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Elena
It took me several days to find the perfect venue for our little outing, there were a number of ‘do it yourself’ pottery places in town, but so many seemed like a bunch of amateurs trying to kill a few hours. I wanted something homey, quaint even, where Tamara could really tap back into something she loved, and with someone actually skilled in the art. I found what was essentially a studio, in a very small building several miles outside the city limits, a place called very simply ‘Sadie’s Studio.’ I arranged a private session in the late afternoon on a Friday that was scheduled for a couple of hours. I messaged Tamara with the details, including that we could catch a casual dinner after if she felt up to it.
Since an ‘art session’ is casual by nature, I opted for jeans and a yellow, conservative, off the shoulder top that hugged my body but not obscenely so. As long as I didn’t ruin my clothes with clay or paint, I would consider the evening a success. I really didn’t have any romantic illusions about Tamara at that point, I just enjoyed her company.
I pulled up to the tiny cottage, which was down a gravel driveway, which kicked a fair amount of dust as I arrived, the sound of pebbles also bouncing off the underside of my car. Tamara hadn’t arrived yet, making me a bit concerned that she had gotten cold feet and wouldn’t show up at all. Pushing the doubts from my mind, I stepped out of the car and felt the crunching of the ground beneath my feet as I came up to the door. The building was unimpressive, the screen door at the front was almost falling off the hinges, and there was peeling paint all around the exterior, making me regret choosing the spot. I opened the screen door and knocked loudly.
The wooden door jerked open, and a woman in her forties, whom I presumed was Sadie, appeared in my view. She was dressed in jeans as well, and a printed floral top, and already wearing a paint-stained smock. She smiled at me. “Elena is it?” she asked, in a soft tone.
I smiled and nodded. “Yes, plus a guest. She should be arriving any minute,” I replied, hoping it was still true.
“Come inside!” Sadie said in a delighted tone, pulling the door wide to allow me to enter.
“Wow!” I exclaimed as I got a better look at the place. It was immaculate, well-organized, and smelled fresh and clean. Supplies were located on the far wall, including pre-made pieces, and on the opposite wall were finished ceramics, in a dazzling array of sizes and colors. There were several tables that had been pushed against the far wall, with two pottery wheels and tables located in the center. It made me smile.
“Since I wasn’t totally sure what you girls had in mind to do, I set you up with the basics. You can ask me for anything else you need, especially since it’s just the two of you,” Sadie said with a smile. “Date night?”
I giggled loudly, maybe too loudly. “Nope, just friends,” I answered.
Sadie’s eyebrow went up and she smiled. “Well that’s how it all starts, you know,” she said with a wink.
In that second, my gaydar went off like a loud klaxon, which only surprised me because it hadn’t happened right away. I cleared my throat, feeling self conscious. “Well, she is married and quite straight,” I said softly. I felt my face going a bit red.
Sadie laughed heartily. “Well, better tell your heart that then, I can see a glint in your eye. But you never know, right?”
As I nodded, I heard another car pulling up the gravel road and I breathed a sigh of relief, first because it ended the awkward conversation with Sadie, and second because it meant Tamara had decided not to chicken out. Sadie just smiled and went to the door to greet her.
Tamara made eye contact with me briefly before getting distracted by the trimmings of the studio itself. She let out an ecstatic giggle, hands up by her lips and doing an excited dance. To say she was enthralled would have been an understatement. I could feel the energy from her filling the room and it thrilled me that I was able to play some small part in helping her rediscover herself. Without warning, she threw her arms around me and pulled me into a bear hug, almost crushing me, planting a wet kiss on my cheek that I presumed was her way of saying thank you.
“Oof,” I said as she hugged me.
Tamara jumped back. “Sorry, got carried away,” she said, still giggling. “How did you find this place? It’s perfect!”
“Just got lucky, I guess,” I replied.
“C’mon over here, girls!” Sadie said cheerfully. “Let’s get you started!”
Tamara pulled a paint-laden smock over her head and sat down at the pottery wheel, rubbing her hands together like a child in a candy shop. She reached her right hand down into the five gallon bucket and scooped a large clump of clay and formed it into a rough circle before turning on the motor. She moistened her hands in the water of the same bucket and began molding the wet clay with her fingers.
I was mesmerized as I watched her work the clay, flattening it, shaping it, bending it to her will, making it transform every couple kocaeli escort of seconds, as if it was a living thing. The clay danced as she made it change once more, sliding a finger into the center, creating an opening, widening it. Tamara’s eyes never left the object she was creating, as if putting herself into it, injecting her own soul somehow. There was nothing sexual about watching her form the clay into a lonely vase, but it was intimate, personal, and private. And she was sharing it with me, gladly willingly. After a few minutes, she had shaped a lovely long vase with a wide mouth and ridges all up and down from the top to the base.
“There ya go, I made that for you,” Tamara said, reaching up to scratch her nose and leaving a glob of clay there.
I grabbed a paper towel and dabbed off the clay, almost unable to speak. “Thank you,” I murmured, adding a few seconds later, “that was absolutely incredible.”
Tamara smiled brightly, and drew in what I could tell was a happy breath. Her face was beaming, and I could tell she felt more alive than she had in a very, very long time. I thought I had been doing her a favor of some sort by reconnecting her with one of her passions, but in truth she was doing me an even bigger favor. Even as a comparative stranger, she had willingly invited me into a deeply personal place and we both felt comfortable with that.
She nagged at me for a while to try something, but I was very self-conscious now that I had seen what she could do with ease. Eventually I relented by starting with a smaller lump of clay, thinking I would be lucky if I could even manage to create a lopsided ashtray. I started the wheel, trying to make the clay into a circle the way I had seen her do, but I pushed too hard and the clump flew off the wheel and hit the floor. “Shit!” I exclaimed, face turning bright red.
“Now, now,” Tamara said maternally, pulling some more clay out of her bucket. She formed it a bit with the wheel off, presumably to make it even enough to stay in one spot. She looked me in the eyes. “Now don’t get any ideas, just trying to get you started here.”
I felt her gentle hands slide over the back of mine from behind, as she brought her stool directly to the rear of me. She kicked the switch on my own pottery wheel, and guided my hands over the surface of the rotating clay. “Stop trying to force it, just let it all… flow… let your fingers…” she said, putting my fingers in the right position, working the clay, feeling it bend to my will, or Tamara’s will through me. “That’s it, see? You’re a natural,” she whispered. It was even more intimate now, but I guessed that she had no clue how much, nor how sexual this was feeling, fingers moving, bodies touching. Just about the time I thought I would lose my sanity, she pulled back and turned off the wheel. When I looked up, I saw a cute coffee mug with a wide brim.
“Wow,” I managed to say, my mind spinning and my heart beating out of my chest. After standing and taking a few deep breaths, I had managed to calm down enough to think clearly.
I didn’t attempt to make anything else, but watched as Tamara made about six pieces, each more elaborate than the other. She had been right, this was her passion and she was crazy talented. Time flew by and before i knew it, our time there was done. Tamara said she would meet me at the restaurant, and I stayed behind to pay Sadie for the session. As I handed her my credit card she chuckled and shook her head.
“What?” I said, in an irritated tone.
“You know what,” Sadie said, in a singsong voice.
“We are just friends. And she is hella straight!”
“Not saying any of that isn’t true, love. But there is more at play here, I know with you for sure, but something with her, too. Just be careful. Could be a big heartache,” she said maternally.
Sadie’s words were echoing in my mind as I made the short drive to the italian restaurant I had made reservations at. Honestly, it did worry me a bit. I tend to go all-in and it often resulted in some pretty deep hurt for me. But there was just something about Tamara that just captivated me, she had a genuineness about her that was compelling, plus I knew there was a lot more to her than what people saw on the surface. I resolved in that moment to protect my heart, and tread lightly. It was fun flirting with her, mostly just to see her reaction, but I couldn’t risk things crashing and burning.
Tamara was already at the table and looking at her makeup in a compact, the sight just made me want to smile. So I did. I stood several feet away just watching her, and then reminded myself to keep my emotional distance. Just then, she caught sight of me and smiled and waved at me, prompting me to come over and sit across from her. “Hey, girl!” I chirped.
“Hey there. Thank you again soooo much for arranging that studio time,” Tamara said, her voice still filled with excitement. “I haven’t felt so…alive…for as long as I can remember.”
I smiled as I placed the red cloth napkin in my lap and reached for the glass of water to take a quick kocaeli escort bayan sip. “Oh, the pleasure was mine, you are incredibly talented. I was pretty intimidated,” I said in a soft tone.
Tamara’s eyes widened, as if it was a shocking revelation of some sort. “No way!’ she exclaimed. “You are fearless, I can’t imagine you being intimidated by anything.”
“Hey, you want a glass of wine?” I asked, craving a good glass of red myself.
“Absolutely! I fancy a Malbec if that suits you,” she responded.
Shit, she picked out one of my favorites, this just was not fair. I waved the server over, a nice looking twenty-something young man. “A bottle of a good Malbec, please?” I asked. He nodded, and within a few moments returned with a red-labeled bottle of a vineyardthat I recognized and enjoyed. He removed the cork and then poured a glass for each of us before leaving to wait on someone else.
I raised my glass and said, “to rediscovering what we love!”
“Amen, sister!” she responded, clinking her glass eagerly, and taking a sip.
Our dinner conversation was as good as any other that we had had previously, I found out more about her family and background, only child, catholic girl, and a strict upbringing. Her maiden name was Edmonds, which I recognized as the family name of a prominent financial firm in the city. I knew her father’s reputation as aggressive and controlling, so I could see why she reacted to certain things the way that she did. Even her marriage to Alan Reynolds had been his design, which just cemented my viewpoint that the men in her life treated her more like an object than a person.
As the wine took effect, Tamara relaxed and started talking more freely than she ever had up to that point. “You know, your impression of Alan is spot on,” she confessed at one point, “he is a first-class asshole. My best days are the ones when he is off on some business trip.”
“Well, you deserve better than that. I…” I started to say, but stopped myself, knowing my next question would be far more invasive than anything I said at the coffee shop.
“What?” she asked, taking a sip of her second glass of Malbec. “Ask, I have already told you more than I have pretty much told anyone.”
I sighed, still hesitant. “It’s really not my place.”
Tamara got a mischievous look on her face, and then in a low whisper said, “bullshit.” Then she giggled so much I thought it might upset the couple at the table opposite ours.
I found myself giggling now, though not quite as raucously as her. “Using my own words against me huh? Clever girl, but ooooh you are trouble!”
I watched the smile on her face fade and a soulful expression take its place. Damn, this was going to get serious. Tamara leaned forward so I could hear her without the ‘neighbors’ hearing. “Pretty sure you were going to ask if he hits me. Yeah, not like constantly, but enough,” she said in a low tone.
I already had strong suspicions about his abusiveness, given his macho personality and her reactions to things so far. “Once is more than enough. Too much. Far too much,” I said, fighting the conflicting emotions of anger at her husband and anger at her for tolerating it. I also knew Alan was a womanizer and had cheated on his wife long before I had ever met Tamara, but something told me she already knew that as well.
“Fair enough,” Tamara responded, “But something you may not know is that he’s been falsifying his sales records.”
Okay, that I did not know, but it sure as hell explained a lot of things, including the company-wide audit that was underway now. The rumors about financial misconduct had been circulating for some time, but old man Bessmer decided it was time to settle that once and for all. I was in shock. “Oh… wow,” I gasped, unable to say much of anything else.
Tamara sat her wine glass down slowly. “Yeah, I came across some notes in his desk, and since I know what the super-secret combination to his safe is, it was easy to figure out the rest. Reporting one already overblown number, and pocketing the rest. And smug about it too.”
I was speechless, The first thing I wanted to say was for her to report it for her own safety and well-being, but I choked on the words because my emotions were all over the place. Personally, I wanted to ask her to hand me over the proof and I would make sure the bastard got what he deserved, but she was afraid of him as it was. I managed to say, “Uh huh,” but nothing else.
Just as I worried I had run out of words our dinner arrived and the conversation steered away from the heavy topics a few moments prior. We shared more conversation about likes and dislikes, and surprisingly enough, sex. Looking back, it was my fault, our server went off shift and was replaced by a sultry looking young latina girl and, after she walked off, I said, “Oh damn she is gorgeous, I would love to find out how she kisses.”
Tamara giggled, her cheeks pink. “Oh my, sounds like someone is a bit wound up. Been a while?” she said with a teasing tone.
“You kocaeli escort have no idea, and I am pretty passionate, so that makes it even more frustrating.” I said, knowing my own inhibitions were lower than usual. I rationalized that it was just girl talk, but fascinated with how comfortable she seemed about the topic.
Tamara chewed a piece of the steak she had just taken a bite of, and reached for her glass to sip a bit more wine. “I can relate. Being married doesn’t mean constant sex, or even good sex,” she commented.
Well now she had left the proverbial door wide open. I smiled, trying to filter my words so as not to embarrass her too badly. I cleared my throat a bit, lowering my voice, and asked, “And what does good sex look like to you, Tamara?”
Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and then leaned forward a bit. “A soft touch… a kiss, great kisses even, unrushed, unhurried, soft well-placed caresses…”
I involuntarily licked my lips. “Oh, kissing is a must. Soft, deep sensual, long making out sessions with nothing but that… lips… making… love,” I said, studying her expression, watching her also lick her lips. It surprised me how she was reacting, because I knew words were powerful, but I also assumed she was picturing a guy in her mind’s eye.
“Um. Yes,” Tamara rasped, her face flushed.
“Bodies touching… warmth of their skin on yours… just… lost in the sensations… in the moment… no rush…” I cooed, caught up in the dynamic but worried I might be pushing the envelope too much.
“Mmm hmmm,” she whispered.
“Making love… to… her body… and mind,” I added, knowing that would cross the line a little bit, forcing a different image in her mind even if for a second.
Tamara didn’t react either verbally or otherwise so I had no idea what she was actually thinking, but as fun as it was teasing her a bit, I thought better of saying anything else. “But anyway, let’s not get arrested tonight,” I added after a moment. Tamara laughed in response.
We parted ways about an hour after, but I was hopelessly aroused, in a way that toys or fingers would never satisfy. I am a hopeless romantic, but every now and then my own passions would get the best of me and in those moments I would rely on ex-girlfriends of friends with benefits to scratch that particular itch. Tonight, that friend was Lily, a petite blonde with a great body, who was more than happy to oblige my desires.
There was virtually no conversation once Lily came through the door. I pinned her to the wall, closed my eyes, and touched my lips to hers. Many of the times we had slept together had been intense and wild, but tonight I wanted something else, or rather someone else, though I would never admit that out loud.
My first kiss on her lips was soft and tentative, and in that moment Lily read my signals and what I wanted, and responded in kind. In that moment, she was a surrogate, my mind was elsewhere, on Tamara, on giving her the kind of pleasure she needed and deserved. I felt her lips respond to mine, like a dance, lips caressing lips, no tongue, just a slow deep sensual kiss. She deserved this. She needed this. And I was the one giving it to her.
I pressed my breasts into hers, and while still fully clothed, there was no way she could mistake the fact that the one kissing her was another woman, our bodies together, molding as if designed to fit together. I could feel Tamara’s nipples hardening, and I slipped my hand up to her face to stroke it gently as our lips continued their sexual massage. I wanted to savor her, for as long as it took. I could feel her trembling in my arms, surrendering more of herself with each passing moment, knowing that the point of no return for her had long since passed.
After a seeming eternity, I broke the kiss, nuzzling her cheek and then kissing down to her neck, that supple neck I had longed to taste since that first night we met. Tamara moaned as my lips touched her neck, and I nipped at the skin before making love to that spot in earnest. Yes, she was mine now, and nothing would stop what was to come. I purposely sucked on her skin, leaving red marks that would declare to the world that she belonged to me, switching spots frequently so that there were many red circles on the skin.
Unzipping her dress, I kissed my way down to the valley between her ample breasts, desperate to taste them, kiss them, and do the same thing I had done to her neck. She attempted to slip her bra off, but I pinned her hands behind her so the moment would not be rushed. I have a particular fondness for breasts, they are so uniquely feminine, and a favorite spot to touch, lick and kiss.
Once Tamara’s breasts were glistening with the moisture from my tongue, I unhooked her bra, playing with her nipples with my fingers, causing her to arch her back and gasp in a heavenly fashion. I heard her whisper, “Please.” In response, I began softly sucking on her breasts, letting my hand slide down her lace panties to find her bare and wet folds aching for my touch. My fingers began exploring her womanhood, eventually sliding a finger inside her, slowly moving in and out of her. I felt her body starting to shake from an impending orgasm, and stopped to prolong the moment, after which I stood up and led her to my bed.
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