Mary and Daphne #189

I’m not a little girl. Really. I’m just a woman married to a woman. A woman who gave me two dollars and sent me to the store, ostensibly because I needed some fresh air and exercise (pretty rich coming from Mary the Desk Pilot). Not that I was complaining cuz she told me I could have a peanut butter pumpkin so long as I walked to the store to get it. But just the one, so she gave me two dollars from her purse (almost like she doesn’t trust me to follow the rules about peanut butter pumpkins because – get this – for some reason she doesn’t trust me to follow the rules about peanut butter in any shape, as though I have a well-earned reputation for deceit, but I like to think of it as guile), and sent me on my way with a smack to my butt and kiss to my mouth. I really did kiss a girl, and I heccin liked it. True story.

The peanut butter pumpkin never made it home, of course. It made it from the checkout to … I wanna say the crosswalk, but that would be a lie, and I am a paragon of truth. Unlike President Washington, I really did (try to) chop down a cherry tree and confessed immediately upon being asked (I was six and confused about the moral of that story). Anyhoo, the pumpkin didn’t even make it across the parking lot.

When I got home, there was Mary in the kitchen looking domestically scrumptious. She was stirring something (she’s always stirring pots and swinging spoons like it’s a hobby or – get this! – a fetish; how weird!), and she bade me come close. For her I am ever so biddable, plus I like her and stuff. You know what she did? She gave me another kiss. A good one.

“You taste like peanut butter,” she told me.

“Flattery will get you all the places with me … You should eat more peanut butter.” She rolled her eyes so subtly, I almost didn’t notice.

“Why not just spread some on me,” she asked sarcastically, but from sarcasm comes some of the best ideas ever. Pre-sliced bread, for instance, was invented when someone rolled their eyes and said, ‘why don’t we just slice it for the lazy buggers too?’ Really.

“You joke, but that’s a very good idea.”

“Just spread the peanut butter on the parts I want you to lick like puppy play?”

“I’m not a puppy. But you do make a nummy treat. Thank you for my pumpkin.” She even let me keep the change, which I added to the change jar. That’s thirteen cents we will one day spend very wisely, no doubt. “Can I taste?”

“I’m making dinner,” Mary with a chuckle said like I’m a singleminded pervert or something. Now whose turn was it to roll their eyes? Mine. That’s whose turn it was.

“I meant dinner, you silly … alpha goose.”

“Such a sass mouth. It’s the sugar that does it.” She dipped the spoon into the pot, blew on it for me (cuz she loves me and stuff), and held it out for me to taste.

But first I said, “Blame me, not the sugar.” Because I don’t cotton to heresy. Then I tasted it. “Mmmm. Yummers.”

“You always make up new words when you get a little hyper.”

“I think you wanna blame peanut butter for things. Is that because you love me so much you don’t want to face my flaws? Not that I have any, but, ya know, theoretically … Even though I transcend theory … Whatever that means.”

“Your bottom knows the answer to that.” That’s actually what she said to me. She’s the sass mouth. Her! Mary!

“What’s that mean?”

“That’s I’ve never spanked peanut butter, but I’ve spanked you pert little bottom more times than I can count.”

“Yeah, but cuz you love me, right?”

“So much. Come stand next to me.”

“Why,” I asked as I shuffled over to stand next to her.

“So I can put my arm around you while I stir the mushrooms.”

“Awww. You’re being a softy today.”

“I am. I really am.”

Know how banks have silent alarms? Mary’s use of ‘really’ in that context tripped mine, and the little teller in my head just kept smiling like everything was normal and she hadn’t tripped any alarm and there was no need to get violent, just take the money and go with the almighty’s blessing.

“… In what … other ways are you being a softy today?” Of course, it didn’t hafta to be something bad. It could be that she bought me a present. Maybe she decided we should go on another trip. Maybe stuff … Or things.

“Jo texted me again, and we set a date. Ran out of excuses.”

“Jo as in Ann’s partner?” Ann as in the woman we met at a play party, a little and spanko who had kindly packed our things for us as Mary and me were giving each other some after care? Jo and Ann as in the Jo and Ann who had invited us to go to their home and we said yes but really Mary said yes and I said meh and Mary said yes and I said okay but not now and then we all forgot about it but not entirely and apparently Jo and/or Ann had reached out again and Mary said yes and agreed to a date and time because we had allegedly run out of excuses? (I ran out of breath typing that; I’m having an odd day).

I know we’re married and everything, but ‘ran out of excuses’ is not a we problem. That’s a Mary problem. Mary may have run out of excuses, but years of practice trying to stay out of trouble have made me friggin’ the best at coming up with excuses. Random for instance, ‘love to, but can’t; our bird is sick.’ Bam! Literally just came up with that on the friggin’ spot! Tall brunette person with her arm around me talking nonsense about running out of excuses mumble mutter murmur mumble.

“Marrry!”

“We’ll talk about it after dinner.”

“Are you gonna do that thing where you use physical pleasure to keep me quiet and pliant while you tell me how it’s gonna be and reassure me it’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Fibber … And you had better.”

Mary took the hint, not that I was at all subtle about it … nor basically telling her I was miffed and she owed me if she wanted me to go along … nor that the very prospect of playing with new people had me so anxious I needed to be physically calmed down. Really.

So, after dinner – which, let’s acknowledge, I ate very much of despite having snarfed a peanut butter pumpkin shortly before, which I bring up only to counter all those people who ever thought I would spoil my dinner as though I can’t eat like a slender, very feminine, totally calm, hungry hungry hippo – Mary got out the big waterproof pad (always a sign of fun times ahead, except in certain circumstances I don’t wish to talk about), and laid it on our bed. I knew where that was going, so I took the liberty of stripping to my birthday suit while she went to find the massage oil under the bathroom counter. As an aside, I don’t know why people call it a birthday suit; that implies nakedness is only for special occasions, but being naked is great pretty much all the times.

I was face down on that pad when Mary got on the bed and climbed over me. Little ol’ me, right between her naked thighs. You might think having a naked masseuse is likewise only for special occasions, but it, too, can be an everyday pleasure if you have a willing partner..

“Why did you say yes,” I asked as she poured a small pool of oil in the small of my back. She snapped the lid closed and started spreading it up and down, side to side.

“Why did you say ‘not yet’ every time I suggested a date?”

“Reasons. Good ones.”

“Like the way you tend to resent new people coming into our lives?”

“Yes.” Ever since I was a kid, I’ve never liked a new person being added to my group of friends. I had my group; I liked my group; what did we need a new person for? A person who might change the group’s dynamic or take away from my time with my friends, basically meaning their attention would be on someone who wasn’t me. But I would get over it. It’s just that, despite knowing better, I would rather not deal with it at all than get over it.

“You have a big knot here. Tell me if it hurts too much.” My muscles and connective tissue don’t like me. There’s always a knot somewhere, and getting it to relax often requires a lacrosse ball, a masseuse, or a lesbian leaning on it with her elbow. “Any other reasons?”

“I’m shy and awkward and embarrassed about being shy and awkward.”

“Are you as shy as you used to be?”

“No.”

“And you were never as awkward as you thought. Besides, some people think shy, awkward girls are cute.” Yeah, the one rubbing oily hands on my back sure likes that mode on me. Sometimes she decides she wants to help me be less shy; other times she tells me it’s okay to hide behind her. Either way, she won’t let anything happen to me, which is oddly reassuring despite literally nothing ever having happened to me because I’m shy. Like, it’s caused literally no problems in my life and I can just not be shy when I need to. She’s not protecting me from anything; she’s just reassuring me, which I like a lot.

“I just don’t like being the center of attention, and a new bottom is always the center of attention. That woman is going to focus all this energy on me, and you’re gonna wanna know more about Ann, and I’m going to hate both of those things.” I’d already decided I was going to hate both of those things. Especially the latter, not that I ever get jealous. Um, really.

“I’m not expecting you to play with them. We’re just going to get to know them more. You haven’t even talked to Jo yet.”

“O. That makes more sense.”

“Did you really think I was just going to send you off to play with strangers?”

“Why are we meeting at their house then?”

“So we can all be more open about ourselves. They have a lifestyle relationship too. We know people who know them; they’ve vouched for them.” Safety first.

“Well, geez Mary, why didn’t you say so? You can tell me these things.”

“We kept putting it off so long I just forgot about it. I’m surprised she texted me. I thought they’d given up on us. I would’ve.”

“Wonder why they didn’t. It’s been months.”

“Probably because they could use new friends, just like a little girl I know who’s been saying she needs more friends.”

I do need more friends. Friends who are available during the day. All my friends work all day. I don’t have any impression of Jo, and my only impression of Ann is from when I was weeping on Mary’s lap not wanting anything to do with anyone who wasn’t my Mary. All I really knew was what I overheard during that conversation Mary had over the phone with Jo. “And it’s a coincidence this couple you wanna make friends with are ageplayers?”

“It’s a coincidence that we met Ann, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that she approached us. Can I tell you a secret?”

“You keep secrets from me?”

“My secret is that I love Oily Daffy.”

Agreed. “She’s pretty fun.”

“You’re like a slip-n-slide.”

“So when did you say we’d meet them?”

“Saturday after next. I think we’ll really like them. I get a sense their lifestyle is a lot like ours.”

“I do need more friends. Okay. Just don’t run out of excuses without giving me a chance to come up with some new ones.” She snickered at me.

“I promise.”

“Hey, as long as you’re up there and I’m all oiled up, how about smacking my butt for a while?”

“And maybe my other hand could find another way to keep busy?”

“You’re the boss of me; you do what you feel is necessary.”

“On one condition: afterwards, we wash the oil off each other.”

“Twist my arm why don’t you.”

Making new friends sometimes feels like one of those things that’s good for you, but you still don’t want to do it. All my reasons weren’t very good reasons, and I do need more friends. Having another kinky couple to be friends with would be nice, especially if Jo and Ann really do turn out to be more like us. Even if not, even if we just get along as vanillas, I really have been getting bored lately.