Salacious Stand Up: A Funny Lesbian Romance by Nicolette Dane (2016-06-22) Page 4

  “You’re funny,” she said. “The audience really loved you.”

  “You wanna hear my secret?” I said, leaning in like we were in collusion.

  “Sure,” said George.

  “Just, like, amazingly crushing pain in here,” I said, moving my hand in a circle around my heart. “I wake up in the morning and I’m like, ‘not this shit again!’”

  “Must be the subject matter,” said George out of the side of her mouth as she sipped from her glass.

  “Ugh,” I groaned. “Busted.”

  “Here I was thinking I was coming out to a club to see a chick…” she said, raising a brow. “Like me.”

  “It’s just my act,” I protested. “I stumbled into it, it worked, and now that train has left the station.”

  George nodded slowly, her eyes skeptical.

  “So who was that rich-looking guy you were chatting with before I came up?” asked George, leaning her elbow against the table, chin resting on her hand.

  “Um, well,” I started, looking off, a bit embarrassed but also quite excited. “He was a producer from Comedy Junction, the cable channel.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” said George with a smirk.

  “They want me to perform on one of their shows,” I said, raising my bourbon up and taking a sip. I grinned wide after I swallowed.

  “Wow,” said George coolly. “That’s pretty intense. You must be feeling good.”

  “Dude!” I said. “C’mon, it’s insanity!”

  “Are you gonna do your Simpsons voices on TV?” said George waggishly.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I got a solid five minutes of Homerisms. That should get me through the set. D’oh!” George laughed.

  “So you do, like, all straight sex jokes?” said George, bringing the conversation back.

  “I guess so,” I said. “It just sorta worked out like that.”

  “That’s cool,” she said. “I guess you can’t go wrong with sex. It’s a topic everybody loves.”

  “Especially from a little spinner like me,” I said, laughing at myself.

  “Spinner?” said George. “What does that mean?”

  “You’ve never heard that before?” I said incredulously. “Oh God, now I’m embarrassed for even saying it.”

  “Yeah?” said George with a laugh. “So tell me what it means.” Her pretty dark eyes were piercing as she looked across the table at me.

  “Um, well, a spinner,” I said. “Is, like, a girl that’s so small you can spin her around your dick while you’re having sex.”

  “That’s an interesting proposition,” said George, grinning and picking up her bourbon. “Unfortunately I don’t have a dick.” Her smile was so enticing to me, so alluring and strange and edgy. George had this cool air about her, like she was cool and she knew it. As I thought about it, there was no way someone like her was ignorant to what ‘spinner’ meant. This chick was just playing me. And, hey, I’ll take it.

  “So what about you?” I said, trying to deflect a bit. “What’s your story?”

  “Shit,” she said, leaning back and stretching her arms behind her head. As she did this, her t-shirt inched up her torso and showed off her flat stomach. Oh God, I was feeling warm. “Well,” she continued. “I don’t like to talk much about it because, I dunno, it’s kinda corny.” Looking off a bit, playing it cool, her head swayed side to side as she delayed. “I’m a writer.”

  “I know that,” I said, shaking my head incredulously. “I’ve seen you at the coffee shop.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Cool.”

  “And I know you just got a book deal, so there’s that too,” I went on, innocently taking a drink and averting my eyes.

  “How did you know that?” said George. “Stalking me?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “My Google-fu is strong.”

  “It’s no big thing,” said George flippantly. “I mean, it’s cool but it doesn’t mean shit’s going to work out. You never know.”

  “I guess that’s the same attitude I should take,” I said. “Can’t let this TV thing get to my head.”

  “Well, millions of people are going to see you,” said George. “Shit, how many people read anymore?” She ran her hand through her messed up blonde hair, then brushed her palm against it.

  “People still read,” I reassured. “I mean, I basically read comedy autobiographies and lesbian romance novels but I’m sure there’s still a readership out there for your stuff.” George snickered and looked down.

  “What do you know about my stuff?” she asked. “Did you dig that up, too?”

  “I mean, you write more, um, literary type stuff, right?” I said.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “So maybe you’ll write something that they make college freshmen read in their intro to English class,” I said with a grin. “You know, one of those mandatory books.”

  “You’re a real tease,” she said. “Can’t turn the comedy off, can you?”

  “Comedy is the gasoline that flows through my veins, George,” I said, dropping my hand to the table. “You can’t light a match and expect it not to ignite.”

  “I suppose we both deal in words,” she said, lowering her own hand and placing it on top of mine. I closed my eyes and focused on the warmth I could feel from her palm, my heart rate growing speedy, my breath suddenly feeling choppy. “Mine serious,” she continued. “Yours… frivolous.”

  “You better take that back,” I said, yanking my hand out from under hers. But this move was only for dramatic effect. I so desperately wanted to replace my hand where it had been, to feel her palm atop it, to sense that connection once more. “Comedy wins over… whatever it is that you do.”

  George just grinned at me. I could sense that she was in control and she knew it. I was totally melting.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” she asked. “There’s this bar over closer to home that we could hit up for another drink. You down?”

  “But Petra hasn’t gone on yet,” I protested. “I always give her notes about how the audience reacted to her set.”

  “How many times have you seen her perform?” asked George.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Hundreds probably.”

  “So you can’t miss, like, one set?” she said.

  “Well, I suppose just one couldn’t hurt.” I grimaced a bit, worried for Petra, wondering what she’d truly think if I missed her set. I loved the girl, she was like my best friend. But maybe George was right. I had seen a lot of Petra’s sets and I had given her reams of notes. If I happened to miss just one, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Right?

  “Let’s hit it, then,” said George, standing up, reaching her hand out to me. Without much more thought, I took her hand and let her pull me off the high chair. “We’ll catch a cab back to the westside and check this bar out.”

  “Cool,” I said, still a little uneasy but smiling nonetheless. Taking my bag from the backrest of the chair, I slung it over my shoulder as George began to pull me through the club and toward the exit. I quickly let Petra and her set drop from my mind and instead focused my attentions fully on the night that George and I were about to have. I was feeling giddy.

  After fumbling with my keys a bit, George and I busted through my apartment door, embracing, passionately kissing one another. Both of us somewhat sloshed from one too many cocktails, I flung my bag toward a small table near my apartment entrance and inadvertently knocked into it with George’s weight against me, spilling the various odds and ends from on top of it, extra keys and pens and a phone charger, all of it falling down to the hardwood floor below.

  “Shit!” I exclaimed, looking down to the mess as George buried her face into my neck and kissed me. She was a good bit taller than me, as most people are, and she was crooked over next to me. My skin felt heated, tender, enflamed from the excitement of George’s attention mixed with the intoxication from the booze. Reaching out, I grabbed onto the apartment door and slammed it shut.

  “
Nice place,” said George without even looking around. She was too involved with my body, running her hands along my back, grabbing my ass through my jeans, kissing around my neck, my cheeks, my lips.

  “Thanks,” I said. Reaching down to my back pocket, I yanked out my phone and gave it a quick glance. There was an unread text message from Petra. “Ah balls,” I exclaimed. “Text from Petra.”

  “Forget that chick,” said George, her face softly pushed against mine, her hands still exploring, slithering under the hem of my t-shirt and massaging my sides. I moaned softly as I felt her hands on my skin. “Let’s just be here now.”

  “I like the way you think,” I cooed, tossing my phone into the table mess on the floor and pushing my own hands under George’s shirt. She was trim, solid, firm. I took a deep breath in through my nose as our lips met once more, wetly smacking together. Closing my eyes, I happily sighed, eager for what I knew was soon to come.

  Kicking one foot back, George reached down and deftly pulled the knot out of her boot laces. Then she did the same thing for the other boot, all while we remained locked in a sloppily kissing embrace. My heart was quickening, my breath swelling. As George stepped out of her boots, I followed her lead and kicked out of my flats. This caused the two of us to tumble in further to my apartment and bang into the coffee table in front of my couch.

  “Fuck!” she said, regaining her balance and coming at me again. Lips meeting, bodies pressing against each other. I could feel her tits against me and I longed to be even closer to her.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said, pulling back from George and catching my breath. I was referring to our drunken stumbling, but as I considered it the entire scene was ridiculous. I couldn’t help myself, though. I really wanted her. I could feel the desire deep inside.

  We stood there for a moment, both panting, before George reached down and swiftly pulled her t-shirt up over her head revealing her athletic slimness underneath, now wearing just a thin black bra. I looked her up and down, eager to get that bra off her and impressed by the tightness of her stomach.

  “God damn,” I marveled.

  “Not bad, eh?” she said with a grin, looking down at herself.

  “I see where your ego comes from,” I said. “How many pushups can you do?”

  “I’m more into face squats,” she said, stepping closer to me. My hands were unable to stay off of her, running over her beautiful stomach and yanking at the waistband of her jeans.

  “That just made me super fucking dripping wet,” I said.

  “Sounds like an invitation,” she said, returning her lips to mine. Following my lead, George grappled with the waist of my jeans and began yanking at the button until it came loose from the hole. I could immediately feel the looseness of my pants, coinciding with feelings of my own lusty looseness. George’s fingers pawed at my zipper, pulling it down gingerly. Having the warmth of her hand so close to my heat beneath the thin fabric of my panties gave me a quick sense of the chills.

  Once I got her jeans unbuttoned as well, I lowered my hand and massaged her between her legs over top of the denim, coursing my palm back and forth. As I touched her through the fabric, George’s lecherous advances grew more heated, her hot breath causing the flesh of my neck to go humid.

  “This thing clean down here?” I intoned softly toward her ears as she kissed my neck.

  “It’s self-cleaning,” she said. “And right now it’s wet and dripping.”

  “Mmm,” I sighed, my arms around her, touching her bare back, feeling that familiar tingling sensation in my panties and a dampness as my arousal mounted. “I think I’ll have to inspect it and see.”

  “I’m gonna fuck you silly,” whispered George against the side of my head, the steaminess of her out-breath warming my ear.

  “I sure hope so,” I said, grinning, pulling back from George once more and stepping away. Reaching my fingers down to my waistband, I pushed my tight jeans down over my hips and shimmied them down my legs as George watched. Underneath I wore a cute pair of navy and white vertically striped panties. Continuing my disrobing, I took hold of the hem of my shirt and pulled it up over my head, causing my hair to tumble about. My small bra, barely necessarily as I’ve told you before, matched my panties. You know, vertical stripes make you look taller.

  “You are a spinner,” said George as she gazed on my little almost-naked body. I stepped one leg forward and mock-modeled for her.

  “Get those off,” I said, motioning toward her pants. “And follow me.” Strutting away from George now, I made my way toward my bedroom as I reached behind my back and unfastened my bra, letting it drop down my arms, then tossing it to the floor as I sauntered through my bedroom door. George eagerly followed behind, her jeans falling down to her ankles, and she stepped out of the heap of fabric as she walked. Still behind me, watching me, she hopped a few times as she pulled her socks off.

  Now grabbing at my panties, I pushed them down over my ass, down my thighs, and let them slide down to my ankles, easily pulling my feet out of them as I crawled up onto my bed, now completely nude. I felt so warm, so frenzied, so ready to accept this beautiful weird bad girl into me. As I turned over, laying on my back now on the bed, I saw George advancing after me, she herself naked as well, breasts dangling, the downiness of the fur between her legs apparent in the low light as she walked on her hands toward me. I grinned as I watched, eyes wide, a stupid smile painted across my lips.

  “Hey,” said George in a low tone, looking into my eyes as she hovered over me. We stared at each other for a moment, each trying to find something in one another’s eyes.

  “Hey,” I said softly back to her, affirming my readiness. My body trembled slightly as I felt George lower down on top of me in a hot embrace. Our lips met once again, our humid middles coming together. I could feel George’s wetness on my thigh. Then her hand slipped between my legs and touched me. I moaned adoringly.

  I felt immunity. I felt freedom. My heart was full of affection. It was exuberant.

  Hoisting my bag up more securely on my shoulder, I whistled happily as I maneuvered down the busy Lincoln Park street, on my way to the comedy club. It was still early yet, nearing 6PM, and I figured I’d get a quick drink, go grab a burrito for dinner, and be back in time for the nightly show to begin. When George and I woke up together that morning we lustily screwed again, both of us giving our tongues a workout if you’re picking up what I’m putting down, and then she had to jet off to take care of some business. I was a bit saddened that we couldn’t get brunch together, but sometimes that’s just how it goes. I got brunch alone at the diner down the street from my apartment. I spent the rest of the day a bit unfocused, opting to lazily clean my apartment and dream about George’s fingers pushing inside of me.

  As I approached the Stand Up Affiliate I saw Petra also walking up, coming the direction opposite me. My eyes lit up as I saw her, a smile growing on my face, and I raised my arms up in the air.

  “Petty!” I exclaimed as we closed in on one another. “What’s shaking, babe?”

  “Macy,” she said, a bit coldly.

  “Something wrong, chickadee?” I asked, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling myself against her.

  “Nope,” she said, stepping away from me, reaching out for the entrance door of the club, and slinking inside.

  “Petra! Wait!” I called after her, following her through the door and into the club.

  The club was empty of any real patrons, though Ralph was behind the bar cutting limes while a couple waitresses milled about. A few other regular comics nursed beers from their barstools, and Howie hung off to one corner screwing with the audio system. Petra tromped over the beat-up laminate floor, her backpack slung over one shoulder, and made her way up to the bar. I swiftly chased her.

  “Hey!” I blurted out. “Wait up!”

  Petra set her bag down on a barstool, leaning against the backrest, and then turned around to face me. She looked unhappy, hurt, tired. Raising an eyebrow a
t me as I scurried up, Petra remained silent so I spoke up again.

  “What’s the matter, Petty?” I said. “Why so short with me? Or am I just the short one?” I said in a jokey tone, grinning, mockingly spreading my arms out to accept a laugh.

  “Got any notes for my set last night?” asked Petra with a straight face.

  “Dude, c’mon,” I said, reaching out and tugging on her arm. “So I cut out early. How many times have I given you notes in the past?”

  “It’s not that,” said Petra. “I mean, not really. It’s just, I don’t know, it’s like you weren’t yourself last night.”

  “No idea what you’re talking about,” I said. “How could I be anybody but the one and only Macy Maxwell?”

  “After that network guy offered you a TV gig,” said Petra. “And then hanging out with that weasel chick.”

  “What are you saying?” I said, dropping my jokiness for a moment as I was beginning to feel rather serious.

  “I’m saying, you ditched your best friend to go get drunk with a hipster slimeball,” said Petra.

  “Fuck you, Petra,” I said. “George isn’t a slimeball. Just because she’s got that brooding writer type vibe about her and she’s a little disheveled, that doesn’t mean she’s a slimeball. She’s a cool chick.”

  “You’ve got your blinders on, Macy,” said Petra. “It’s all rosy for you. She’s gonna take advantage of that.”

  “You don’t even know her,” I said. “You met her for, like, one second.”

  “You fucked her, didn’t you?” said Petra. “I can tell. You’re defending the shit out of her in the way only you would after you slept with her. Typical Macy, spreading her legs for any greasy chick that happens to—“

  I interrupted Petra with a smack to the face. Although I couldn’t hit very hard, Petra still made a little groan as I hit her, a tender pink mark now on her pale cheek.

  “What the hell, Macy!” said Petra, her hand raising up to her cheek, her glasses a bit askew.

  “How dare you talk to me like that,” I said. “That’s messed up, Petra.”