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?s the other way around. Though I’m not surprised by her appraisal of Tasia’s “spiritual talk”. She does have curious ideas, that unlike Peach—who abide “mumbo jumbo” as she calls it—only intrigue me.
“I guess I just need to get used to the place. It doesn’t help, this rain tonight. Look at it.” Peach stands at an enormous bay window looking out to the black beyond. I join her there, seeing beyond the reflecting candle light to what appears to be a beautiful garden leading to the ocean cliffs.
“Tell me one thing,” I ask, “did you make love to her in this room?”
“Miriam? No,” she replies. “Her room was on the first floor, I always joined her there. I worked here the summer that being a lesbian started to make real sense to me. She made it make sense.” Peach is not often reflective like this. Seeing the faraway look, I know this is her sacred ground, this Miriam. “I’m not like her, though,” she continues, “Miriam agreed with my decision to leave, she said I could figure things out for myself. She said I had to learn it on my own.”
“And what have you figured out?” I ask. I allow my arm to rest lazily around her waist.
She turns to me. “That I need to play with fire, with the things that scare you so much.” I know she’s referring to the leather dykes and much more. Her eyes look like molten caverns, sultry and exotic. Peach told me once that she has Native American and African in her blood. I see it now.
I can’t answer her, because she’s scaring me. It’s ironic how we’re alike and different. I like to talk about, think about and write about the things she refers to, while she only wants to explore them with her body. I know I’m not ready for it.
We make love fitfully; this place stirs us both.
“Good morning, ladies,” Tasia greets us with a lush hello. There’s bright sunshine pouring through the windows as it begins to bake the air. The shadows of the previous night have been adequately replaced, as gold light dances off Tasia’s glittering rooms. The color, no less dark, doesn’t seem so somber now.
The morning delights me, the ocean air makes me breathe easier.
We sit down for a lovely breakfast of steamy muffins and juice, just the three of us. This surprises me, in a place so large—there has to be at least a dozen guest rooms on three floors—I expect more women enjoying the tranquility of this place.
“Did you make these?” I ask. “They’re delicious.”
“I cook much of what you’ll eat here, though I do have some help,” she says, as if she’s trying to hide something. I wonder if she’s so obscure about everything.
Peach sits next to me, uncharacteristically subdued.
“Perhaps you’d two like to sunbathe,” she suggests. “The beach is lovely this time of day. You’ll find the sun less harsh and there’s a perfect spot to catch the rays, just to the south of the stairway.”
“I remember it,” Peach says. She sounds annoyed with our hostess.
“I’m glad I can offer women the opportunity to do things here they would not be able to do elsewhere,” she says. The more I’m with this odd woman, the more I see a quixotic spirit, with facets to her personality beyond those that first appear. I’m not sure what to think of her.
After breakfast, Peach and I make a trek to the beach, passing through a vast garden of well manicured wildflowers, perennials, and more than a dozen varieties of roses. I could remain here forever just drinking in the beauty against the backdrop of the ocean, and the windswept cliff-side trees.
“Miriam created this garden,” Peach tells me. “I was here when these roses were planted.” She shows me a row of bright blooming wild roses that entwine like lovers along a split rail fence.
“They’re wonderful, and so fragrant.”
“Don’t think that woman had anything to do with this. This place belongs to Miriam, whether she’s here or not.”
“You don’t like her at all. In fact, I’d say you resent Tasia being here.”
“Maybe.”
“Perhaps we should see your friend, maybe she’s not so unhappy to have been replaced.”
Peach pouts, then pulls me along with her to the rickety stairs. I can’t believe how far above the beach we are, and how dangerous the descent. Our trek moves slowly as the stairs are in need of repair.
“We’ll go up another path on the way back,” Peach comments, obviously knowing of some route I cannot see.
Finding the spot Tasia mentioned, Peach and I remove our clothes. I’m hesitant, self consciously thinking that someone might spy on us here, even though I’m aroused by the indecency of public exposure. The truth is, it’s really quite safe, with so few to discover us naked. I lay down on the heavy quilt we’ve brought with us and let my body get used to the freedom.
The sun never fails to ignite me sexually; it only takes minutes before I feel the sensuous heat on my skin. I reach out for Peach with a fondling hand. We must be on the same wave length, for we fall into each other’s bodies easily. Everything seems perfect now, especially the way the sun warms our skin so that it feels prickly when we caress each other. I’ve missed this effortlessness with her.
She runs her hands between my legs where it’s wet and sticky. She pulls at my ring so I let out a tiny “ouch”. She smiles at me, and I think that everything that was raw between us is healed. I cum easily. Peach doesn’t need to do anything but fondle my clit and labia for a few seconds, it’s so alive.
After my climax, I roll her over on her back, and climb between her legs, finding her clit with my tongue. Looking up at her as she lies back drinking in the sensations, I watch her expression change. She rocks against my face with her groin. Her brow wrinkles, then relaxes. Her muscles tense and her breasts bob, the soft flesh jiggling. Her nipples are erect, and I lean forward to take them between my teeth and bite them lightly.
