AUTHENTICITY MONTH: Diane, Chapter Six by Bastard Keith 10.20.12

The walk to Heather’s apartment was not a short one, but it gave Diane a chance to appreciate a neighborhood that, til now, had seemed dark, sinister and forbidding.  Once Rose, Heather and Diane had traveled two blocks from the studio and turned onto MacDougal Street, Greenwich Village seemed to explode into life, a cavalcade of cafes, bars, performance venues…the buildings might have been grey and functional, but the denizens of them had decided to make them as garish and idiosyncratic as possible.  Windows throbbed with music, light, decoration and life.  Buskers littered the street, playing guitars, accordians, harmonicas, spoons, you name it.  Parties seemed to be happening on every floor above ground level on every building.  More than once, Diane had to catch her breath as she thought revelers would start plummeting to their deaths while hanging drunkenly out of their apartment windows.

Diane turned to Rose at one point in astonishment and asked, “Is it always like this?”

Rose only shrugged and said, “It’s Friday.”

And so it was.  Diane didn’t know why it hit her so strongly, but she had honestly lost track of what day it was.  She thought back and wondered how many days she had spent not caring what day it was, and reflected how sad it would be to live one’s whole life that way.  She had been fully prepared to do so.

Heather turned around and stopped Diane in her tracks, ending her contemplation abruptly.  Rose walked around to Heather’s side.  They had arrived at a green metal door at the base of an apartment building.

“Okay,” said Heather, whipping out a couple of keys chained to a rabbit’s foot, “what’s the password?”

Diane pulled her head back.  “Password?”

“If you want to get in, you have to know the password.  If not, I’m afraid I’m going to have to send you home with no fun at all.”

Diane almost laughed.  She thought for a moment, nervous for no terribly good reason.  Heather studied her face closely.

“The password is…”  Diane sucked in breath.  “Pleasure.”

Rose snorted a laugh and buried her head in Heather’s shoulder.  Heather, however, nodded seriously.  “That is one of the passwords.  You may enter.”

She put one of the keys into the lock and yanked the door open.  It spread wide with a screeching whine.  Rose walked in first.

“After you, Miss Pleasure,” Heather said.

Diane walked in and Heather followed.  The door closed behind them with a clang.  They were in a wide concrete hallway lined with a small number of doors.  There was a freight elevator at the end.  Diane was seized with apprehension and delicious anticipation all at once.  One door, seemed to be practically vibrating, light streaming from underneath it.  And that was the door at which Heather inserted the second key.

“Welcome to my party,” Heather said and the door swung open.

Another door, another new world.

Music leaked out.  Jazz.  Fast and hot.  As Diane entered, the music was married to a tremendous hubbub.  This was a loft space, filled with ill-matching furniture, hanging lights (the exact color of the room was hard to distinguish, as the primary impression was one of lots and lots of lights) and LOTS of people, drinking and talking and dancing.  On one of the room’s many couches, Diane saw two men, one well-dressed, older and effete, the other young, slightly rougher, with greased back hair and a leather jacket.  They hovered in front of each other’s faces, the young one planting kisses on the older.  The older fellow seemed hypnotized, weakened, almost pleading.  There were two women in suits dancing with each other, oblivious to the rest of the room.  A bespectacled gentleman with skin darker than Rose’s was sat in an alcove surrounded by young women and one or two men seated on the ground, seemingly explaining something absolutely transfixing.

Heather’s voice cut through the noise and everyone looked up.

“There’s no need to panic, ladies and gentlemen and everyone else, your host is back!”  There was applause from the crowd.  “And I seem to have picked up two beauties on my way!  I think you all know Rose…”  Rose curtsied sweetly to a swell of approval.  “…And this is Diane.  She’s never been to Greenwich Village before, so don’t act like a bunch of animals.”  The crowd made a piteous “awww” noise.  “On second thought, act like a bunch of animals!”

The room exploded with approval and Diane waved shyly.

A young man with a sweet, round face approached Rose, visibly nervous.  “Miss…Miss Rose?”

Rose turned to look at him, her face suddenly cold, looking down her nose at this trembling boy, evaluating him.  “Can I help you with something?”

“I don’t know if you remember me…”

“Oh, I remember you,” she said, a smile beginning to crack through her features.  “You’re the one who wanted to be my little pet white boy, ain’t you?”

The boy looked at Diane and Heather and blushed, looking at the floor.  “I…yes, Miss Rose.  That was me.”

Rose took a hold of the boy’s tie and pulled it taut.  “Well, why don’t you remind me how badly you wanted it?”

The boy looked at her in the eyes, surprised that he’d even gotten this far.  Rose slapped his face, which moved quickly from surprise to astonishment.

“I asked you a question.  How badly do you want to be my little pet white boy?”

“V…very badly, Miss Rose.  If it pleases you.”  He looked down again.

“Well, let’s try you out.”  She turned, made a clicking noise with her tongue and started walking, still holding onto his tie.  He stumbled a bit after her, having to lower his head.

Diane turned to Heather, lips parted, unable to find words.  Heather smiled.  “Rose has admirers.  But when they’re young, they REALLY need training.  I’m sure you know all about that.”

Heather began to wade into the party and Diane followed her.  Everyone was anxious to greet Heather, and to assert to Diane how well they knew her and how far back they went.  Diane had never in her life witnessed a woman being touted as a status symbol in that way.  Certainly, men boasted of conquering women, of having a desirable wife, but they never bragged about simply being friends with a woman.

The parade of faces was endless, and Diane only really managed to keep up with half of what anyone was saying.  It wasn’t that they were saying anything complicated, there were just so many of them.  They were all very sweet, and one woman handed Diane a glass of red wine that she sipped on cautiously, though some of the men and a lot of the women gave her lingering looks that suggested both curiosity and desire.  Here in the city, people didn’t seem to keep much to themselves.

Heather eventually took Diane’s hand and guided her to a small kitchen area on the other side of the room from the entrance.  There were dishes in the sink and innumerable bottles of innumerable varieties of alcohol on the counter.  Some full, some empty, some overturned and staining the wood.  Heather picked up a bottle of beer from the counter, placed the underside of the cap against the counter’s edge and pounded it on top with her fist.  The cap flew off and Heather leaned back against the counter, taking a sip.

Diane watched her and had to laugh, shaking her head.  Heather gave her another of those sidelong looks, her lips pulled into an easy grin.  “Something funny?”

“No.  Well, yes,” Diane said.

“Care to share?”

“I’ve never met a woman who acted like you.”

Heather took another swig from the bottle.  “Like how?”

“Unashamed.  Aggressive.  Almost arrogant.  Like a…”

“Like a man?”

“I wasn’t going to say it,” Diane allowed.

“And who’s to say I’m not acting like a woman?  When did it become a man’s job to enjoy life and a woman’s job to shut up and get out of the way?  You ever read about matriarchal societies?”

“No,” said Diane.

“Well, right now the boys run everything.  They’re fighting and squabbling and bragging and provoking each other to the edge of apocalypse.  But back in the day, there were societies where we ran the show, and frankly, that makes a lot more sense to me.  You ever hear a woman say she wanted to lob a missile at the Russians?”

Diane was silent at this.  She looked at the counter behind her.  “How are you going to clean up all of this mess?”

Heather unleashed a single, caustic snort.  “You think I’m the one who cleans up?  I have people for that.”

“You pay for a maid service?”

“Honey, my maids pay ME.”  Heather stretched and unzipped her leather jacket.  Underneath was a white cotton tank top, and Diane found herself  gazing at the small swell of Heather’s breasts pushing at the cotton.  Heather put her finger under Diane’s chin and brought her eyes back up.  “You see something you like?”

Diane’s eyes fluttered.  “Maybe.”

“Well, I like a little romance before getting down to business.”  Heather finished her beer and chucked the bottle into the kitchen, where it landed with a clunk, unbroken.  She moved in close enough that Diane could feel the heat coming off her skin.  “You know, your lips are giving me ideas.”

Diane, who had begun to feel a mild buzz descend on her, decided to abandon her usual blushing modesty.  She raised an eyebrow.  “You don’t say.”

“I do say.  They’re giving me all kinds of ideas.”

“Care to share?”

Heather inched in closer.  “I’m looking at them thinking that I’d like to suck on them.  Just find out what every inch of them tastes like.  Suck on them until you squeal.”

Diane leaned in further.  “You don’t have to stop at my lips.”

“You want me to keep going?  Maybe suck on those ears of yours?”  Heather brought her lips to Diane’s ear, their cheeks grazing gently.  “It would be positively wanton of you to expect me to suck on these ears.”

Heather’s breath was making Diane’s ear tingle.  It was also causing her to pulse gently down below.  Inside.  “I don’t mean to be wanton.  I’m a nice girl.”  Her words were little more than wisps of breath now.

“Right now, I bet you’re a wet girl.”  Diane almost drew back at the frankness of Heather’s words, but Heather kept her close by snaking a hand along the small of her back.  She dragged her lips along Diane’s neck.  “I can smell you.  I can smell every inch of you.  I can smell what I’m doing to you right now.  Tell me what I’m doing to you.”

“You’re…you’re making me wet.”  Diane looked at the party, which was carrying on without taking much notice.

“But you’re doing something to me, too.”  Heather brought her hand up Diane’s side, thumbing the edge of Diane’s nipple.  “You know what you’re doing to me?”

Diane brought herself face to face with Heather.  “I’m making you want me.”

“That’s right,” Heather said.

And at that moment, for the first time in her life, Diane kissed a woman.  Her mouth simply opened onto Heather’s.  They pressed their bodies together, and the fit was perfect.  Not like Lance’s hard, unyielding body, a body that seemed to force itself onto hers.  Their tongues explored each other’s mouths instinctively.  Diane tasted beer and sweetness on Heather’s tongue.  Heather made good on her promise and sucked on Diane’s ripe bottom lip, at first gently and then hard enough that Diane groaned.  They pressed together again, and Diane put her hand on Heather’s neck, pulling their faces yet closer.

The kiss didn’t end so much as it dissolved, both participants satisfied that something had been done, and properly.  Diane fell back against the counter as the contact broke.

Heather caught her.  “Careful, young lady.  I’ll send you home if I think you’re liable to hurt yourself.”

Diane smiled sadly.  “I don’t have a home right now.  Or I do, but…I can’t go back there.”

“You’ve got a lot of story, I can tell.”

“I don’t want to tell it right now,” said Diane, feeling melancholy and exhilarated all at once.  “I just want to be here.”

“You don’t have to tell it.  You want to see something?”

“Is it private?”

“Oh, yes.  Only special people get to see this.”

Heather took Diane’s hand again and led her along the outskirts of the crowd to another side of the room.  They arrived at a large wooden door.  On the door was a sign, written in black on red paper: “ONLY IF YOU’RE ALLOWED.”

Heather ran her finger along Diane’s chin.  “What’s the password?”

Diane replied, with not a moment’s hesitation, “Please.”

“You’re good,” smiled Heather, and they both slipped into the room.

This room was something else again.  Wood and leather.  A massive X with cuffs at every point.  Chains hanging from the ceiling.  Cages.  Chests full of secrets.  An assortment of…things lining the walls.  Whips.  Paddles.  Irons.  Masks.  Even having never seen a room like this, Diane had a word for it.  It was a dungeon.

And there, in the center of it all, was Rose and her pet white boy.  Rose had her skirt hiked up and was standing with her legs shoulder width apart.  The boy was on his knees, naked as can be, hands held behind his back.  His face was buried between her buttocks.

“That’s it, that’s it…you nasty little boy.”  Rose’s voice was a purr of alluring self-satisfaction.  “Get that bitch boy tongue up there, don’t be shy.  Worship this ass.  Show your Mistress how much you love this ass.  Pay your respects.”

The boy was groaning into her, lapping deep inside her, penetrating her with his tongue as if his life depended on it.

Diane immediately feared she had walked in on something she was never intended to see.  As if hearing her thoughts, Rose looked up at her.

“Don’t mind me.  I’m just giving this little slut an audition.”  Rose grabbed a fistful of the boy’s hair and pushed his face in deeper.

Heather laughed.  “Well…when you’re done… you mind if we join in?”

“When it comes to obedient little pretty boys like this, I say the more the merrier.  What did you have in mind?”

“I have a few ideas,” Heather said.  “What about you, Diane?  You got any ideas?”

Diane said nothing.  Her head spun pleasantly as she drank in the fine, overpowering scent of leather.

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