The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 7 by Maxim Jakubowski

Author:Maxim Jakubowski
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781472107794
Publisher: Robinson

Betty Came

M. Christian

She remembered the first time that Betty came. Sitting in her tiny kitchen, beams of warm sunlight painting it with brilliant yellow stripes, it was so easy to think of Betty as being there, next to her. It had been one of Audrey’s all-night parties. Another of the ex-boy’s “No other reason” Friday night dancing and drinking bashes. June had gotten pretty toasted early on – washing down the stubborn truth that she and Wendy had broken up the month before – and was quite satisfied to sit in a corner of the hideously cluttered apartment and get lost in the Pussy Tourrette album blasting from Audrey’s frankensteined sound system.

Didn’t know the tiny black girl’s name, didn’t even see who she’d come with. One second June was belting back her fifth Red Rock and the next the room exploded with a billion flashbulbs when she had walked in.

But Wendy was still a dull ache and the one thing you don’t think about when you have that “no one loves me any more” pang is that someone, suddenly, would.

Somehow, intros were made and June found herself fighting that fifth Red Rock to be on her best behavior. Chat. Joke. Smile. Flirt. Smile some more. Bat those eyelashes. Flirt. Chat.

While the sexy heat of the sparkling little girl was something that made all of June’s clouds blow away, the beers (and a bitchy week at work) had started to take their toll on her. Even against the searchlight brilliance of the girl’s smile, incredible cheekbones, and humming eyes, June’s own face started to feel haggard, drawn, and – yawn!

She remembered saying something like: “Sorry. Luckily I live right around the corner.”

“I’ll walk you,” the dream had said, smiling a sunrise at her.

Her place was a mess, of course. Isn’t it always? Some kind of universal law: bring trick (or love of your life) home and the first thing they see when they walk in the door is a pair of stained panties tossed on the floor.

“Wouldn’t want you to be too clean,” the lovely charcoal sketch had said, leaning in close enough so that June could slip an arm around her.

A cup of coffee had sounded good. June prattled some kind of empty dialogue, pretty much to herself, as she had ground the beans and tried to find the sugar. She was pretty sure she had said something about what she did for a living (messenger), what she liked to do (theater), what she liked (pecan pie and sleeping in), and what she wanted (someone special). Now, sitting in the same kitchen, June wasn’t sure if she’d mentioned Wendy. She hoped she hadn’t.

Sometime during the beans and the milk and the water and all the talk, talk, talk (that mostly June did), she found herself next to her again, found herself with one arm stroking her T-shirt-covered back, feeling the strong planes of her shoulders, and the thick warmth of her dark skin. She remembered, strongly, perfectly, the girl looking up at her and smiling a glowing smile.

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