one out of the cobalt-colored tissue paper and plucked it in her mouth;
it melted and melded to her tongue instantaneously, coating it in satin
luxury. Several different tastes
exploded over her palate - the bitter dark of the chocolate and the fruity tang
of raspberry, enhanced by the sweet of something creamy.
"Good?" he asked.
"Mmm!" she moaned, her
eyes rolling back in ecstasy. She'd had
chocolate before, but this was almost completely unique in its flavor.
"Gimmie!" he whined,
sitting down on the stairs beside her.
Her manners returned.
"Okay," she held out the tin to him and he took four big blobs
and plopped them into his mouth.
"Lenny!"
"I didn't eat any dinner," he whined. Laverne
suddenly noticed he was still wearing a Captain Happy's
Fun Fun bib in the front buckle of his pants.
"Okay!" she shoved the tin in his direction. "Don't eat 'em
all."
"I won't," he promised. Then a self-depreciating smile spread over
his lips, "maybe I'll get fat and I won't have to worry about falling in
love." He devoured the chocolate
she'd given him, smudging his lips and cheeks like a particularly happy
toddler.
For some reason, she didn't feel the impulse to recoil from
his dirtiness. A warmth spread through
her, and she wished she'd eaten more than beer and chocolate all day - now she
was getting drunk, and it usually took half a keg to do that to her. "You're a nice guy, Len," Laverne
insisted. "Some girl'll
realize that one day."
He smiled warmly at her.
"You're a real good friend."
he ate two more chunks of the chocolate. "These're good," he
noted. She wondered why Lenny looked a
little red-faced himself. Maybe he'd
been drinking at the restaurant?
"Olga's good," Laverne noted.
"You're good," he emphasized, reaching over and
pressing his hand to hers.
And then something strange happened inside of her. It was like a shifting of invisible gears,
transforming her into someone entirely new.
The warmth of Lenny's hand seeped up her arm, to her cheeks and down to
her chest, stiffening her nipples.
The strange suffusion of heat confused her. She thought to move his hand away, then her eyes fell to his lap. She was used to him being obviously aroused
around her; she was almost numb to his sexual need because she knew that for
all of his heavy breathing she'd never be asked to satisfied
it. But this time the sight of his
desire made her pelvic muscles tremble.
She swallowed, her throat thick and forced her
hand out of his.
Lenny jumped up as if the stair was on fire. "I gotta...I gotta..." he babbled, trying to hide his erection with
the bib. She found herself staring at
his hand, guessing what was in his pants, feeling a needle-sharp pang of need
between her thighs that forced her to squeeze them together.
She considered throwing him out, desperately wanting to be
alone, knowing she would have to satisfy her sudden passion alone upstairs with
a seven-inch piece of rubber she had nicknamed 'Marlon' to make her lonely
thrashings more personal. Impulsively,
she stood up, rose her palm up to his right cheek - he
winced and expected a slap - and she rubbed away a blot of chocolate. "You're messy," she mumbled,
standing before him afraid of what she wanted to do.
He grabbed her to him and smothered her mouth beneath his.
The kiss consisted of squirming tongues and hands fluttering
tentatively against the back of her tie-dyed tee-shirt. Her dizzy mind forced her to take the next
step toward him, pressing her body flush to his. The hands fluttering against her bra strap
pressed themselves flat to the middle of her back, his hips moving in unsubtle
back-and-forth motions that made her drip.
He pried himself away from her and took a step back,
whacking against the wall. "Whatarewedoing?" Lenny
gasped.
"Idunno," she returned
breathlessly.
He stared at her, his eyes showing arousal and worry at the
same time. With his inaction, Lenny had
silently made this choice hers - and the need she felt inside of her combined
with the loneliness pressing on her shoulders her forced her to say yes.
Laverne took two steps toward him and pressed his flesh to
the wall.
His hands were suddenly all over her - rubbing her back
through the tee-shirt, cupping her rear and rubbing her against the bulge in
his suit pants, running through her hair.
She kissed him hard, her own hands going to his silver tie and pulling
it loose before unbuttoning his white dress shirt and deliberately brushing her
fingers over his chest and the crisp and invisible hair covering it as she
yanked it free of his pants.
Lenny moaned into her mouth, his hands trailing down and out
of her hair until he found her bra clasp.
He clumsily tried to work is lose while she yanked his shirt free and
tried to pull it down his arms - their position made that impossible, so he
reluctantly stopped touching her so that they could help him squirm out of his
tie, suit jacket and shirt simultaneously.
She pressed her chest hard to his as he grabbed the hem of her tee-shirt
and yanked it over her head.
Her hands joined his on her bra as the clothing hit the
floor. The material tangled as they
muttered curses against the Maidenform empire before unstrapping the hook
and eyelet closures with a mutual effort.
He slid the bra down her arms slowly, the silk and cotton just another
caress on her oversensitive skin.
As her breasts were unveiled, Laverne took a step backward,
allowing him to see her full body in nothing but a pair of go-go boots and a
teeny pair of denim shorts. She admired
him in return, and was surprised by the strength in his thin, pale body. He was long-boned, the skin translucent and
making every line of not-exactly-firm body painfully evident, his body hair
almost invisible thanks to its blondness, darkest leading down from his naval
and into his beltline. Laverne had been
with all sorts of men since she'd lost her virginity to Arthur Fonzarelli almost ten years before - nothing about Lenny
was particularly unappealing. In fact,
vulnerability and masculinity combined in his form in a potent way that made
the throbbing between her legs even worse, and she nearly rubbed herself right
there before him just to ease the tension.
Laverne was suddenly aware of her own strength; she could have pushed
him down and taken what she wanted like a cavewoman at that point but she
wanted to know his hands, the taste of his body.
She silently reached for his belt.
"Laverne..." he began nervously. The only other sound in the room was their
panting and her fingers jingling the brass tongs holding his pants up.
She recognized his hesitation and felt a stab of guilt. She reasoned to herself that they both needed
this to happen, but held the ends of his unclasped belt between her hands. "Do you wanna do this?" she asked him
without meeting his eyes.
He took a deep, steadying breath. "You know how I feel."
That nearly froze her.
Through the insane lust fogging her brain, she wondered how she felt -
and realized it was different, whatever it was.
"Lenny..."
"I don't wanna make you do nothing you don't wanna
do." he said.
In response, she began brushing the tempting bulge in his
pants with light, fond fingers. That
answered his worries more than anything.
He moaned; his hands went to her own fly and
unzipped the shorts while she worked free his belt and pants, forcing his
zipper over the hill and unsnapping him.
He shoved them down and then he bent to unbuckle his motorcycle boots.
Laverne shimmied out of her shorts and sat down again on the
stairs, then worked her boots off of her feet.
Ignoring the lumpy surface, she sprawled her legs apart and laid down, knowing that Lenny could see how much she needed
him by the moist evidence of the soaked crotch of her panties.
When he straightened up and stepped out of his suit pants,
his hot eyes worked over her entire frame in a way that was possessive and yet
made her want to draw him down and into her instantly. She noticed rather quickly that he wasn't
wearing underwear - he'd really had high hopes for Karen's saying yes - and
that he was well-sized but not elephantine, frightening. He took a step forward, tripped over his own
boots and pants, and landed on his knees on the floor between her thighs. He winced, she smiled, and then they reached
for each other, his hands cupping her head, lips kissing hers desperately.
They swapped tongues eagerly as his hands slipped down
across her shoulder, then gently cupped her right breast. She arched her chest eagerly into his hand,
the nipple already pebbled for his caress.
Lenny stroked her lightly before firmly pressing his palm to the rise of
her flesh and massaging it. Her head
fell back and she released his tongue on a groan.
"You're so soft," she heard him mumble, and he
sounded as if he couldn't believe this was happening to him. His palms made small circles against her
puckered flesh, rubbing the nipples against his calloused palms. He kissed her neck, her throat, and her
shoulders before taking her right nipple into his mouth.
Little sparks of lightening raced up her spine with ever
suck of his mouth, every brush of his tongue.
He circled and then flicked his tongue over the crest, making her writhe
slightly and run her fingers through his hair.
She silently arched her chest, urging him to suckle the other nipple -
he switched quickly and gave her left nipple a similar working over.
For minutes, she lay peacefully beneath him, allowing the
already confusing and powerfully arousing feelings to take a hold of her. Lenny's mouth aroused and comforted her at
the same time as he moved from left to right, giving each nipple equal time
until they began to sting from over attention.
She gently pushed his head away. "Would you kiss me down there?" she
panted.
His brow quirked. "Your knee?"
She groaned in frustration and pushed him back a little,
giving her room to slip off her black lace panties and sprawl out her
thighs. "Lick my cunt," she ordered, almost groaning.
He hadn't expected her to be so blunt. "You sure?" he didn't sound
disgusted, just surprised.
"Please? I need
it," she whined.
Lenny didn't seem to hear her request; he had fixed his eyes
on the steamy spot between her legs. She
reached down and parted her soaked lips, feeling how sodden her dark red pubic
hair was. He bent back to work, kissing
her ribs and belly, his tongue circling and then dipping into her naval. She trembled violently; wanted his tongue eating her out...
He pushed her fingers away from her tender lips, parting her
open with his own fingers and just looking at the dripping well of her sex
before staring at her, apparently looking for her clit.
Laverne's hips bucked; a strange animal growl came from deep
in her throat as she began to writhe against his touch. His hands came down from her breasts and
cupped her ass to keep her still; the room filled with the sound of his wet
suction as his fingers breached the soft opening of her pussy, pointer and
index stretching her with their knobby pressure. They fucked into her with quick, short
jabbing motions that stole her breath as his tongue made little circles around
the oversensitive nub of flesh. She
could feel his hot breath teasing her, driving her mad. She was going to scream if he didn't do
something...
He wasn't doing anything.
He was just fucking her with his long fingers and staring at her pussy
as if it was a particularly delicious piece of cake.
She couldn't take this!
Her eyes snapped open and locked onto his. "LICK. MY. CLIT. KOSNOWSKI."
A wicked look of amusement crossed his features just seconds
before his tongue lashed out against her.
Just like that, the horrifying tension building inside of
her began to peak. She grabbed the back
of his head as he sucked carefully on the entire area, not wanting his
gentleness. For a nightmarish second she
was close, too incredibly close - then he twisted his fingers inside of her and
flicked his tongue against her. She lost
it completely and screamed.
The spasams hunched her over and
up against him, making her whole body shake against his gripping hands. She whined his name, that she was coming,
that he was killing her but she loved it.
Then she slumped backward against the stairs and was dead to all
sensation.
When she opened her eyes again Lenny was between her knees,
his fingers still inside of her but moving in longer, slower motions. She wanted to tell him that she admired his
fortitude and that that was the hardest she'd ever come in her life, but her
tongue was paralyzed. The heat returned
to her lower body, the need - soon it was as if she hadn't come at all, and
frustration filled her every pore.
To her surprise, he lowered his head to her pussy and began
to press sweet kisses against her lips, soothing and returning her to a state
of rising arousal. She was so
distracted by these lovely feelings that she didn't even notice when his thumb
began to tickle her anus. She gasped.
"Lenny."
"Wah?" his mouth was
still filled with pussy.
"Get your finger out of there!"
"Aww," he whined. She admitted that the sensation titillated
her, but not now...Now was his turn.
She located his hand on her breast and pulled him up her
body, then nudged him over until he sat beside her on the stairs. She kissed his lips while playing with the
soft hair on his chest, then climbed off and got on her knees, between his
legs.
"Come here," she breathed. "Let me get you off."
He watched her with suspicion as her lips caressed his
throat, the erogenous zone that was his neck.
She flicked her tongue against the miniature, flat brown nipples and
heard a responding groan of surprise.
Kissing the kittenish texture of his skin, Laverne wondered why she'd
never considered doing this with him.
She'd given herself to men far beneath her, men who couldn't find a
clitoris with a flashlight and a copy of the Masters and Johnson report; why
not Lenny? Because she
was afraid of getting attached and him hating her in the inevitable breakup? Of losing the only other nonsexual close
relationship she'd ever had with a man?
Carmine's face and their flirtation they'd had in
She returned to the heat between herself and Lenny, the
steamy sensation of his skin. She licked
away a bead of sweat trickling down his ribcage and wondered at his thinness,
wanting to feed and protect him somehow, foolishly. As she licked around his bellybutton, they
locked eyes. Her fingers had been
tracing the light musculature of his arms and the rawness of his ribs, tickling
his nipples, but she trailed them down to the heat of his groin.
Her hands fit neatly around his shaft, and she encircled the
heft of him gently, working the loose skin and solid form with an easy rhythm
with fingers still damp from her own juices.
"You're so big," she flattered.
"I ain't that big.
I know - I measured it and..." his words died off in a moan as she
licked the length of his shaft.
As she reached the head, she gave it a little kiss. "I wonder if you're gonna fit in my
mouth." She kissed it again and kept her eyes locked solid on him.
"Please try," he whispered.
"Since you said please..." she lapped very gently
at the exposed head of his cock. Lenny's
spine arched and a soft moan came from his lower register. Emboldened, she took the head of it into her
mouth, then eased him carefully down her throat.
Laverne moaned at the satiny caress of his cock sliding down
her throat, loving the clean, freshly-washed taste of him on her tongue more
than she usually did. Head had been a
regular hobby of hers since high school, and it wasn't something that felt
fantastic, but she considered it a necessary form of sexual expression. The pleasure of making a man happy was what
made her keep going back; as she looked up at Lenny she understood this was no expectation. He wore an expression of erotic frustration
that was entirely animalistic. She
wanted to smirk but her mouth was full - instead, she ran her hands up his arm
and 'pinned' his hands to the stairs, leaving him utterly submissive beneath
her.
That forced her to give head hands-free, something she'd
never tried before. Thankfully, he was
rigid enough to stick out on his own, and she was incredibly aroused,
emboldened beyond a fear of choking to death on his prick to bring him the most
pleasure.
"Laverne," she heard him chant. "Laverne Laverne
LAVERNE...."
Somehow, she knew he wasn't going to last long - he had been
sniffing after her since they were fifteen and she had worn her first Kleenex
padded bra to school. She tried to lock
eyes with him but Lenny's were bouncing around in his head. She brought her tongue into the action,
moving it slightly back and forth as she plunged him into and out of her wide
open mouth. She felt his muscles turn to
rock beneath her and a slight tremble run up the underside of his shaft. She nursed on his cock, encouraging the
orgasm as it began, squeezing his hands comfortingly.
"Oh GOD," he uttered, then her name on a whine as
he lost control. Laverne used the
leverage of her torso against his legs to keep him from kicking her as he spasamed deep down in her throat. She wished briefly that she could taste his
come, but settled for hearing his moaning and feeling the spasaming
liquid of his orgasm.
She slowly pulled her mouth off of his cock, taking her left
hand away from his and keeping him erect with caressing strokes. He was impressively firm. Good - she wanted more, the finality of their
coming together.
She crawled up the stairs on her hands and knees, then spread her legs as she reached the landing,
presenting him her backside. "Fuck
me."
Lenny turned her around, made her face him. "Are you sure?"
She nodded. "I
want you." In more ways than one,
she feared.
And suddenly, she was alone.
Worry filled her, she peeked over her shoulder just as she heard a
crashing noise - Lenny was at the foot of her stairs, stripping his wallet with
a hysterical expression of nervous desire on his face.
"You don't need a rubber. I'm on the pill." For the millionth time she blessed the soul
who had initiated such a comprehensive health care plan at
Then there was his heat against her buttocks, the warm, wet
tip of him nudging her pussy.
"Laverne," he murmured, as if he needed to say her name at
that moment. He was poised between her
knees on his own, aligning their hips, then he braced himself against the metal
railing with one hand - she heard the ringing metallic 'ting!' of his watch
hitting it - and his free hand groped for hers.
Despite their position, she felt his need for intimacy and blushed.
"Gimmie your dick," she
muttered. He sighed as he did, slowly,
making her savor every inch as it disappeared into her soaked slit.
Savor she did, feeling herself spread wider than she'd had
to in years, grunting softly. Her
oversensitive puss could feel every vein in his cock as it pressed her hungry
walls - her inner muscles clamped and spasamed
slightly around him in welcome, and they moaned at the mutual sensation. She braced herself against the floor,
pressing on his hand, expecting a rough ride.
She was surprised by his slow withdrawal, then the slow,
achingly slow, re-entrance into her pussy.
She moaned and rocked back into his thrust, making his hand leave the
railing and tighten on her hips. His
next thrust came faster and deeper, then the next, and the next - they established rythm,
heat, friction quickly.
Laverne couldn't stop moaning - he filled her well without
warping her, and he wasn't too small as to make her feel nothing; his hands
kept her braced and ready without unnecessary roughness. Soon, Lenny was groaning too, their sounds a
loud concert of building frustration; she kept begging for it harder and
harder, and he kept thrusting more rapidly into her, giving her force without
pain. As fun as the position was,
however, it wasn't very intimate. Her
knees and legs ached and suddenly she wanted to feel his chest against her
back, wanted to see his eyes when he came for her.
As if Lenny had read her mind, he let go of her hand and
pulled out of her pussy, then turned over onto his back.
"I don't want you to get hurt."
"What about you?"
"I got a strong back.
Get over here." She took a
guess and climbed down the steps on her knees, leaning over him. " I wanna see
you smile when you come," he said.
"I don't smile when I come," she said, breathless,
straddling his hips and picking up his sopping cock with her right hand.
"You do," he said, thrusting upward as she nudged
her pussy open with the tip of his prick, spearing herself fully on it in a
breathless movement. She rode him for a moment,
grinding herself against the base of his cock, then
leaning forward until she could rest her chest against his. "Do you like it?" he whispered.
"It's good," she admitted, grabbing the railing
for support as she lengthened the strokes.
"You're really, really good," Laverne added.
"No other girl ever said that."
Very directly, she repeated, "you're good, Lenny."
And she meant that a million different ways. Rising up, she rested her cheek
against his forehead, the strokes coming with a savoring slowness now. The tension became unbearable, and soon the
thrusting became as rapid as it had been while they were on their hands and
knees. The friction brought her closer
and closer to orgasm.
"Don't stop."
"I won't..."
Who said what didn't matter - they weren't going to stop
until they were both smiling. She released
his cock and brought her hand to her mound, rubbing herself, enhancing the
sensation. The sight of Laverne
fingering her own clit made Lenny's thrusts increase in tempo and force - soon
she rode the force of his hips, gasping from the pleasure of it.
"I'm gonna come, hold me up, I'm gonna come," she
cried out, then felt his strong hands grasp her about
the waist. It was permission to let
go. She pressed her palm to mound, the
jiggling caused by his thrusting sending the first aching twinges down to her
clit. She whined as she came, their
bodies still slapping together wildly as she boiled over.
He felt like a rock
buried in her cunt as her orgasm receded. Lenny's teeth were sunk into his lower lip;
he was almost snarling at her in frustration.
She smiled comfortingly and leaned over him, ramming herself
down on him as hard as she could.
Her expression must have worried him; his eyes
softened. "You're smiling," he
said, touching her face gently.
She was. "I
won't go anywhere until you're smiling, too." With that, Laverne took the initiative,
riding him with rapid, sharp moves of her hips.
It took her less than a minute to make him smile - his hands grabbing
her hips hard, hips slapping her quickly and a low, heavy moan came from deep
in his throat. She could feel him
coming, the thick cream as he released it coating her inner walls, making her
tremble in a miniature spasm in response.
He groaned her name over and over, as if he had lost her somewhere,
before going quiet and lying limp and sweaty on her staircase.
Laverne came to rest against his chest, her head resting on
his heart as they gradually regained their breath. She refused to look at him - that would mean
admitting what they had just done was real, and that their relationship would
be changed forever.
Did she want that?
She didn't want things to be the way they were. She didn't want to be alone, or bouncing from
one cheap piece of shit to the next. She
wanted to be with someone she really liked...
She would think about it all tomorrow. Right now, she needed to get them away from
her unlocked front door and somewhere safer while they could do what they had
just done again and again - hopefully on softer ground. Then they would get up and he would try to
get his ring back from the restaurant and figure out what they felt.
He spoke.
"Vernie, my belt buckle’s digging a hole into my kidney."
She reluctantly climbed off of his body, and he sat up. She saw the red imprinting of it on the
middle of his back and gently rubbed the skin - beneath her hand he
flinched. He couldn't look her in the
eye, either - the too-recent disappointment that was Karen still lying on the
surface.
"Len?" she said against his shoulder.
"Yeah?"
"Can you stay tonight?"
She had never asked a man to stay at her place before. This
was a huge step, though he didn't know it.
Lenny looked at her at last, into her eyes. "You promise not to kick me out tomorrow
morning?"
She laughed and kissed his neck, marveling at the babyish
softness of it. "I'll even make you
breakfast."
The tension between them dissolved a little.
"Okay," he picked up his pants in his left hand, then
took her left in his right. "Just
promise me something?"
"Okay."
"Don't wake me up."
"Huh?"
He sighed.
"Girls just can't tell when they're dreaming," he sighed. "If this was real and you was awake, why would you touch a jerk like me?"
It suddenly came into focus for her who she was with. Goofy, sweet natured,
small-egoed Lenny Kosnowski. Lenny who liked wet wool and wanted to settle
down. But she would think about that
tomorrow.
She didn't confirm or correct his statement as she dragged
him into the sanctity of her bedroom.
***
Four Miles and several
charkas away
***
Paula Rosenswine smiled to herself as she screwed a thick piece
of cork into the mouth of a fancy glass decanter and returned it to the top
shelf of her cupboard. She dusted her
palms on the heavy red apron and lamented the stickiness of her fingers. Despite herself, she grinned - if Laverne was
lucky, she was stickier in a much more useful place right now...
An agitated meow
echoing from her breadbox made sigh.
"Don't take that tone with me, Azrael." The cat peeped out of its hiding place,
hissing, green eyes malevolent. "Yes, the raspberry enchantment was a
trick - but it wasn't a mean one. You
know the spell is useless unless the victim produces feelings of her own before
she eats the chocolate. If Laverne
doesn't feel anything like that for someone in the next twenty-four hours,
they'll pass through her without doing a thing.
It's not as if it's an uncontrollable aphrodisiac." In actuality, she had doused the truffles
very lightly with the brew- a love charm that had come down through her
ancestors for years. "And it'll
wear off in the morning. Besides - it
was that Carmine fellow's idea," she shook her head. "Poor Laverne! She always had such a following among the
boys. Imagine someone of her passion
being alone at her age!"
Azael meowed again. "Oh, silly, I'm not alone - I have
you. And it's not MY fault you got
yourself turned into a familiar for breaking the rules, is it?" A more pitiful meow. "That's right," she turned back to
her kitchen cupboard. "It's nice of
him to want her to have someone, especially since he lost that Shirley girl to
that Walter fellow." She rolled her
eyes at Azrael's meow. "No, I am NOT considering interfering in
the affairs of the married! Not that
it's against the rules." Another agitated meow.
"All right! It's his fault for not asking me
questions! He thought I was a gypsy and
I played along." She smirked. "But he never asked if I was a
witch. He thinks I'm going to give her
an ineffective love charm to boost her confidence - no reason why I can't do
the same for him and this Shirley girl..."
The cat stretched out
on the top of her counter, putting both paws over his eyes. "All right, you wash your hands of the
whole business. I can take care of my
own problems," she instructed, pulling another pound of chocolate off of
the top shelf. She picked up a newspaper
clipping - Carmine's picture, which she had stolen during a clandestine meeting
at his apartment in a sub-rosa search for information for Laverne's
enchantment. Sticking it into a crack in
the cabinets over her head, she smiled up at him as she fired up her
double-boiler.
"All right,
Mister Ragusa," she said gleefully, "brace
yourself, 'cause I see a little love coming your way very soon..."