Punishment with Kisses (7 page)

“I think you’ve me mistaken for someone else,” I offered quietly. “I don’t know you.”

“You might not know me, Ashley, but I know you and you sure as fuck know my girlfriend, Kristy. You fucking tramp.”

Damn. This was the kind of thing that could take all the fun out of impersonating Ash. I’d take the adoration, but I refused to be tormented for doing someone I didn’t have the pleasure of doing. I hoped to calm the handsome stranger with rationality. “I’m sorry, I’m not Ashley. I’m her sister Megan—”

“Fuck you, you lying whore.”

She was spitting mad. Her language was almost as filthy as Ash’s. I was scared witless.

“You stole my girlfriend. Did you know that? She dumped me. We were going to get married next month until she just dumped me. She broke my heart. I couldn’t work, I lost my job. I lost my fucking dignity. All because of you. You ruined everything.”

“Look.” I held my hands up in front of me, palms facing her, as though she could read them and know I spoke the truth. “I’m not Ashley, I swear. Want to see my ID?”

In response, the woman cocked her arm back and started to take a swing. Everything decelerated. It was as though we were characters in a slow motion fight sequence. Everyone stopped dancing and talking and they were all staring at us, waiting for that fist to connect with my jaw. A dozen thoughts raced through my head.
Duck. The first rule of fight club is: Don’t talk about fight club. Do lesbian bar fights have the same rules? I don’t want to drink from a straw again. If she breaks my nose, maybe the repair job will look better than the original. Who’s Kristy and why did she leave this woman for Ash when Ash would never offer anything as tangible as marriage? What would Ash do if she were here? Would she even care that I’m about to be pummeled in a bar brawl because of her? What will Father say if I get arrested?

Caught up in my own thoughts, I did nothing to prevent her fist from rearranging my face, when in a moment of uncharacteristic luck, her right hook was intercepted by a rather stunning but disheveled brunette, who repelled the fist, pushing it aside, while pulling me into an embrace. Even though we were in an impending bar brawl, being pinned against her taut body made mine prickle in places I didn’t know had nerve endings.

The rest of the night was something I promised myself I would record for posterity in my diary. I know that makes me sound like a giddy schoolgirl, but honestly, I felt like something wholly significant and amazing happened. Suddenly everything changed.

First, I was rescued from a certain beating by an enigmatic stranger and then Shane—that was my gallant rescuer’s name—set me on the back of her motorcycle and we drove off into the sunset. Seriously, it happened just like a hokey Harlequin romance, except the knight in shining armor was a dyke in shining leather, and her mighty steed was a tricked-out Harley. Also, I wasn’t much of a princess.

On the back of Shane’s bike, the engine reverberated through my crotch and vibrated throughout my entire body until even my teeth were chattering along. To keep from falling off, I wrapped my arms tightly under her breasts and held on for dear life. The ride was exciting enough. I could have stayed behind her on that bike for hours, but before I knew it we were at a park fumbling around in the darkness.

I felt a bit foolish at first, until we smoked a bowl of weed, and soon we were lying in each other’s arms on the banks of Lake Oswego, talking and kissing for so long that we were still there hours later when the sun began to rise.

Everything about Shane was fascinating. She was beautiful and smart and dark and sarcastic. A poet and performance artist with a rebellious streak and a sensitive side. Shane’s mother and father, both drug addicts, split when she was two. She bounced back and forth between them until running away at fourteen. She’d been on her own since then, sometimes selling drugs to get by. She’d had a number of lovers but never a real girlfriend. Her number one goal in life, she said, was to find true love.

I’m not sure if I was a sucker for a romantic story or if it was just the rush of feelings from that evening, but I wanted Shane so badly. She waited for me, just talking, drawing me out, never making a move until I was practically begging for it. After a couple of hours of talk, my body was just aching for that first kiss, and by the time I leaned in for it, I wanted to explode. The kiss was warm, soft, wet, unforgiving. I melted into it as though Shane was a part of me, and before I knew it I had taken her hand and shoved it inside my panties. I was wet and full and she parted me with her fingers like a locksmith with a deadbolt. She was in and out of my cunt, twisting me up in passion before I could think, and soon her head was down there too, her tongue lapping at the sides of my clit, teasing me for what seemed like hours before giving in to my desire. I couldn’t wait for her though. I tore at my own shirt, pulling my bra straps aside and pointing my nipples into the early morning air. I would have lapped them up myself if my tongue could reach, but instead I used my fingers to twist and massage them while Shane licked and lapped, all the while still moving her hand in and out of me.

Just thinking about it in retrospect makes me want to orgasm like I did that night, over and over, each time crying out and pushing her back, unsure whether I could take yet another
la petite mort.

It was nearing sunup when we finished, too exhausted to go on but still eager for each other’s bodies. Shane wanted me to come back to her place, but I couldn’t. I already knew I’d incur Father’s wrath over our mandatory “family” breakfast by staying out all night, and suddenly I felt awkwardness too. A bit of embarrassment at having let this relative stranger inside me so much, literally and metaphorically. As my body was flushed and weak, almost heightened from being stimulated for hours, my mind was racing with a mixture of emotions—excitement and guilt tops among them. I had Shane rush me back to my car in hopes I could make it back to the estate before Father was up for his usual coffee, half grapefruit, and
Wall Street Journal
breakfast ritual.

I was successful, to a point. When I got to the house, I ran to the door and discovered the house was still relatively dark. Unfortunately, my keys were missing. My whole bag was missing, actually. Thinking I left it at the lake, I began looking for some other way to get into the house without alerting the inhabitants. I tried the other doors, the windows, even the back gate, all of which were locked. Probably because Father is a security freak who thinks people are trying to steal our stuff at all times. Fortunately, as I started to hunch down by the front door, frustration welling up in the corner of my eyes, Maria opened the door.

“Oh, Miss Caulfield, you scare me,” Maria said in startled, broken English. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes, yes, I just got locked out and didn’t want to wake anyone. Is Father up?”

“No, Señor Caulfield has not risen today. I’m preparing breakfast.” She pointed to the newspaper on the stoop. Of course, Father doesn’t even get his own newspaper off the porch.

“Great. Let’s keep this between us.” I grabbed her and pecked her cheek, an impulsive thank you for keeping my secret.

Maria seemed bemused. She probably knew what a hard-ass Father could be more than anyone.

*

Flush with my sexual conquest, I put on my bikini and marched down to the pool. Screw Cynthia and Ash, I thought. It was my pool, too. I wasn’t going to let our spat the other day force me back into the imprisonment of the house. I didn’t need Ash’s invitation or permission, not that day, not when I was emboldened by my night of passion.

Ash and her friends were already out by the pool. Their conversation went from a loud chatter to hushed whispers. Geesh, she couldn’t even share a fucking conversation with me? God, some days I hated my sister.

I ignored them, spreading my towel out across one of the lounges before massaging some sunscreen onto my skin. I finally muttered my hellos a few minutes later, while I was dipping my toes in the surprisingly cold water. Normally I’d spend a half hour slowly wading in deeper and deeper, gradually getting used to the temperature, but not that day. I tossed a pool mattress in the water, held my breath and dove in. It was shocking. Any element of sophistication I might have displayed was quickly undermined by my ungainly struggles to board the floatation device. Every time I’d capture it and try to shove it under my ass, I would end up falling over backward splashing and sputtering while the mattress popped up on the other side of me, rising like a missile from the water. I finally managed to flop my body onto the float with all the gracefulness of a sea lion flinging itself onto a dock. I lay there panting, so loud that I almost drowned out the commotion of Ash yelling over my head at some newcomer. My back was to the gate and I didn’t even bother turning to look at what was sure to be another of Ash’s conquests—why would I care who she’s whoring around with now? But I couldn’t help overhear her tantrum.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Ash was practically yelling. “I told you I don’t want to see you again. I can’t believe you’ve come to my home.”

“But—”

“No buts, a no is a no, you got that?”

“It’s not what you think. I’m here for Megan.”

Ash cut the woman off again, but this time the voice had a tint of familiarity to it so I swirled around on my pool mattress just in time to see Shane standing there, red-faced, holding my purse.

Damn. For some reason it had never occurred to me that even my one-night stand might know Ash. It was a crushing blow. My knight in shining armor had already been her knight, had already been in her. I was always second, never number one. Maybe that’s why Shane had noticed me, what she’d liked about me, what attracted her to me, my resemblance to Ash, however slight. Oh, my God, what if she was just with me because Ash told her no and I was as close as she could get to the real thing?

I felt the heat flushing my cheeks and wanted to disappear. I was frozen in place, afraid to move for fear I’d catapult myself back into the water. Then I could feel all eyes on me and I decided maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. In fact, I wished I could just melt right there like the wicked witch of the
Wizard of Oz.
As a liquid I’d run right off the mattress and become indistinguishable from the water around me. Before I could process it all though, Shane shoved my handbag at Ash and turned and ran.

“Wait, Shane!” I shouted, trying gallantly to go after her but instead just falling off my float and ruining whatever decorum I had left. By the time I swam out of the pool, climbing up the stairs at the shallow end and bridling at Ash’s malevolent demeanor, Shane had sped off on her bike and I was livid.

“You cunt!” I yelled at Ash. Perhaps the first time in my life I had called another woman by that name. It seemed the most apt that day. “I can’t believe you think everyone is here for you. What a freakin’ narcissist you are. Just because you can fill this pool with your toadies, mostly because you’re such a whore, doesn’t mean the world revolves around you, Ashley!”

I drew out the name like it was two different words: Ash Lee. I knew she hated her given name, long abandoning it in favor of the androgynous Ash, her favorite character from a movie, too. Calling her a whore wouldn’t bother her, but calling her by her girlish name might.

“Listen, child, don’t kid yourself. Shane is sloppy seconds, babes. She’s only with you because she can’t have me.”

My hand flew at her face as though on its own accord. I watched it slap her across the cheek and was certain that the shock in her eyes was mirrored in my own. I had never before raised my fist to her, and I was as surprised as she was by my reaction.

Ash had quick reflexes and she caught my hand by the wrist before I could pull it away. “Damn, Magpie,” she sneered, using my childhood nickname to patronize me. “You want her so bad, you can have her. Shane’s a loser dope fiend I sent packing. You want my rejects, kiddo, you go right ahead.”

“Fuck you, Ashley. Maybe you were just her practice round,” I shouted, yanking my arm from her grip. “Shane likes me for me, not me because I look like you!”

“You trying to convince me or yourself?” Her words cut me with their accuracy.

But I was like a runaway train and I couldn’t stop. “And we both know I sure as shit don’t act like you.”

“Whatever.” Ash drew the word out into additional syllables. She was so blithe. Her nonchalance infuriated me and I wanted to strike out physically. But Ash had just volleyed back demeaning one-offs, as though I wasn’t even worth a full argument. And though her cheek was bright red where I’d slapped her, and it must have stung, she hadn’t even flinched. Something about that frightened me.

Suddenly I was biting back tears. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry, so I snatched my purse from her hands and dashed off headed toward the house.

“I wonder if she fucks like you?” I heard Cynthia say as I rushed past.

Ash laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

They both cackled like hens as I darted out of earshot.

I no longer cared about my sister and her little sex games. I had my own play toy in the dark, foreboding Shane. We started rendezvousing more and more, sometimes at her apartment in the city, other times at the estate, hidden in the east wing where Father and Tabitha couldn’t hear. Each encounter left me breathless in anticipation for the next.