Chapter One. Brandy Monsoon is looking for love

All the Wrong Places

Brandy Monsoon is looking for love. Since there’s never a shortage of casual playmates at the tropical resort where she works, most of the time she gets it, too. And if Brandy tires of the perpetually curious – but primarily straight – women, there’s always her best friend Tess for a friendly encounter…
When an all-lesbian tour group arrives for a week, Brandy is sure she’ll be in paradise on earth. Among the guests is lesbian celebrity comic Celine Griffin, who has an obvious interest in an after-dinner Brandy. Celine and Brandy do find explosive pleasure together, --so why does Brandy feel as if that’s no longer enough for happiness?
With days and nights so delicious… who cares about tomorrow?

Chapter One

"Now lace your fingers behind your left calf and stretch those toes toward the crown of your head." I kept my tone in the blended range between soothing and energized. Experience had taught me one could be too perky at nine a.m. for people on vacation.

There were nearly twenty for Morning Stretch, a good turnout for a Saturday morning. Most would be heading home in a few hours after their week of Florida sun, food and activities, but one last stretch in the cool, early-morning air was a popular event. For many it was a last chance to enjoy the shadiest portion of the private Sanibel Island beach while it was still quiet.

"Now the other side, and count slowly to ten." I felt a twinge in my knee and eased up on the pressure. A glance at the participants told me most were following form. Tomorrow it would be nothing but first-timers, but that was part of the fun of my job. There were always new faces.

Through my lashes I watched the palm fronds overhead move easily in the light breeze. The sky was an endless pale blue this morning and the sun had not yet risen over the resort buildings. It was cool and peaceful. The only other time of day I liked more was first light on a golf course.

A minor commotion made me look up again and I quickly hid a smile. The late arrival was Paige, a woman I had been exchanging glances with since her arrival last Saturday. Paige— oh no, or was it Penny, penny for your thoughts? Paige, like a book, I recalled. When you meet as many new people as I do, mnemonics are useful. It was a trick I'd learned from my father, and one of the few things of his for which I had any use at all.

Paige, like a book, had no trouble with the inner thigh stretches, and I seriously doubted she was unaware that her mat was turned so I could see just how flexible her legs were. Bronzed, fit, generously curved with thick curls of sandy blonde hair—Paige was my type. But then, as my best friend Tess would say, all women seem to be my type.

Paige really only had one drawback as a potential playmate, and that was the boyfriend with whom she had arrived. Scuttlebutt was he'd proposed two nights ago, but there was no sign of a ring and he hadn't seemed all that happy when I'd caught a glimpse of him slamming serves on the tennis court.

"Take your left elbow in your right hand and stretch, gently, over your head. That's it! Just think how many of these exercises you can do sitting at your desk at work."

"Sure, Brandy." The woman nearest to me, whose name I'd never picked up, was always good for a wisecrack. "Like I'll remember how to put my left heel over my right shoulder while I press down through my inner left hip and relax my right pinky."

I chuckled. "It's not that bad. Whatever feels good you'll remember. It's time to breathe and relax. Knowing how to truly relax is very important to our well-being. Let's all stretch out on our mats."

For a minute there was only the sound of surf on the sand. I fought a yawn. I hadn't been up that late but morning had still seemed to arrive early for a Saturday in April.

Paige, like a book, was the last to rise from her mat when I called a close to the class. The white swimsuit she wore was barely covered by a crimson beach cover-up. She smiled at me, her eyebrows making suggestions as they had all week, then she turned to pick up her mat. The view was very nice, very nice indeed. It was a real pity about the boyfriend.

"Who's joining me for Body Pump?" Tess, looking as bright and cheerful as the light sparkling across the offshore white-caps, gestured in the direction of Club Sandzibel's fitness center.

I don't know how she managed to look so wide awake when she'd probably closed the bar the night before. She'd told me that the new bartender, Jean-Paul, seemed fun, and there was no reason to think she hadn't explored some possibilities with him.

"Hey, Brandy," she said to me as she bounced happily on the balls of her feet. "I need to show you the new Bosu lunges. Better for inner thigh work and easier for first-timers."

"I'll be along in just a bit then." I checked the area to ensure the mats were back in their covered storage container and that all the guests seemed content. Of course, this meant I eventually had to make eye contact with Paige.

"Must you go so soon?" She spoke with a soft drawl that was musical but not cloying.

"You'll be going soon, for good." I waved at Tess, who gave me a knowing wink as she left. I watched her blonde ponytail sway against her back, then turned back to Paige.

"I've had a wonderful week. There are plenty of reasons to come back here. The setting, the great food... the wonderful staff." With that she gave me the same, almost involuntary once-over that had sent a wicked jolt down my spine last Saturday, when she had arrived.

I'd been working at Club Sandzibel for two years, and it was Tess who had first told me that some of the guests presumed the staff were available for private romping, and that was why they chose a resort oriented toward younger, more active guests and staffed with younger, more active personnel. Management denied any pressure at all, and there was even training on how to graciously refuse an overture. But higher-ups also clearly said that activities carried out while we were off duty were not of concern unless other guests were made in any way uncomfortable by them.

I wondered how uncomfortable Paige's boyfriend would be if Paige and I hopped back to my quarters for an hour. The idea had appeal, though I wasn't sure why. When I'd first started working at the resort I'd been like a dyke at a softball game. So many women, so little time. But the allure of straight-but-looking-for-thrills Paiges had paled along the way.

I gave Paige a long look, though. The fact that she was in the mood and so was I made analyzing whys and wherefores less important at the moment. Something about her appealed. She had sought me out and as far as I was concerned, her actions and conscience were her own business. But, I remembered, time was short and I had places I needed to be.

"Is there someplace we could talk for a few minutes? I know you have to go to the next class."

"Why don't you walk over to Body Pump with me?" If she wanted to make some sort of confused declaration then I could make time to listen. But there wasn't time for anything else, at least, not the way I liked to do it.

A walk wasn't what she had in mind, but she fell into step and I caught the complicated scent of a lilac blend that I'd noticed before around her. She was perhaps four inches taller than me, but then so is most of the world when you're five-two.

During the walk to Adult Fitness I changed my mind. Maybe it was because she was leaving. Maybe it was because from the moment she'd arrived she'd looked at me like I could teach her more than aerobics and stretching. Maybe it was because she smelled good and it was still early on a glorious spring morning. What was it Tess had said on my birthday? That when she'd been twenty-six she wished she'd noticed the mornings more. At nearly thirty-two, Tess claimed time was already making her hate first light—that is, when she was lucid enough to see it.

Paige followed me past the gathering of Bosu ball devotees and into the gym. The TV at one end was blaring CNN talking heads while the opposite monitor was competing with equally loud MTV. Clanging weight machines added to the cacophony. I stopped for a sip of water to fight down a nervous flutter. My throat was suddenly dry. My crotch was not.

I think if she hadn't looked a little bit vulnerable, like she really didn't do this sort of thing all the time, I might have turned back to Tess's class. But Paige seemed hesitant, as if she'd gotten this far on bravado and a good flirtatious line, not practice.

"We can get some more towels from the supply room." I led the way.

"Staff only," she read on the sign.

"We make the occasional exception." My tone was not as light as I had hoped. I swiped my pass card with all the nonchalance I could muster and opened the door for her.

It was her choice then. She knew at a minimum we would do some heavy petting if we both moved to the other side of the door. She gazed at me for a moment, then swallowed hard. She said something I couldn't quite hear over the music.

"What?"

She leaned closer and I realized that the taut outline of her nipples was visible through the suit and the light cover-up. "I don't have a lot of time."

Performance pressure, great, I thought, but she'd already gone inside the little room. Just as the door swung shut I found the light switch. I had it barely locked when I felt her hands on my shoulders.

"I don't know why I'm doing this," she said.

I surely didn't know why she was doing it either, but my heart was pounding. My reasons were about mood and need, that simple. I wanted to feel a woman against me, listen to her voice. I wanted to get my fingers wet.

"Are you sure?" Her eyes, a cloudy deep brown, were saying yes, but I needed to hear it. "I can unlock the door."

"I'm sure. I've always wondered..."

Our hands began to wander. I loved the feel of her hips under my palms. "Wondered what?" I nuzzled at her throat and inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. "Wondered what being fucked by a woman would feel like?"

Her skin jumped under my hands and I felt more confident knowing that I'd read her correctly. It was only then that I realized I had hoped she was somewhat experienced, because the thought of being touched by a woman was what had been circling my mind for the last few minutes. In my early days here, however, I'd learned that inexperienced straight women usually had no clue how to truly pleasure themselves, let alone another woman. Giving "feel that G-spot" lessons had ceased to be fun.

But I wouldn't say no at this point. It was all dyke ego, and I could live with the idea that there would be plenty of times when a guy would try his best and she'd think longing thoughts of the red-haired babe named Brandy at the resort, the one who had made her feel things she'd never felt before and hadn't felt since.

She was nodding while her hands stilled on my shoulders. She let me push her gently back against the heavy shelving where towels were stacked. My thigh went between her legs and we began to move to the pounding rhythm of the music that seeped under the locked door.

Her swimsuit was no challenge. I moved it out of my way, making room for my fingers and my mouth. She ground against my hip with a hiss as I stroked both nipples. They were erect and firm, and responded further to my tongue circling first one then the other.

I lifted my head to look into her eyes as I squeezed the reddened points. Her eyes widened as I increased the pressure to a pinch and she nodded, her mouth slightly open in surprise.

I kissed her throat while I teased and played with her nipples. She responded with more of her weight on my thigh, jerking against me to the beat of the music. I wanted her on my own rhythm, so I leaned away to study her eyes again.

Her hands had been passive on my shoulders, so I lifted one to the shelf support over her head. "I want you to hold on. Can you do that?"

"Yes," she breathed. She automatically brought her other hand up so both hands were firmly gripping the heavy metal frame. My fingers went back to her nipples with a sharp tug and she moaned loudly.

Her eyes were slightly glazed as I brushed her face with my hands. "It's all in the touch. We're not going to do anything you don't want."

"Okay... okay." She sounded nervous again.

"So you've wondered what it would be like. How is it so far?"

She nearly cracked a smile, which had been my intention. "So far, so good."

I pushed my thigh hard against her wet crotch and her responsive gasp sent a thrill of pure fire down my back. Maybe

I wasn't going to get touched in return, but feeling her move for me was already the highlight of the last month. "Just good?"

She nodded, and sexy, flirtatious Paige was suddenly back. "So far just good."

I arched an eyebrow. She gave me a look that said she dared me to try for more and I rose happily to the challenge. Another sharp tug at her nipples brought her focus back to her body, then I possessively grasped her by the waist, holding her still on my thigh.

"Nothing you don't want," I repeated.

She nodded frantically and tipped her hips up as I slid my hands under the back of her bikini bottoms to cup her supple ass. Soft skin over rock-hard muscle was just fine to hold and we began to move again, this time to the pace that I set.

"Do you want this?"

"Yes. I don't... have much time."

I didn't need the reminder. "Slow and sweet takes time, so we'll skip it. Is that okay?"

She whispered something as she arched her back and I asked her to say it again. Her cheeks reddened and her drawl was more pronounced. "I'm not here for slow and sweet."

"Tell me what you want." The air was close and musty and we were both starting to perspire. Her body felt increasingly hot against mine, bringing out a burning itch to say sweaty, hard words and finish like rockets. "You know you want to say it."

"Put your hand there."

"That's not what you want to say." I bit her lower lip as I squeezed her ass, hard. "What do you want?"

Her eyes were gleaming with desire as she looked down at our sweating bodies. "Make love to me."

"We're not making love here. We're strangers and we're going to have sex and walk away from each other. Isn't that it? Don't you want to get off with a strange woman? It's so forbidden, isn't it? It's shitty and wicked and it's going to feel so unbelievably good. This isn't about love, so say it."

She tightened her grip on the shelving, making her breasts taut against mine. "Yes, that's what I want. I want to get fucked by you, so fuck me—"

She sucked in her breath as I pulled the slick crotch of her bikini bottoms to one side and cupped her swollen cunt. Very few things ever felt this good to me, the combination of slippery skin and the one hard knot of engorged nerves. It had been a while since anything had felt that wonderful to my hand and I played with it all, dizzied by the hard throb between my own legs and the rising music of Paige's moans.

I went back to her breasts with my other hand while I enjoyed her writhing on my fingers and thigh. She was gasping little words—good and please and more—while I teased and further reddened her nipples.

"You are so hot, so fucking hot," I said, raising my voice to be sure she heard me. If we'd had more time I would have played more, let us both get higher, but quick was going to get her there. "Fucking hot and hot to fuck. Let's get this party started, baby."

My hand was covered with her excitement and one finger slipped easily inside her. She didn't have to moan "more" for me to arch my hand and shove two inside her, hard. With lube and lots of foreplay she might take more but right now two was plenty.

She ground down on my hand with a yelp the music hopefully covered. "That feels so good—harder! Just fuck me!"

I used my thigh behind my hand to give her what she wanted, grinning wildly because I'd found her G-spot, and the way her body was responding told me I might be the first. Everything was getting wetter and tighter as we strained against each other.

"Is this what you wanted?" I punctuated my words with hard strokes inside her. Lilac mingled with the scent of sex and she felt so very good against me.

She met every thrust. "Yes! More..."

"Don't let go. Hold on while I fuck you off your feet, just hold on."

My other hand went between her legs and two fingers slid to either side of her clit. Her cry might have been audible over the music, but then she was holding her breath. Her G-spot was suddenly very wet and rough and then her legs jerked.

She went rigid against me and then Paige, like a book, like a woman, Paige knew what she wanted. Her gaze locked with mine and she said through gritted teeth, "Don't... stop. Don't you fucking dare stop."

I didn't.

A few minutes later, after soft words and smooches, and mutual assurances that it had been unexpected and wonderful, we awkwardly peeled our bodies apart. It was a good thing we had plenty of towels at hand, but the gym had no showers.

Paige's drawl had a slow, lazy edge to it now. "I've never—I mean, I got so wet, I didn't know I'd do that."

"It's okay," I reassured her. "That's what you're supposed to do when everything gets touched the right way." She was flushed and I was doing inner cartwheels at the stunned look that remained in her eyes. She wasn't trying to retreat under a cool, sophisticated guise, as if what had just happened was just another passable orgasm in a long line of them.

With a stammer, she admitted, "I've read about it. I mean— I just didn't think I had a... "

"G-spot?" I caught myself before I teed off on the inferior skills of her previous lovers. Instead, I mildly said, "You do, honey. Believe me, you do."

"I can't go out like this. I—well." She blushed. "You know."

Her legs were sticky and fragrant. For that matter, so was my thigh. Two conditions I loved if there was time to do things all over again. "The people in the gym are only smelling their own sweat. Why don't we take a dip in the pool? It's a big pool, with lots of chlorine."

She nodded, still delightfully pink across her neck and shoulders. "Last one in is a—"

She didn't have to finish the sentence. I unbolted the door and we dashed around the row of elliptical trainers and out the door. She had her sandals off in no time, but I had to get out of my trainers. But it was still only a half-minute before we both were luxuriating in the deepest of the resort's pools.

We spluttered for a few moments, then she looked like she wanted to say something pointless like "thank you" or "you were good." Treading water, I said in a low voice, "It was what it was. Remember to always stretch before a workout."

She laughed in a wry, half-amused way, then swam to the ladder. The little cover-up she wore clung to every single curve of her body and I took one last, long look. She gathered up her sandals and then she was gone.

I don't usually swim in my workout clothes so there was no way Tess didn't know what had delayed me inside the gym. I had patted down and partially dried while she finished her class, but my hair would be wet for some time. Vigorous toweling had it standing on end, and I hoped Tess was in the mood to lend me her hairbrush.

Tess's CD switched over to "I'm in Heaven," which I knew was the song that closed Body Pump for the hour. I grabbed a Bosu ball and dropped it flat side down and joined in. The thigh steps she'd mentioned were not a huge change, but I could see how the balance work standing on the half-dome "ball" would benefit from it. A first-timer would be less likely to pull a Sartorius muscle.

I was feeling mighty fine at the end of my short workout, and it must have showed because the first thing Tess said when we were mostly alone was, "Stop glowing."

"What?" I smoothed my hair with both hands, trying to tame the tangles.

Tess rummaged in her sport bag and came up with a hair tie. "Oh, hold still." She twisted a knot at the nape of my neck. I trusted her work; it wasn't the first time she'd tidied my unruly curl-infested mop. "Now wipe that innocent look off your face and tell me what happened in there."

"About what you'd expect."

"Did you get 'thanks, dahling, we must do lunch' or a voucher for a toaster oven?"

"More the latter, I think. I don't know." Mindful of the guests nearby, I lowered my voice. "She hadn't been with a woman before, that I'm pretty sure of."

"Oh, so you got, if you'll pardon the expression, stiffed?"

I swatted her. "I got what I wanted or I wouldn't have been there."

She gave me an intent look, then smiled slightly. "Okay. As long as that stays true, have fun."

"Speaking of getting what you want, how was Jean-Paul?"

Tess answered from the depth of her sport bag. Without looking up she handed me her hair spray. "Disappointing. All the looks, none of much else."

I coughed as I accidentally inhaled the spray. Scrunching my hair down, I asked, "What else were you looking for?"

She shrugged as I returned the spray and she zipped the bag closed.

"No, what? Tell me. Something didn't go right."

I fell into step next to her. We both had the next hour free, then she moved on to pool games while I gave much-needed relief to the KidZone staff.

"He was up for it, definitely." Her heavy sigh disquieted me. Tess preferred her sex with no strings, and once she hit it off with a guy the evening usually went fine from her perspective. Nobody owned her body but herself, and she took very good care of it.

"But you weren't?"

"He called me Tessie even when I asked him not to."

"Idiot."

"I kept thinking if he doesn't hear me about my name, is he going to hear me about what I like in bed? Been there, done that. Last night a vibrator was just easier."

I mentally reviewed the calendar, wondering where she was in her cycle. I didn't envy Tess her hormones, and she took loads of calcium and herbals to level out the cycle from hell. The Pill helped a lot, too, but still, there were times when she seriously needed some good sex and couldn't find anyone she trusted enough to take care of her. Except me.

It had been almost an accident, the first time we'd slept together. As we walked from the fitness center toward Village Square, I found myself recalling that night six... no, nearly seven months ago. I'd been here a year and a half by then. Tess and I had been buddies from the moment she greeted me next to the staff pool with, "Cool, another short woman who reads. That makes two of us."

She didn't care I was gay, I didn't care she was straight. We dished on the guests and management and shared the burdens of laundry and shopping. She knew all the sins of my past and that I didn't talk to my family. She'd lost her parents when she was seven, and I understood when she said she'd like a family, even one she wasn't speaking to. Tess let me borrow her car and I let her borrow my golf clubs, both of which were major displays of trust for each of us.

She'd knocked late one night with a half-bottle of red wine she'd smuggled out of the dining room. Holding it up to the light she said, "I can't seem to get laid, and I doubt this is enough to get drunk, but if you've got any chocolate my night will get better."

I scrounged for brownie mix and as soon as they were baking in the minuscule oven my quarters offered, we sat on the sofa— courtesy of Club Sandzibel decorators—and drank the wine.

It was July, and hot for the middle of the night. The air conditioner blowing on me felt good and the wine was the label served free to the guests—nondescript, but okay.

The last I had seen of Tess earlier that night she'd been happily sharing a cocktail with a broad-chested blond with a nice smile. "So what happened to that guest Romeo tonight?"

"He seemed nice until we were making out. I got scared."

It had happened before, her backing out. "You should trust your intuition."

"It's not exactly trustworthy this time of the month."

My hormones clicked along like clockwork and I'd never met a woman who said hers were as bad as Tess did. "You can't blame hormones for everything."

She didn't say anything and I finally glanced at her. She'd flushed a deep, angry red and the hand holding her wineglass was shaking.

"I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to say." I sat up, kicking myself for being insensitive.

Her lips barely moved as she said, "If you were a man I'd have thrown my drink at you for that."

"I really am sorry, Tess."

"I don't blame my hormones for anything. I am only saying that sometimes they make me irrational and I know it when it's happening. So I know not to trust myself and I take responsibility for what I do and say."

"I didn't mean it that way—"

"And there are days when it is all I can do not to snap at the guests or punch Randall in the stomach—"

"He deserves it—"

"And nights like tonight when I want to fuck like a rabbit. I thought you'd understand, but I guess you have to feel it to know what I'm talking about."

"I really am sorry, honey." I took the glass out of her shaking hand. "Tell me how I can help or at least make it easier."

"These are my feelings, Brandy, they're real. So don't make fun." Her face crumpled and hot tears filled her eyes.

"I will really try not to. That was a mean thing for me to say."

She was sobbing in earnest within seconds and I would have put my arms around her except she fended me off with a warning hand. Between gasps she managed, "It's just tension. I'm okay."

Feeling very helpless, I said, "It's only thirty minutes to brownies." She spluttered into her hands, which I took for a laugh.

After a minute I thought of tissues and fetched a box. She nodded thanks and blew her nose. When she'd calmed down a bit, she asked, "Have you ever needed to cry like that? Ever felt like if you didn't let something out you'd explode?"

I did understand that. "Sometimes, after really good sex. Not that I've had that in... a couple of years."

I was relieved to see Tess crack a little smile. "Lesbians are stupid if you can't have a good time."

"It's the freckles." Nobody had ever called freckles sexy. "Freckles and lack of opportunity. I think straight men are stupid for the same reason about you." Tess wasn't exactly pretty, but her face—especially her smile—usually exuded an easy charm. Her eyes were her best feature, large and blue-gray. She had a swimmer's body, lean, light, and she bemoaned her slight tummy, which she called the Bane of Her Thirties. She was also smart and had a sense of humor, two big deals to me. But working here she rarely met a guy who cared. Not, it seemed, that she cared overmuch about their intelligence and wit either.

"I really thought I wanted that guy tonight, and maybe we would have had a good time. And then I realized I was hormonal. I get..." She flushed. "I get this... way. Like..."

I waited. The faint smell of cooking chocolate tickled my nose. Finally, when it seemed that Tess's flush was all embarrassment, I said, "What?"

"I get insatiable," she muttered. "I literally wear guys out." A dozen things crossed my mind. First was, well, what was wrong with that? Then I realized that as a dyke I had all the equipment that might be up to taking care of an insatiable woman. I nearly made a joke then caught myself. I went for understatement. "That sounds frustrating." Then I couldn't help myself. "Especially with what I know about male anatomy. Granted, it's not much."

"Frustrating is one word for it. Thank you for not laughing." I was doubly glad I hadn't. "I mean, what's so bad about having a, um, an appetite?"

"Don't suggest I try an orgy. I wouldn't feel safe. Dirk the Asshole did that."

"Damn me if I'll say anything Dirk the Asshole did."

"It's like—" Her voice broke. "I get there, climax, you know? More than once. And it's not enough. I want another one and I'm sure I won't get it, so I get anxious and try even harder. And then I feel like shit for picking up some guy to do me when I know he doesn't have a chance of satisfying me. A couple of times I didn't take the time to be safe and believe me, waking up in the morning wondering if you've just contracted something fatal because you couldn't wait one minute for him to get a condom on... it's wretched. I respect myself and yet doing something like that is so self-destructive." She wiped her nose with the tissue and took several steadying breaths.

"I know what you mean," I said, and I did.

"I hate these hormones, Brandy. Because tomorrow I'll be fine." She dabbed at her eyes. "I'll be even better if I haven't made a fool of myself the night before, or let myself get hurt or used. I know that's true, and yet there's this screaming in my body that drowns all that out."

I nodded. "Like that night in college I told you about, when I got so drunk. I don't know what I was thinking, and I don't know what all I did. It was stupid getting drunk with people I couldn't trust." I felt a hot flush remembering a woman I'd thought was a friend handing me a health center pamphlet about STDs and suggesting, with a sneer, that I get tested. Tests were negative and nothing physically seemed wrong, so it was possible she was just fucking with my head—she turned out to be that kind of person—but I wasn't absolutely certain of what all I had done. And I felt stupid for putting myself in a position where I didn't know.

"How do I know I can trust somebody? If I let myself be truly open, and vulnerable? If I lose control and forget my name and just want more? And then say I'm sorry, it's just the one night a month I want it that way. How could anyone possibly cope with a cat in heat one night and one who just likes a nice petting and an easy screw the rest of the time?"

I didn't have an answer for her. It didn't seem like a guy who could do the one could also do the other, but maybe I was selling guys short. "I think you're right—the key is being safe while you hope you find the right person."

"It's not bloody likely," she said morosely. "Not working here, not with this dating pool."

The brownies were starting to smell really good and Tess seemed to have reached the end of her tears. "Are you talking about whips and chains?"

Tess, the woman I considered one of the most self-aware I'd ever met, was actually hanging her head. "No. I'm so embarrassed I'm even telling you about this. I'll be fine tomorrow. I just have to tough it out one night."

"Don't be embarrassed. I think everybody has something that's a little... not quite... ordinary in their sex life."

"Yeah? What's yours?"

I blushed.

"Oh, come on. I basically told you my whole thing and you won't share? I've freaked you out, haven't I?"

"For liking sex?"

"No. For liking it hot and endless and hard."

"Hell, Tess. Sometimes I like it hot and endless and hard, too. That's not the least bit bizarre to me." Our gazes met for a moment and then slid past each other. I suddenly felt very naked.

"So what were you blushing about?"

I realized that drawing it out would just make me seem prudish and unsophisticated. It wasn't that strange, at least I didn't think so. "I like two hands. Being touched from both the front and the back. While I'm standing."

Tess didn't snicker, but her eyes had a suspicious twinkle. "So, a chick with long arms."

Damn, the woman made me laugh. I felt sheepish. "Yeah, I guess. I don't know what it is about it, but I get shivers and I feel like I could just rub myself over her hands for days."

"Is that before, during or after the hot and endless and hard part?"

I shifted on the sofa. The air conditioning didn't seem to be working anymore. "Before. It's... I like teasing. Being teased."

Tess was nodding. "I like both sides of teasing. Doing and receiving."

"So that's my big secret." I finished the last bit of wine and wished I were the least bit drunk. "Spill your guts, Tess Carson, you're on Candid Camera."

She smiled, only slightly, then said in a low voice, "Most times I like sweet and kisses and touching that starts soft and then gets fierce, but not rough. I usually like being on top. I have more control. It lasts longer. But nights like tonight I want to be underneath a heavy body, and I want..." She swallowed. "I want something big. Inside. That was part of why I got spooked tonight when I realized I was hormonal. He wasn't big enough and I knew I was just going to end up crying and frustrated and he didn't deserve a night like that. To try and have me keep begging. I beg, Brandy, I beg, like some kind of junkie..."

She started to cry again and this time let me put my arms around her. "It must feel rotten." I could almost imagine it, having an itch in my cunt that wouldn't quit. I had times when I wanted to get laid, but it felt good, felt alive to me, even if a vibrator and a toy were my big date. "You've tried—on your own?"

"Hell, yes." She pushed me away with a deprecating laugh. "It's virtually impossible to hold yourself down and fuck yourself hard at the same time, you know? Even I can't satisfy me on a night like tonight."

She was making me think about how long it had been since I'd had good sex, since the other woman had really cared how I felt and what worked for me. Hot and endless and hard, with a lot of teasing to get me high—damn, but it sounded good. And I didn't know of a single lesbian within a hundred miles who could do that for me.

I laughed as I got up. The studio-style quarters meant she could follow my movements as I went to my nightstand. Pulling open the bottom drawer I ignored the vibrator and instead pulled out my favorite toy. "When you talk about big, what exactly do you mean?"

Tess gaped. "I can't believe you're showing me your dildo!"

Neither could I, actually. But I was intrigued and turned on. Tess and I had crossed some sort of line in our friendship. "I'm just curious."

Still giggling, she assessed the heavy silicon toy in my hands. "That's a very nice dildo you've got there."

"Tess, c'mon. I'm holding the thing until you tell me." It was very stylish, actually, with a marbled two-tone black and white swirl from top to bottom. But it was still a dildo and I felt funny just standing there with it. Like, hello, this is me and my friend the dildo.

"Oh, all right. That's usually a good size, I would think. About right. But tonight..."

"Okay, I get the picture." I tucked the toy back in the drawer. "Maybe you should just bring your own toy on a date."

"Oh, right," Tess said. "You really know nothing about the male ego."

"And I'm a bit proud of that," I admitted.

"And you've really never…?"

"Nope. I've never even seen one, not even my brother's, in all the years since Stevie Watkins' peepee in the third grade. Trust me, I was far more impressed with Susan Porkland's breasts in the tenth grade."

She laughed, a genuinely hearty laugh, and I grinned back, glad that she seemed to be feeling better. I made a detour to the kitchenette area to check the brownies.

"Done," I pronounced. "They just need to cool a bit. I've got milk, I think."

"You think of everything. Sorry I've been a loon tonight. Thank you for not freaking out. I'm really only like this for about twelve hours. Nobody agrees if it's an estrogen drop or a progesterone surge."

I set the brownie pan and a knife on the coffee table before I joined her again on the sofa. The warm aroma of chocolate was going right to my head.

I didn't know anything about raging hormones, but I had to admit, Tess did seem to know when hers were whacked, and she never did say anything like her hormones made her do it. I don't think I'd like feeling as if someone had slipped me a drug and I couldn't control my emotions or body, but everybody expected me to.

"I'm sorry I was rude earlier. About your hormones. I believe in them."

Her mouth hung open for a moment. "Oh. That's—nobody has ever said that before." I heard her swallow. "Thank you."

"Too bad we're nice girls, huh?"

"Speak for yourself."

"Well, I meant..."

"What?"

What had I meant? "Nothing."

"Something. We've gone too far in baring our sexual souls to stop now."

"I was just thinking, well, you like to tease and be on top and I like it when the woman I'm with does that with me. And I could fuck you for hours if that was what you wanted sometimes. Hold you down and..."

The air between us was suddenly thick and I couldn't breathe it in. I was incredibly aroused at the thought of taking care of Tess's itch. If she'd needed a backrub I'd have given it without a second thought. How was this different?

She took a sharp breath. "What are you suggesting, Brandy?"

I was still stunned by my own audacity. Maybe the brownie smell was releasing some sort of inhibition reducer. I felt just a bit dizzy.

In the pages of the many old and new lesbian anthologies stacked on my bookshelf, women were having sex with strangers, in threesomes, in embassy bathrooms, at the top of the Statue of Liberty, with hoards of biker daddies and bevies of stiletto-wearing femmes. They were playing out fantasies with costumes, ropes and all manner of toys and though some of it wasn't what I dreamed about in my most outlandish fantasies, it all still sounded good. Alive, free, sensual and, most of the time, very loving. Taking care of each other, whatever that meant.

Like, do unto her what she wants, so that she may do unto you what you want.

"Fuck buddies," I said. "We can be fuck buddies."

We never did eat the brownies that night. In a mix of laughter and nerves we'd cleaned toys and fetched towels. I hadn't really thought we'd go through with it, but when we'd stood there, next to my bed, accessories laid out in almost clinical precision, Tess had pushed the hair back from my face.

Leaning close, her fingertips had feathered down my shoulders and arms. There was no turning back after she asked, in a husky voice, "So, you like to be teased?"

"Who's that?"

I nearly knocked Tess down and had to grab her hip for balance. We'd almost reached the main reception plaza, and she'd stopped right in front of me. The brief contact made me flash on our last night together. It had been nearly a month—too long, at least for me. And after Paige, well, the thought of Tess's hands cupping me had me tingling. We had agreed, Tess and I, that as fuck buddies we only sought each other out in dire need. I was getting there.

"I know that woman from somewhere."

I could only see her back now. For a new arrival she was early in the day. Though the guests leaving and guests arriving overlapped for several hours, rooms wouldn't be ready until the current occupants left. She had a ton of luggage, too. She was tall, thin like a bicyclist, and her kinked black hair was cropped short to a shapely scalp. "I don't know. I can't see her face."

I belatedly realized I was still holding onto Tess's waist. I reluctantly let go. Touching her felt really good. It always did.

"Oh—she's turned around."

"That's Celine Griffin," I said automatically. Holy shit, I thought. Celine Griffin.

"Who?"

"She's a comic, a lesbian stand-up comic. She was on Leno. Cover of some magazines."

"Oh—she must be with the Ladies on Vacation group."

"Huh?" I remembered seeing the group booking on the weekly info sheet, but I rarely took the time to read those. I didn't need to. People would easily tell you all about themselves. Being a good listener was one of my strengths.

Tess gave me a look like I was stupider than a bag of hammers. "I knew you'd missed it. You duck the meetings and don't read the sheet. Probably just as well because you'd have been driving me nuts in anticipation."

"What are you talking about?"

"Ladies on Vacation is a lesbian tour group. There's more than three hundred of them arriving today. They booked the whole resort."

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. "No way."

"Way." Tess smirked. "I nearly pointed it out to you but I thought you could use a big surprise. Though I guess if you'd known about it, you might have been more selective this morning."

Lesbians. Not straight women dabbling in what they felt was kinky. Not curious first-timers wondering if they'd prefer the other side. Lesbians, bona fide, already-know-what-to-do-with-a-clit lesbians.

My entire body, only recently recovered from wishing Paige had had a thought about what I might like, abruptly felt swollen.

Tess was assessing me with a kind, familiar gaze. "I thought you'd be pleased."

"Nothing I did this morning takes the edge off what I could do tonight," I said. My voice had gotten raspy and my mouth was dry.

"You have a real good time, then," Tess said as she resumed walking toward Village Square. "Just play safe, as you always say to me."

We skirted Celine Griffin's impressive collection of suitcases. I was trying not to stare at the celebrity when I saw Paige bearing down on me. She still wore her swimsuit and cover-up. With a sinking feeling I realized she had something small in her hand, and I knew what it probably was.

Tess veered off with a cheery, "See you later."

I smiled a welcome at Paige and gritted my teeth for the inevitable.

The silence was awkward. Then Paige held out the small jeweler's box, emblazoned with the logo of the Club Sandzibel Boutique.

"I wanted to get you something."

"You didn't have to." I was cringing inside. Paige had not thought this through.

"I—I wanted to. Nothing like that has ever happened to me and I just wanted to make it, I don't know, special."

"Really, Paige, I can't. It was... special, yes, but..."

"If you don't like it you can take it back. Get something else, or the cash, or whatever..."

I tried not to let a smolder of anger show. "If I do that what does that make me?"

She blew out her breath and I realized the thought had never occurred to her. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to pay you or something. I'm just trying to thank you." She didn't seem pissed or sad, just confused about what to do.

"I know." I would have hugged her if there hadn't been so many people around. "Whatever that is, why don't you keep it for yourself? To remember something unexpected. And remind yourself that you have—" I realized the man I spotted approaching us was her boyfriend. "To remind you that you have choices." I glanced meaningfully over her shoulder.

She straightened nervously and her drawl broadened again, but it wasn't the least bit lazy. "Some things never occurred to me. That's what I'm trying to thank you for."

"I understand, Paige. So keep the memory. And the memento."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded. She turned away just as her boyfriend arrived. He was not a happy man. Glancing at the box in Paige's hand, he snapped, "Found jewelry you liked then?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." The last thing I heard her say was, "I'm not going to apologize again for not wanting to get married..."

"Sounds like you won a toaster oven."

The sardonic observation came from behind me, and I turned to find myself the object of Celine Griffin's attention. On TV and videotape she looked elegant and cool. In person, even with a fine glimmer of perspiration at her hairline, she looked ten times more elegant, twenty times more cool and fifty times more sexy. Something about the deep cocoa of her skin made me want to go on staring at her. Defined shoulders highlighted a collarbone I had, from time to time, fantasized about licking.

I wondered if, just by studying my expression, she could tell I had a framed magazine cover with her face on it in my quarters. That was where Tess knew her from. I'd have to take it down before Tess saw it or she'd never give me any peace. I tried for humor. "Not the first one."

"I'll bet." She gave me a close once-over and I wished I hadn't gone swimming in my workout clothes. Then I remembered my hair was a shambles and at that point I was certain I was blushing.

Celine Griffin—ask anybody—has the most incredible eyes, a dark blue with yellow rings. In her hour-long cable special a few years back, she'd acknowledged them as a legacy from a Caribbean slave owner seven generations back.

"You work here?"

"Yes." Belatedly, I remembered that I did, indeed, have a job to do. "Welcome to Club Sandzibel. Do you have any questions about the all-inclusive nature of our program?"

She shook her head, looking amused at my practiced speech. "I've been to other clubs, just not this property. What's your specialty?"

I laughed. "How should I answer that?" Her eyes went cool and I realized my tone had been suggestive. But then, I had thought her question was flirtatious. Hiding a nervous gulp, I quickly added, "Circus tumbling and occasional onstage ham. But mostly stretching, and several daily fitness routines."

She looked me up and down again and her eyes implied she liked what she saw. "I can tell."

Confused by the hot and cold in her flirting, I didn't quite know how to respond. "I lead a Bosu ball Body Pump class at two, if you want to plunge into activities. A lot of guests prefer to start slow, however."

"I'll try to remember." Again, she gave me a lazy appraisal. I was starting to wonder if she had an unconscious tic that made her look at all women like she was planning to take them to bed. Or maybe it was me. After all, I was chatting casually with Celine Griffin and by tonight there would be lesbians all around me. This was in addition to the steady throb between my legs left over from Paige and thinking about that first, incredible night with Tess.

I flailed about for something to say and retreated into work mode. "Has someone made arrangements for your bags to be taken to your room?"

"I believe so, but thank you. Is your name really Brandy?"

"It really is. Coincidence that it matches the hair."

"Was it hard to grow up with that name?"

I shrugged. "It's short for Brandywine. I haven't had the guts to ask my mom if that's what she was drinking the night I was conceived."

She laughed so heartily that heads turned. Since I suspected the answer was yes, it really wasn't a joke to me, but other people always did laugh because they didn't know my parents the way I did. "It gets worse."

"How?"

"My last name is Monsoon."

"Oh, no way."

"Way."

"And is that indicative of anything in your personal nature?" The flirtatious twinkle in her eyes was very pronounced. Her sheer white tank top set off her skin to perfection and if I stared, which I realized was exactly what I was doing, I could see that her nipples were even darker than the rest of her sleek skin. Darker, and slowly hardening—watching them rise was bewitching.

I felt on uncertain ground with her, and other staff were listening. I played it safe with, "Come to Bosu ball at two and I might answer that."

She quirked an eyebrow as if to say I'd scored a point in the flirtation game. I nodded with what I hoped was a sultry kind of cool, instead of the dizzy, bemused way I actually felt, and headed for my quarters. I needed a shower, a very cold shower.

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