Chapter Five. Colby had thought her prayers had been answered when she could make out the woman sitting in the sand

Colby had thought her prayers had been answered when she could make out the woman sitting in the sand. But now she simply said, “Shit, shit, shit.” Steaming as her left foot hit the sidewalk, then her right, then the left again, she practically stomped back to her truck like an angry kid who one minute had an ice-cream cone in her hand, and the next held nothing but thin air.

Earlier, when the dark clouds had cleared, the woman had been sitting in the sand as if waiting for her long-lost sailor to return from the sea. Colby rarely had such romantic thoughts or let herself be swept away by emotion. She had needed this type of detachment in her previous life and had continued it in this one, but it had deserted her tonight. Butterflies had jostled for position in her stomach as she rode the final wave into shore. She was driven by the need to have this woman, and her craving was worse now after the small sample beneath the eucalyptus trees.

After slamming her truck door, she started to back out of the parking spot and noticed her hands were shaking. She stopped and looked at them as if they were foreign objects that had replaced her familiar ones. In her old life, they were always steady. No matter how difficult or stressful the situation, she could always depend on them to be as still as the hot night air surrounding her. Even in the heat of passion, she was always in control. Turning them palm up, she remembered how heavy and soft the woman’s breasts felt. How responsive she was when Colby caressed her, tweaked each hard, round nipple. Even in the darkness of the truck’s interior she could detect a slight tremble as she touched each fingertip with her thumb.

“Damn it, ” she shouted into the night, balling her hands into fists and hitting the steering wheel. What had come over her? She had touched more women than she could count, some she couldn’t even remember, and had never had this kind of reaction. And she had held the woman for only moments. She had no doubt where the encounter would have gone if they hadn’t been interrupted. Those boys certainly got much more than they ever expected on their summer vacation.

Regaining control she drove home, stopping only at the KFC drive-through for an order of extra crispy. Fifteen minutes later she was sitting on her couch with the bucket in her lap and a cold beer within reach on the coffee table. Her television was on to the baseball game she had TiVoed earlier in the day, baseball her only vice other than surfing.

She could recite the name, position, and stats of practically every player in the league. She had no idea how she became fascinated with the game. Her father certainly never took her to one. He never did anything with her other than criticize her choices in life. She didn’t have any brothers or uncles interested in baseball, and she only played when she was able to sneak out of the house and round up a few of the neighborhood boys. Their games lasted only a quick three or four innings before her mother found her and dragged her home. She could hear her mother’s voice clearly even after all these years.

“Colby Morgan Taylor. Baseball is not a game for a young woman, certainly not a daughter of mine.”

The way her mother always said woman and daughter was so totally opposite to the gender-bending name Jeanette Taylor, nee Morgan, had bestowed on her. She was a tomboy from the minute she shot out of the womb on that unseasonably cold day in May thirty-eight years ago. The more her mother tried to make her into a prissy little girl, the more Colby fought her. Even after she had established a very successful life of her own, her mother still commented when she showed up for dinner in trousers rather than a dress. It didn’t matter that the pants were raw silk or that they cost more than a month’s worth of groceries for an average family of four. And at the age of twenty-three when she announced she was a lesbian, she could have sworn the world stopped.

Her mother was better now, but not by much. She still wanted her eldest daughter to find a good man, marry, and pop out a few more grandchildren for her. As if the nine she already had from her other daughters weren’t enough. She couldn’t accept the fact that Mr. Right was in fact Ms. Right. They had long ago compromised on that subject. Jeanette never asked and Colby rarely told.

The Detroit Tigers were handily beating her favorite team, the Seattle Mariners, when she set the KFC bucket next to the four empty Bud Light bottles and drifted to sleep.

The dream tonight was not about death but the very essence of life. The woman’s face was not clear but her unruly blond hair fell into Colby’s face as she hovered over her. Her body was hard and warm on top of Colby’s, and the woman wouldn’t let her go until she had her fill.

It all started with a good-night peck on the cheek. Colby didn’t know exactly where they had gone, but she was standing in the doorway of the woman’s house thinking the evening was over when the woman slid her arms around her neck and kissed her. Seriously kissed her.

She instinctively gathered the woman in her arms and pulled her closer. The woman deepened the kiss, her tongue quickly exploring the inside of Colby’s mouth. Not breaking their kiss, she pulled Colby into the house, slammed the door shut, and pressed her against it.

The anonymous woman was not at all shy about what she wanted, and almost before Colby knew what was happening her shirt was open and her pants were on their way to the floor. Not being one to lag behind, she got busy.

Before long they were prone on the woman’s bed. Colby feasted on full breasts with hard nipples. She kissed the stranger from head to toe and many times in between. She caressed the woman with her hands and mouth inside and out, until she begged for release. She was insatiable and took her repeatedly until she was begging for rest.

Then the roles were reversed. The unknown woman devoured her, taking her over the brink and back more times than Colby could remember. They consumed each other until too exhausted to do anything but collapse on the moist, tangled sheets.

Like her other dreams, when she woke she was drenched in sweat, her breathing ragged. This time, though, her body was alive, every nerve active, her head buzzing with sensation. Her hands were shaking and her legs weak as she staggered to the bathroom. Snapping on the light she splashed her face with cold water. Her reflection in the mirror was one she hadn’t seen in a long time. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dilated, her hair disheveled. She was sexually aroused almost to the point of pain, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. A very long time.