Foreword: Alternate Universe because that’s all I’m good for. ;) No powers here. This just started out as something fun between a couple of friends and me based on a loose idea that I had. We’ll see where it goes. Right now, I’m only posting this on my personal fan fiction site and The Rolo Realm. As it grows and I see the direction it’s taking (I only have a few inklings of different directions this story could go), I may make it available on other sites.
Archives: The Rolo Realm (http://www.spikeluver.com/RoLoRealm/) and Imperfect (http://appassionata.feb15th.net/tmp/).
I want to hold you close
Skin pressed against me tight
Lie still and close your eyes girl
So lovely, it feels so right
I want to hold you close
Soft breath, beating heart
As I whisper in your ear
I want to fucking tear you apart
””
1.
“Gram, what is gin rummy?” Ororo asked, placing the two grocery bags she carried on the kitchen table. She started removing the items from the bag, placing them in their proper places without much thought. She wanted to understand this”her grandmother’s newfound obsession. The words “gin rummy” always brought up images of incoherent old people who weren’t sure if they were playing bingo or pitty-pat.
About three months ago, a woman around her grandmother’s age moved into the vacant house next door. Her grandmother was always telling her that it wasn’t nice to be nosey, but she was the first person at that woman’s house with a fresh apple pie”before the woman could even rest her feet good. When Ororo called her on it, her defense was that she had to know what kind of people her neighbors were.
It turned out that her neighbor was a widow, around her age, who’d recently lost her husband. She hadn’t wanted to stay in the house she shared with her husband, so she sold the house she’d lived in for more than forty years, deciding it was time to call somewhere else home. She had her grandson to handle all the arrangements, fetching a good deal on her house and procuring the vacant house next door.
Ororo’s grandmother, Evelyn Munroe, had lost her husband nearly thirteen years back and found a kindred spirit in her new neighbor. Now every time Ororo called or came by, she was always playing gin rummy with Norma, the nice “blue-haired” lady from next door. Ororo didn’t think her hair looked blue”well, maybe in the right light it would look blue.
“It’s almost like playing tonk, baby.” Her grandmother said, resting in one of the table’s chairs, fanning herself slightly.
“So that means you’re taking all that woman’s money.” Ororo said, winking at her grandmother. Her grandmother could play a mean hand of tonk, cleaning out pockets before most people could come up with a decent game plan.
“We don’t play for money. We mostly end up talking about how things used to be and how our grandkids need to get married and have some babies for us to spoil. You know we aren’t long for this world” She watched Ororo’s reaction out of the corner of her eye, taking note of the way her eyebrows shot up before returning to their original, neutral position. “You should stop by sometime and meet Norma’s grandson. He’s not that much older than you. He’s a nice guy.”
Her grandmother was laying it heavy today. She even added “the guilt trip” to today’s spiel. “You know I’m already dating someone.” Ororo said quickly, putting the last of the groceries away. She didn’t like when the conversation headed over into the territory of marriage, kids, and hooking up with men that her grandmother thought were “nice.”
“Who said anything about dating him?”
“I know you. When you mention one of your friends’ nice son or nice grandson, I know you’re up to no good. You know I’m already seeing someone.” Ororo said, taking a chair in front of her grandmother.
“I might’ve been born at night, but it wasn’t last night, baby, and Grandma has been around long enough to know all those games and then some.” She gave Ororo a knowing look that made Ororo dip her head a bit in embarrassment.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ororo said, suddenly interested in her fingernails. Sun pearl really was a nice color against her skin. She’d have to remember to thank Jean-Paul for the suggestion.
Her grandmother’s voice snapped through her thoughts. “Girl, don’t play innocent with me. And since you and that boy ain’t doing nothing but playing house, you can still get out and meet other guys.” Ororo rolled her eyes, as her grandmother reached across the table and smacked her hand causing her to yelp in surprise. “Don’t suck your teeth at me. I’m still your grandmother.”
“Yes m’am.” Ororo said, putting the proper amount of reverence in her voice while she sulked to herself.
She just wanted her grandmother to talk about something other than men. And if Norma’s grandson was so “nice,” why wasn’t he already married? Women didn’t just let nice men float around unclaimed. She didn’t care what they said about nice men finishing last. Well, exceptions could be made if he was unattractive. At least, she wasn’t harping about her hair. That had been the topic of the day all last week.
“Bill was supposed to fix the pipes under Norma’s kitchen sink a month ago. You know Bill, right?” her grandmother asked, moving on from the subject of this “nice” grandson.
“You mean Bug-eyed Bill with the funny lisp.” Ororo said, mimicking Bill’s lisp.
“Watch yourself. God don’t like ugly,” her grandmother said while chuckling.
“I’m just saying, Gram.”
“I know, baby, but that’s him. Norma was going to get a professional to fix her pipes, but Bill showed up. You know he’s always somewhere to be found when there’s money in the deal. He took a look at Norma’s pipes and told her he could fix them for her in no time. Now, let me tell you how crazy Norma is. She paid the man before he did the work.”
“Why didn’t you stop her?”
“Baby, if I’d been here, I would’ve stopped her. Bill ain’t such a bad guy, but you know how lazy he is. Norma called her grandson yesterday, and do you know that boy came down here and kicked Bill’s door in cussing a mile a minute? Let me tell you, honey, those pipes got fixed last night. Why don’t you come down here and raise a little sand like that. Maybe he’ll bring back my tools he borrowed three months ago,” her grandmother said with a teasing smile.
Ororo hmphed to herself. So, they hadn’t gotten off the subject of Norma’s grandson. Her grandmother thought she was slick.
“It’ll be my luck that I’ll break my toes trying to kick down the door. Then, Jean-Paul will switch his skinny behind down here in an uproar. You know how fabulous Jean-Paul can be when he’s upset. After he’s read everybody in the neighborhood, you’ll probably have your tools back, but I’ll be the one with broke toes. And if I don’t dance, I don’t eat, Gram.” Ororo joked.
“As long as this old body’s got breath in it, you will.” Her grandmother paused, her expression turning serious. “And you need to stop wearing them hot behind shorts. You’ll get to be my age and you’ll feel it.”
Ororo laughed. Her grandmother always found the oddest times to bring up her clothes. “I don’t care if I do feel it, Gram, as long as I look good as you. You don’t look a day over fifty.” Ororo said sweetly.
“That’s ‘cause good black don’t crack, and don’t think I’m going to stop fussing about your clothes because you’re buttering me up.” Ororo spent another couple of minutes at her grandmother’s before telling her that she had to pick up her dress for tomorrow’s event before the tailor closed. Then, she had a last minute rehearsal with Jean-Paul. Then, she had to go home and get ready for a little fun.
Hours later, Ororo smiled at herself in the mirror, running her fingers through ashen, uneven locks that refused to be tamed. She shook her head at her reflection slightly, watching her hair mirror her actions in the mirror in defiance. She looked at the brush beckoning to her from the dresser, but ignored it.
Last week, she’d sighed in desperation while pulling her brush through tangles of hair, ignoring her grandmother’s “I-told-you-so” look, pleading with it to give her some cooperation after an impromptu hair cut, begging it just to settle into place without too much of a fuss. This week she decided she liked the riot taking place on her head, and she would work it for what it was worth until her hair was a manageable length again.
“Nothing says come fuck me like hooker heels.” Betsy said, imitating Jean’s voice to a “t.” She walked into the room, bending over slightly, hooking one finger underneath the strap of one of Ororo’s heeled Mary Janes, and twirling the shoe around one finger. “Shoes for the reformed good girl.” Betsy winked and placed the shoe back on the floor, plopping across the bed.
Elizabeth Braddock, lovingly called Betsy to her friends, was the lovechild of a British ambassador and a Japanese expatriate. With her deep-set, almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones that most people couldn’t even achieve with implants, she could’ve been a model, but she chose to live life behind the camera. Even the bright purple bangs she sported with the angel-layered hair and the horn-rimmed, black glasses did little to hide her beauty.
She was a freelance photographer who shot everything from runway shows to covers for risqué novels (the latter being her favorite assignments probably because it involved half-dressed men more or less). She’d met Betsy her freshman year of college; they were roommates who instantly hit it off. Ororo loved Betsy’s spontaneity and her “go get ‘em” attitude, and Betsy liked the fact that Ororo was down for anything but knew how to practice a little restraint.
Betsy fingered the soft material of the black dress lying neatly on the bed, waiting to drape over Ororo’s body. “How long do you think a dress like this is going to stay on once Keiron spies you, doll?” Ororo pretended not to hear the question. She wasn’t quite ready to discuss that situation yet. She picked the dress up, sliding it over her lithe body. She ran her hands over her body once she had the dress on, smoothing the wrinkles out.
She’d bought the dress earlier in the city while browsing various boutiques after she picked up her dress. She loved the way the black, one-strapped dress hugged every curve, the way the bodice opened in the center exposing a flash of her breasts like a keyhole waiting to be peeped in. She loved the way the hem of the dress angled, creeping up her thighs, stopping just short of exposing what was underneath. She loved the way the soft velvet seemed to make love to her skin, gently caressing her body like a lover.
Next was the lip-gloss. She wasn’t much of a lipstick fan, and she only allowed herself to wear the basest of essentials when she was going out on her own time. Ororo brought the lip-gloss brush to her lips, puckering her lips at her reflection. The key to putting on lip-gloss was to make your lips look moist and kissable as if you just licked your lips. You didn’t want it to look like you’d just applied a whole tube to your lips”even if it did take the whole tube to make your lips look moist and kissable and, most importantly, natural.
“How do I look?” Ororo trilled, giving Betsy the obligatory twirl that she topped off with a little hip shimmy.
“I hate you. You’re perfect as usual.” Betsy said, sticking her tongue out at Ororo.
“Good. Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight.” Ororo winked.
Betsy’s eyebrows piqued, nearly disappearing under her purple bangs. “What happened to you and Keiron? I thought you two were getting cozy together.” She sat back up, staring at Ororo, waiting for her to dish out the details.
“A little too cozy. He’s asking for something that I can’t give him right now.” Keiron wanted her to make a commitment, and she wasn’t ready for that. “What happened to men just wanting to have a little fun?”
“Don’t give me that, Ororo. Anyone can see he is helplessly devoted to you. And you want me to believe that you didn’t notice it before now?”
“We just hang out…” Ororo said weakly.
“And screw like a couple of horny teenagers who downed daddy’s little blue pills, and in those situations, somebody always falls in love.” Betsy said sarcastically. “What kind of monster have I created?”
During her vacation a few months back, she accompanied Betsy on one of her recent assignments”under the pretense of being Betsy’s “temporary personal assistant.” She’d taken a much needed vacation from her job as a dance instructor, only to be roped into working as Betsy’s assistant. Betsy’s full-time personal assistant decided to take her vacation around the same time, and Betsy was too stubborn to line up a temporary replacement in her place.
Ororo volunteered to help Betsy, only after Betsy mentioned more than once”in that exasperated way that only she perfected”that she sure did need the help. Nod, nod; wink, wink. It wasn’t as if she had anything lined up for her three week vacation besides making a date with her real best friend, the television. Aside from that, she only had the nightly dance practices with her longtime friend, dance partner, and co-worker, Jean-Paul Beaubier. Tagging along with Betsy was always fun, anyway, and she’d have something to occupy her time.
Ororo expected one of Betsy’s usual shoots, but Betsy conveniently forgot to mention that she was shooting the covers for a series of bondage novels. Ororo was used to the bodice rippers that Betsy usually shot with the panting women, the chiseled male abs, clothing gone askew. Those shoots usually left her in tears of laughter once it was all over. She could never take the pouting lips and desperate clinging between the hero and heroine seriously. Honestly, okay. Who did that?
She, however, was not used to seeing men in leather thongs in provocative poses that left little to her imagination and left her more than a little flustered and frustrated. And when she met”or rather ogled”Keiron, it was lust at first sight. He was the kind of man who could make her willing take off her panties and hand them over if he only asked. Okay, he didn’t really have to ask. All he had to do was look at her, and she’d hand them over as if he’d purchased them. Thank you for shopping at Munroe’s; enjoy your purchase; please come again.
Keiron Sutton was Mr. Tall, dark, and fuckable. His bronzed, exotic good looks he credited to a mixed heritage that included African American and Native American with a side of Scottish and Portuguese. Mix that all together and voilá! you had perfection in a leather thong. Dark hair fell to his shoulders in lush waves and hazel eyes beckoned her to him like a waggling finger. He had the perfect body that was neither too muscular nor too thin, and he had the perfect “lick-my-lips” smile that he knew how to use to his advantage.
It didn’t help matters that he didn’t seem bothered by walking around in next to nothing when the other models clamored for the nearest thing to throw over their bodies once Betsy replaced the cap on her camera. Not Mr. Keiron, he walked around with a look that said, “Weep, ladies.” And weep they did every day after working at a neighboring bar, O’Brien’s, while downing Jell-O shots and laughing about how Betsy’s handprint would permanently tattoo his butt if she kept slapping his ass every time he walked by. Good thing he had a sense of humor or else Betsy would be looking at serious sexual harassment charges (“And well worth it,” Betsy often joked).
For three days straight, whenever Ororo talked to Keiron, she held a water-cooler conversation with his crotch (“Did you see LOST last night? Can you believe Sawyer? Shouldn’t Michelle Rodriguez be tired of being typecast as the ‘tough-as-nails’ bitch?”), while wondering how he managed to get that strip of cloth to cooperate and if what he was packing was real or if it was some kind of prosthesis he bought at the local novelty shop.
She remembered some time back she’d gone to one of Betsy’s shoots for underwear ads. She remembered Betsy screaming bloody murder for someone to bring her model a decent-sized penis”STAT!
But she didn’t mean to stare… really… Well, maybe a little bit.
“Is it real?” she finally asked him one day, looking at him”really looking at him”for the first time. She bit down on her bottom lip as her face warmed. How could she ask him something so stupid? She wanted to cover her face with her hands. There wasn’t much she could do to gracefully save herself after that.
“It?” he said, a slow woman-eating smile lighting his face. That was probably one of the few times she’d actually looked at his face. He had a beautiful face. His mother probably told him the only thing he had to do in life was look pretty because that’s where the moneymaker was. However, she wasn’t interested in looking at his face.
“Don’t mind me. I… I was just thinking out loud,” she stammered, melting under that smile. She wasn’t going to make it out of this alive. “I’ll just be going now.” Before I make a bigger fool out of myself, she added to herself.
“Don’t go, Ororo,” he said, grabbing her arm lightly. And she felt that humming start between her legs, her arm tingling hotly beneath his fingers.
“You know my name,” she said a little breathlessly.
He laughed. “Of course, I know you’re name. Betsy introduced us, remember?” Right, Betsy had introduced her to all the models the first day. She had to get it together or he would think she’s clueless, which she wasn’t. She was just a little bit out of her element. The men she hit on were always fully clothed”for the time being, anyway. “So, exactly what is this it you were referring to?”
Ororo put on her best ultra-vixen look, the same one she used on men a million times. She could play this game, even if she didn’t act like it. “You know,” she said, letting her eyes travel leisurely from his face, down his chest, and to the earlier point of her fixation, which was now straining to get out its confines. Well, there was the answer to that question. Goddess, just let me get through this without attacking this man, she pulled a breath and slowly exhaled.
He moved closer to her, their bodies touching softly. She brought her eyes back up to his, holding his smoldering gaze while fighting off the urge to sink her nails into his chest. “There’s only one way to find out.” That’s when that low-level sexual buzz turned into full-blown “I-Want-Your-Sex-NOW.”
She was five seconds from throwing herself on the table and saying, “Take me! Take me now!” like one of those heroines from the covers she always laughed at. “Is that a proposition?” she asked, raking her fingers across his chest, a devious smile playing on her lips.
“Depends on if you’re going to say yes or no,” he said, he said pulling a little closer, smothering her hand under his much larger one, guiding her hand over his chest, down his abs, and…
“Ororo, are you listening to me?” Betsy asked, snapping her fingers in front of Ororo’s eyes, bringing her back to reality.
“No, my mind was a thousand miles away,” she admitted, trying to suppress the sensual shudder that threatened to overtake her. “I was just thinking about Keiron. He told me he loves me. He doesn’t even know me.”
She tried to rip the images of them together out of her head, as she sat on the bed beside her friend. She pulled on one of her shoes, elongating her leg, admiring the fit of the shoe. She didn’t particularly like them when she looked at them in the shoe store. But when she got them on, magic happened. She knew he would’ve liked them. Why’d he have to ruin something good by telling her he loved her?
Two weeks before, she surprised Keiron the day he came home from Paris by greeting him at his studio apartment in a black corseted, sheer as “all get out” merrywidow with matching panties. She’d bought seamed fishnet stockings, trimmed in lace, held up by the garters. And she hadn’t skimped on the black stilettos with a heel sharp enough to put out an eye. She catered to him, pampering him while asking him if he’d taken part in the activities of the Clubs Échangistes his friends had boasted about before they left.
“Did you go there? Oui ou non?” she asked again, after he teased her about being jealous. She wasn’t jealous; she just wanted to know if he’d gotten it on with some other woman while he was out of her eyesight.
His rested his head in her lap. And she ran her fingers through his hair, glad there was a clause in his contract that that wouldn’t allow him to cut it too short, even though he often complained he liked wearing his hair very low cut (she found it hilarious that there was a clause like that in his contract).
“I was invited, mais non,” he said, nestling deeper into her lap. She just wanted to pet him like a big old Labrador.
“I love your hair,” she said, his answer making her feel somewhat better. He’d never been a good liar. Guilt had a way of taking over his face and making him look like a bad child. She liked little things like that about him.
“And I love you,” he muttered in a half-sleep state, which was enough to bring her out of her own dazed stupor. Yeah, she made some lame excuse, found her clothes, and got the hell out. She didn’t cut him off completely. She figured that it might’ve been a fluke, but when the talk about marriage and kids came up a few days later. She was too through. Double deuce. Holla at’cha girl!
“Emotions are a bitch. You two are having a lot of good, nay”great, sex. He’s just confused.” Betsy saved Ororo from her thoughts again.
“Were having a lot of sex. I broke it off. Keiron was a lot of fun until he started talking about marriage and children. And not in that particular order might I add.”
“That’s the way to do it, Munroe. Love ‘em and leave ‘em. You’ll get over him.” Betsy chuckled.
But all Ororo could think about was the way he made her body sizzle even if he didn’t set her heart afire. “Tell me that I didn’t mess up.” Ororo moaned into her hands, already missing the late night trysts.
“He’s pretty but not pretty enough to cultivate his baby gravy. And Munroe-Sutton makes a bad name combination. You definitely didn’t screw up there. You might’ve just given up the best sex you’ve had, but the world is full of men. You’ll find a man who rocks you body and soul when the time is right.” Betsy said in a serious tone.
Ororo laughed in spite of herself, but she knew the other woman was right. “You are a wise, wise woman, my friend.”
“Yes and that means I can raid your closet as payment for my sage advice.”
“Don’t go there.” Ororo said with a smile that could con an insurance man. “I’ll tell you what I will do for you. My grandmother’s neighbor has a nice grandson you might be interested in.”
Author’s Notes: Another story for me to update on the spur. I had to take a break from some of my other more serious stories to give me a chance to really think them through before I posted the updates. I have another story that wants to be posted as well. I’m fighting it.
