Lost and Karmic

She put the note on her Dad's lap and headed for the door. A rush of cool wind hit Brooke upon stepping outside. She wrapped her arms as best as she could around herself and walked down the steps of her stoop. After waiting until the road was clear, Brooke crossed over and headed for the bus stop two minutes down the street. There was an old woman sitting on the thin plastic seats of the little bus shelter. She took one look at Brooke and shook her head disapprovingly.

"You're going to catch your death of cold dressed like that," She said in a crotchety voice.

Brooke rolled her eyes but tried to be polite. "...I think I'm fine, Ma'am."

She felt awkward waiting for the bus after that. It reminded her of how much she wanted to drive. Eight and a half minutes later though, it came. She paid her fare, received her little ticket and sat down next to an overweight Mexican with his nose in a newspaper. The ride was quick though, as Vicki's apartment was only a few blocks away (it would have been possible to just walk down there but Brooke wasn't wearing walking heels and she didn't like roaming around at night). When she reached the right stop Brooke got off the bus and was left beside the road leading into a residential cul-de-sac. On the opposing street there were a series of apartment buildings. She identified the one that Vicki lived in, sought out its lobby, then its elevator, and took it all the way up to the sixteenth floor. From that floor's balcony she got a wonderful view of the city of Minneapolis but it was hardly the most pressing issue on her mind.

She went to Vicki's door, #98, and pressed the bell.

Three seconds subsequent to that she heard Vicki shout `will you two knock it off' behind the door. When it opened, Vicki's expression transformed from mildly irritated to very appreciative, all from seeing Brooke and the way she was dressed.

That trademark grin of hers appeared. "...Namaste."

"Can I come in?"

Vicki made way by stepping aside. Brooke walked in and took off her jacket while Vicki closed the door behind her. Yet the very first thing she noticed when she walked in was a disharmonic chorale of moans and giggling. Vicki exhaled and whispered `follow me' to her. She subsequently led Brooke into her lounge. And what Brooke saw there she was staggered by.

Two sixteen-year-old girls, one of them black and the other Asian, were steamily making out on one of the three leather sofas of the room. The Asian girl was laid back on the couch with her head against the armrest. She mindlessly mixed giggles and moans into the mouth of the black girl, who was mounting her from the waist and deeply caressing the Asian girl's substantial breasts as they kissed. Though they were passionate about what they were doing, it was also kind of clumsy and laidback.

Brooke went wide-eyed while Vicki sighed and explained, "The illustrious Asian girl in the uke position is Amy. And the bootylicious black girl in the seme position is Carmen. But just try to ignore `em."

She did that by glancing at the glass table in the centre of the room. But when she did look at it Brooke saw a few things she didn't expect. One was a blue vibrator that was slathered with a coating of drying pussy liquor. The second was a half-empty bottle of vodka. But the third and most disturbing was a small piece of tinfoil with white powder on top of it, laid out next to a lighter. Now the clumsy, spaced-out way Carmen and Amy were going down on each other made more sense.

Brooke frowned. "...I didn't know you did coke."

"I don't," Vicki corrected. "But they do. And they needed a place to do it. And since they're my friends I let them do it here. They just didn't tell me they also be turning my apartment into a goddamned make-out spot."

"What about your parents?" Brooke asked.

Vicki fluffed her dyed-pink bangs. "My Mom's a politician so I don't see her very often. She only comes home every few months."

"And what about your Dad?"

"He's in Iraq," Vicki told her. But when Brooke pulled a concerned expression towards the idea, Vicki grinned cynically. "Don't worry; he's in his element, the racist bastard. He kept nattering about how he couldn't wait to go over there and kill some `sand niggers'. Personally I hope that those `sand niggers' kill him."

There was something decidedly pessimistic and morbid about her saying that -- but Brooke didn't focus on it too long. Her attentions faded back to Amy and Carmen before long. A concerto of lip smacking brought out that attention -- with Carmen's luscious lips plucking and sucking at Amy's light brown nipples. As odd as it seemed for the two of them to be fooling around when they were high, Brooke couldn't help but admit that they were really turning her own.

"...Are they gonna be okay?" She asked.

"Don't worry about them. They don't even know you're here. C'mon, lets go to my room."

Vicki took Brooke by the wrist and pulled her out of the living room. They left the wasted Carmen and Amy behind and went into a bedroom down the surprisingly lengthy hall of that one-floor apartment. When the door slammed behind them the sounds of Carmen and Amy's soft moans, giggles and groans were blocked out.

It was the kind of room you'd expect from someone like Vicki. There were posters of plays and films she liked on the walls. She had a large stack of CDs in one corner and a separate stack of DVDs in the other. Vicki's oaken wardrobe, chest of drawers, nightstand and entertainment unit were all neatly arraigned. There was a circular rug in the centre of the room. It was quite tidy, aside from a pile of books laying any which way over the rug. Brooke recognized the names of some of the authors (Jean-Paul Sartre, Friedrich Nietzsche, etc) from what little she had learned in the philosophical studies class, but not others (Albert Camus, David Hume, Thomas Hobbes, Franz Kafka, etc). And there was an exotic, overpowering odour that was clinging to the walls, which Brooke knew to be the smell of marijuana. There was also a stereo system by the right wall that was playing a grunge song at that point in time.

Vicki sung along with the lyrics. "What the hell am I? Leper from inside! Inside wall of peace! Dirty and diseased! Sickman! Sickman, sickman, sickman...!"

"What is that?"

"K-Billy's super sounds of the 70's," She remarked sardonically. "What the fuck do you think it is? It's Sickman by Alice in Chains."

"Hey, whatever." Brooke replied with dismissal. "I didn't come here to listen to music."

Vicki walked over to her stereo system and turned down the volume of the song. "So just what did you come here for?"

"...Vicki, don't get weird on me. You know what I want."

She paused a moment. "...I'll be back in a minute."

Then the black-haired girl opened the door and left. Brooke didn't know what to make of it. It wasn't like she expected Vicki to tear her clothes off right here and now, but... this didn't feel like what had been waiting for. So she sighed and tugged a lock of her long brown hair out of her brow and behind her ear whilst waiting for Vicki to come back. Minutes later she did come back. This time Vicki had two glasses in her hand. Both of them had a pineapple drink inside them.

"Here." Vicki offered, extending her left arm.

Brooke mouthed a quick thank you and took it. Yet when she brought it to her lips she could smell the alcohol in it. "...What is this?"

"Malibu and pineapple juice. It isn't strong but it'll loosen you up."

"I don't need `loosening up'."

Vicki brought the rim to her lips and tilted the glass. The ice clattered against it. She gulped. Brooke watched her throat bob up and down. And when Vicki was finished she set the glass down on her nightstand. Then with a sole hand she pointed at Brooke's glass

"Drink it." She said.

"Vicki..."

"Just drink it. What are you, a teetotaller or something?"

"It's not that, it's just..."

Vicki rolled her eyes, snatched the glass from her and then sipped from the rim. "It's not poisoned and it's not drugged, Brooke. Is that what you're worried about?"

Brooke's eyes hardened. "I'm not worried about anything."

"Then why are you so tense?"

"...I..."

Now Vicki was losing patience. "What is this about? Is it Carmen and Amy? Or is it the coke? Because whatever it is, it's making you nervous. And if you're nervous then this isn't a good idea."

That system between them was starting to feel like a pattern. Whenever Vicki came onto her, she always backed off before things went any further. It was frustrating. And yet did she have a point?

For a moment Brooke stopped outright denying Vicki's accusations and considered them. Was she nervous? In her heart she didn't feel nervous. In fact she was completely stoked by the thought of coming over here and sleeping with Vicki. But that woman was also highly insightful and if she said that Brooke looked uncomfortable then she was probably right. It just didn't seem logical for Brooke to have doubts at this point. She had been waiting to express this side of herself for so long... what was holding her back? Whatever it was it couldn't be so significant that she couldn't have sex with Vicki. So Brooke steeled herself. It was what she wanted no matter how nervous she appeared to be. So she hauled off and backed the drink in her hands down until nothing was left of the glass but melting ice cubes. Vicki studied the change in Brooke's expression when she handed back the glass, light violet lipstick on the rim.

"Are you sure?"

A nod. "I'm sure. I know that I want this."

It really wasn't a question of wanting this but rather being ready for it. And yet Vicki said nothing of that sort. She finally resumed that superior smirk Brooke had come to love to see on her and climbed onto the bed. Vicki moved onto her knees and pressed herself up against Brooke's back. The shorter woman melted. She could feel Vicki's erect nipples poking her shoulder blades and cooed at the feeling of Vicki's tongue as it traced its way up the length of her left ear.

"...I have a ground rule," Vicki whispered sensually. "...I don't do commitment, okay? We won't be girlfriends. Its just sex -- you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. Understand?"

"...Uh huh..."

Vicki's soft hands reached around her body "Good girl..."

At that moment she slid her hands up Brooke's smooth stomach and went underneath her top. Vicki's hands then grasped the breasts beneath and cupped them. Brooke's reflexive gasp was smothered into a moan when Vicki leaned around and kissed her. The rush of adrenalin that hit her when they first kissed in the girl's toilets of Winnicot High occurred again. Her dark brown eyes slipped shut in the moment. Before Brooke was even aware of it, one of her hands reached back and cradled Vicki's head, running her fingers through that smooth short black hair. The other hand sought her right breast, which itself was being groped and handled expertly by Vicki's right hand. Brooke moaned into their kiss and pushed her right hand into Vicki's, adding more lovely pressure to the caress.

Vicki began a steady and deliberate kneading of Brooke's tits from there on in, alternating between a massage of them and a squeezing of their stiff pink nubs every few moments. A stronger moan shook from Brooke's throat at the feel of it. Vicki used it to open her lips and thrust her tongue between them. Brooke's tongue reacted just as anyone else's would have. It flicked back. Brooke and Vicki exchanged groans within their kiss whilst their tongues danced and played with each other -- exploring, stroking, flicking.

The room was suddenly occupied by sounds that stemmed from more than just the stereo system. Those sounds were of groaning and lip smacking, of ruffled clothes and a creaking bed. The smell of the room also began to change from one of weed and furniture polish to one of weed, furniture polish and arousal. In the minutes shared between them Brooke felt her own excitement growing. The moment she'd been waiting for all her life was here and she wanted to bask in it --- to prolong it. Shivers ran down her spine. All her other senses, sight, smell, hearing, and taste, had been put behind the one that truly mattered at this point -- touch. Every touch that Vicki administered to her left behind a white-hot hunger for more in its wake that Brooke felt she had to quench.

She didn't feel the ferocity of those urges in all their weight until she felt Vicki uncouple from her. With a breathless gasp Vicki slowly dragged her tongue out of Brooke's throat, released her breasts from that tender caress, and pulled away from her downy young back.

Brooke's shoulders heaved up and down as she caught her breath. She turned around to search out Vicki's eyes. "...Vicki...?"

"Take off your top."

It was said so abruptly that Brooke didn't register anything other than the understanding that this wasn't stopping. That thought alone made her act. She crossed her arms over the underside of her white top with the pink love heart and pulled it off over her head, causing her long auburn hair to rise and fall with the motion. Brooke dropped it on the floor and locked eyes with Vicki as she knelt topless in front of her. Vicki smirked at the fact that she hadn't worn a bra tonight.

"Now take off your skirt and boots." She told her lover.

Brooke did was what asked of her. She sat down, reached out for her black three-inch heel boots and then pulled them off her feet, one after the other. They joined her shirt on Vicki's bedroom floor. Vicki merely watched intently when Brooke then hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her skirt and slid it down the length of her legs, past her small ankles and off her toes. That black skirt joined the rest of her clothes in their pile on the floor. Now, aside from the choker necklace, the snug lace panties and the socks, Brooke was naked.

It was just how Vicki wanted her. "Lie back."

No word of conformation was uttered. She merely did it. Her head landed on the pillow of Vicki's bed with her hair fanned out over it, its cinnamon brown tone integrating agreeably with the pillow's white and blue stripes. Brooke watched Vicki crawl on top of her and stare intently at her unsheathed breasts. Her face twisted into an expression of damn near carnivorous sexual hunger right before her lips dove for the left tit. Brooke released a cry of passion and arched her back went those lips seized her nipple. Vicki suckled at it like a baby seeking sustenance from its mother. Her mouth swallowed up Brooke's small pink aureole into itself and bathed it with warmth and slick saliva. The smaller girl moaned with delight at the sensations of it. Her eyes slammed shut and soon all that she was aware of was the sucking at her left mound. She felt Vicki suck upward and test its fleshy elasticity. She felt Vicki's white teeth nibble at it with tender, delicate bites -- never too hard and never too soft -- leaving behind tiny red teeth marks. She felt Vicki's tongue moving around her nipple with zeal, stroking up and pushing down onto it. She felt Vicki's oral juices being spread over that breast, making it slick and damp and warm. Every little action was like an expert art that drew reactions from Brooke. If there was any proof that Vicki was not sexually inexperienced then this was it.

While her mouth applied its sultry pleasures on Brooke's chest, Vicki's hands started to roam where they pleased. She pushed her right hand into Brooke's lithe thigh and stroked it slow and deliberately. With time that hand glided up the soft flesh toward Brooke's hips, then along her thin waist and ever northward until it seized upon her right breast. Another protracted moan was emitted from the russet-haired teenager as Vicki now worked over both of her tits, her mouth sucking one while her right hand moulded the other. Brooke went as limp as putty under the sexual prowess of Vicki's touch. When Vicki's teeth bit down on Brooke's left nipple, her fingertips twisted the right. When Vicki's mouth kissed and sucked Brooke's left breast, her hand cupped and massaged the right. The twin actions had Brooke's pussy juices flowing with fluidity that she hadn't known possible. The wet patch on her panties started to expand as a consequence.

Vicki had Brooke completely in her power.

After giving it one last consuming kiss, Vicki lifted her head from Brooke's quivering and dampened mound. Its white flesh had flushed cherry red, while the pink nipple glistened with moisture. Teeth marks had been entrenched all over it and both girls were turned on by that. She had to tilt her head up to see it, and when she did, Brooke dropped her head back down on the pillow with a satisfied smile.

It was then that she felt Vicki crawling back down her body. The black-haired girl hooked her thumbs under the band of Brooke's white panties (she stopped for a few seconds to admire their wet patch) and pulled them straight down her legs and then off of her feet. She threw them away and they landed on her copy of the Jean-Paul Sartre book, Being and Nothingness. Vicki was brought face to face with Brooke's most private space, the delicate flower of fleshy petals and moist excitement that shook and quaked with an unmistakable ache of sexual yearning. Vicki was so close to her that she could feel her aggravated breath whistling coolly over her vulva.

Brooke was breathless with anticipation. "W... what are you... doing...?"

"Opening the way to a new dimension."

Her long fingers parted Brooke's labial folds with her index and middle fingers. Vicki stared at the opening briefly, extended her lengthy pink tongue, and then forced it inside. Brooke shrieked in ecstasy and gripped the bed sheets underneath into bunches. Her mouth hung wide open while her eyes slammed shut. And Vicki proceeded to thrust her tongue in and out of the walls of her steamy, moist and contracting vagina. Brooke's senses exploded. All thoughts of Carmen and Amy, the cocaine they were using, her own nervousness, they all faded into the obscurity they belonged in.

It was the consummate moment of a night that would be carved permanently into her memory for the rest of her life -- the moment when her piddling virginity was finally and ultimately robbed from her.

The following morning, when Brooke awoke to beams of sunlight phasing through the pale auburn curtains of the window, she was awash with the situation. She felt Vicki's naked body spooning her from behind. The other girl's arms were wrapped around her waist and cupped at her crotch under the sheets. A thick sheen of dried sweat covered both of them. There was a lingering taste of Vicki's cum on her lips. It was a pleasant feeling to wake up in someone else's arms.

But something was... odd.

She had lost her virginity last night.

The moment she had been anticipating for so many years had finally happened and yet Brooke didn't feel any different. She felt good, after all there was nothing like those calm post-sex instances, but she didn't feel `liberated'. Things felt more or less the same as they did this time last night. Is this what she had been worried about last night? It was weird. After all... if there was no sexual liberation for her then what was the significance of all this other than scratching an itch?

Vicki groaned and began to stir from her sleep. Her embrace of Brooke tightened without her even realizing it. She pulled another lazy grin. "Morning."

"...Morning," Replied Brooke, her tone detached.

"Are you okay...?"

"...I think so. I just..."

"Wasn't it good for you?" Vicki asked rhetorically.

At that Brooke could smile. "Yeah, it was great. I guess... I just expected to feel differently when it finally happened though..."

"...I get it. The way people talk about sex all the time... like it's some big key to the grand schematics of life... doesn't feel like that when it really happens, right?"

Brooke sighed. "Seems like it."

"But that's normal. Don't let it bug you."

A silence descended on the pair of them. Brooke didn't let her revelation (or rather the lack of them) bother her for too long, just as Vicki had said. Instead she let herself enjoy this; lying in bed with the beautiful girl whom had fucked her senseless last night. Brooke gave a little stroke up and down of the arms that were holding her and snuggled her ass into the thin patch of black pubic hair in Vicki's crotch.

Offhandedly, she remarked, "You're lucky to have this place all to yourself."

"It suits my needs, I suppose."

And then something else dawned on Brooke. "But... don't you get concerned that you'll be found out one day? The drinking, the sex, the Mary Jane?"

"...How did you know I smoke pot?"

"Hello? Your bedroom reeks of it."

"Oh. Well don't worry about it. If there is a God and she is merciful then my Dad will be coming home from Baghdad in a box. So it doesn't matter what he thinks. And my Mom's too preoccupied with her career to care about what's happening to the fruit of her loins."

"...Well, politics can be kinda invigorating for some people..."

Vicki snorted and grinned darkly. "Oh yeah, it's all the way up there with caviar, brandy, corporate wrangling and al dente pasta. Merry fucking Christmas."

Brooke tittered at that. "You know for someone who's smiling all the time... you're kind of a bummer."

"Yeah. I guess I should have been the one to write the World as Will and Representation."

Brooke didn't quite get the joke but it didn't matter. A few moments later, the door to the bedroom opened. Carmen and Amy staggered in together. They were both a bit shaky after what they'd done last night but they seemed to both be aware of the situation. Vicki and Carmen exchanged two knowing grins with each other while a far more inhibited Brooke became decidedly uncomfortable. She brought the sheets closer to her body unconsciously.

Carmen leered at Brooke before winking at Vicki. "As salaam alaikum, whore."

"Wa-alaikum salaam, bitch," Retorted the girl with the pink forelock.

"Looks like you had a good night..." Amy remarked.

"You could say that. You two wanna join us?"

When Brooke frowned at her Vicki waved her hands in defence. "I'm just kidding."

"Well it is a shit-hot idea," Carmen wrapped her arms around Amy's supple little waist, possessively. "But Amy's mine. Besides, we gotta take off. My Mama's gonna freak again if I don't make it to church."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Why do you have to bend backwards just to please her, Carmen? Why can't your brother go? I hardly see you these days...!"

Without knowing them for so much as a day, Brooke could tell by that comment that Amy and Carmen were fairly committed to each other, no matter what jokes Vicki made. It was confirmed when Carmen cuddled the shorter woman and stroked the elongated strands of Amy's jet black hair out of her eyes. "Baby, calm down. We'll talk later, okay?"

"...Okay," Amy answered, without resolve.

Then Carmen gestured at the two in bed. "Thanks for letting us stay over last night, Vicki. I'll call you later tonight after I talk to Tammy, alright?"

"Thanks."

With that, Carmen and Amy left and shut the door behind them. When they were gone Brooke felt like she could settle down a little -- though it seemed to be a little late to be nervous now since she had slept with Vicki while the two of them were in the next room.

"They're... nice," Said Brooke. "At least for people who snort coke, I guess."

"Don't fudge your pretty little head about it. Amy and Carmen make less sense than Neon Genesis Evangelion."

Still Brooke's thoughts rolled toward something else. "So... who's Tammy?"

"...No one you need to think about," Vicki stated that without a smile.

**********

Following the night that Brooke had lost her virginity to Vicki, the two fell into a pattern of lust and secret meetings. It was never going to be anything elaborate but they got a kick out of the confidentiality involved in it, as well as the risks they took that pushed that mystery to its limits.

They shared no classes at Winnicot High so they couldn't flirt in any of them. But any time they passed each other in the halls they winked or exchanged notes asking one to meet up with the other at a certain point during the day. Brooke and Vicki would often steal off to a secretive place within the compound of the high school -- behind the bike sheds or in the disabled toilets -- where few people went. One Tuesday afternoon, during the lunch break, Brooke recalled Vicki having her up against the back wall of the bike rack, left leg thrown up over the shoulder of the taller girl, and finger fucking her relentlessly. They even snuck up to the roof of the humanities department building for their sexual exchanges. Whenever they had a good place to lie down Brooke recalled servicing Vicki's pussy with her tongue and her fingers in a synchronization she was fast coming to terms with.

They only had sex at school about three or four times a week, but Brooke couldn't have been more excited about all of it. There was something thrilling about living and fucking on the edge like that. Vicki was good at what she did and didn't ask questions. In fact over time it became almost a drug to her. If Brooke were to have a bad day, arguing with her parents or being reprimanded by a teacher for failing to turn in an assignment on time, all she had to do was find and sleep with Vicki and it all seemed better.

Though there was an ambition as to how much they could stretch their luck before they were caught, they had established rules between them. Neither Brooke nor Vicki was to talk about each other to anyone else (other than Carmen and Amy, who already knew). That was easier for Brooke because essentially she had no real friends -- just acquaintances -- but with Vicki it was more serious. She wasn't part of the `popular' crowd, the kind of crowd that girls like Hannah Harris and Erika Robinson were in, but she had a small circle of friends at school that she didn't want knowing of her private life. For Brooke the main thing was to keep their sexual liaisons away from the knowledge of her parents. Though they were decent, hardworking and open-minded people, Brooke simply wasn't ready to tell her Mom or her Dad about her sexuality. The second rule was one that Vicki stressed more than Brooke did -- and that was that they couldn't meet on weekends. She merely stressed it as `me time'. Honestly, Brooke never understood that rule, since meeting up then was realistically the best time for it. In the end she didn't begrudge the rule. She and Vicki had a good thing going and all Brooke wanted was to ride out the wave to its fruition, no strings attached.

Unfortunately for her, sex, as Brooke had always suspected and had nearly forgotten, was never so `cut and dry' for her.

Their system of sneaky sex lasted the better part of three months before the cracks started to manifest in the stone. There was a point one week when Vicki made no attempt what so ever to find her. At first Brooke had just thought it was a blip because she later found her and they did have sex (janitor's closet -- music department -- Brooke went down on her) but it happened again the following week. And that time she didn't find Vicki. As per the rules they couldn't wait for each other by their classrooms because that might arouse suspicion. Brooke couldn't help but feel that something was wrong and so she broke that rule. On a warm Friday morning (shortly before the lunch period) Brooke hid behind a door just two doors down from Vicki's French class. She watched the girl with the pink forelock exit and then followed her to the cafeteria -- a place they NEVER went together -- where she sat down and ate with a little blonde girl who appeared to have been waiting for her. Brooke had no idea who that blonde girl was but she was categorically aware of the glaring twinge of jealousy pooling in her stomach.

She never spoke of that day to Vicki.

But in subsequent weeks things began to get worse. It became clear when they stopped running into each other that Vicki was purposefully avoiding her. Whenever Brooke tried to call her on her cell phone she would be told that it was `turned off'. And the day soon came when Vicki outright blew her off, muttering tired excuses like `I've got a headache' or `I'm kinda tired' or better still `I've got too much going on right now'. Since Vicki's social life and schoolwork had never gotten in the way of her sex life before, Brooke knew that there was a problem. And she also became aware of how much that frightened her.

Vicki was still as casual about their sex as she was the first day they did sleep together. And yet Brooke was growing increasingly needy and desperate about it. It was only later on in that week that Brooke was to learn that the imbalance of genuine emotion installed in their `relationship' was what would tear it asunder.

It all came to a head early in the month of July when the maiden of summer had set her foot down. The first week of the month proved to be the first week in which they didn't have sex once. In fact they had only spoken to each other that week a maximum of three times. All three of those times Vicki had been distant, almost cold. It had Brooke concerned that something was deeply wrong -- so concerned that she couldn't focus on anything else. And so she felt utterly obligated to break the rule that Vicki had felt so strongly about; no weekend meetings. Saturday morning Brooke woke up, showered, slapped on the first clean set of clothes she could find, left her house, and hopped on the first bus that could take her to Vicki's apartment building. Brooke felt nervous about it at the time; you know, that weird sinking feeling you get in your gut when you're about to make a big mistake? But she ignored it. Once again she got off the bus and walked to Vicki's apartment building, went into its lobby, ascended it via the elevator and stepped nervously to apartment #98. Brooke swallowed the lump in her throat and rang the doorbell.

No one answered.

So she rang it again.

Once more no one answered it.

So she lifted the `welcome' mat on her doorstep and took up the spare key under it. Vicki had mentioned that she could be forgetful about her keys and so she always left a spare one underneath it -- no matter how unsafe it was. Once again there was a foreboding ache in her stomach and once again Brooke didn't acknowledge it. She unlocked the front door and walked inside regardless.

As soon as she did she heard a sound she had learned to love -- the sound of Vicki's moans of pleasure. Brooke's blood ran cold when she silently put one foot after the other toward her lounge door. It was partly open. Through that she saw Vicki, naked from the breasts down, lying back on one of her sofas. A blonde girl kneeled with her head between Vicki's legs and it bobbed up and down rhythmically. Brooke was horrified when she realized, even from that position, that it was the same girl who Vicki had snuck off to speak to at lunch that day. Even more threatening than that was the delirious look of rapture that was burning on Vicki's features. Her mouth was wide open; her eyes were locked shut, her nostrils were flared. Her cheeks were sweaty and glowing red with excitement. And to further serve Brooke's utter humiliation and heartbreak, Vicki groaned and whimpered to that blonde's licking of her in a soul-consuming way that Brooke alone had never been able to elicit.

"Oh God yeah," Vicki whispered in her lustful and breathless delight. "That feels sooooo good, Tammy..."

Brooke's heart fell at that name. `Tammy'. From the very same day that Vicki had made her into a woman, she'd been planning to hook up with that very same girl. Now not only was Brooke hurt -- but she felt like the biggest fool. But in the moments before Brooke turned to run away, Vicki opened her eyes and glanced toward the door with a disjointed smile. That same smile transformed into a frown of startled confusion.

"Brooke!?" She yelled. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Tammy jumped with surprise and leaned up in the couch, her lips dripping with Vicki's liquid womanhood, while Vicki speedily rolled off the sofa, grabbed her jeans and put them on. She charged out into the corridor where Brooke scrambled for the door. Vicki bolted ahead of her when Brooke tried to open it and slammed it shut.

"I don't believe this," Vicki barked. "I thought I told you not to come here on weekends!"

"Is... this why you've been blowing me off?" Brooke shouted erratically. The anger was already starting to peak and the tears were starting to fall. "So you could fuck around with that little slut!?"

"Would you keep your voice down...?!"

"Why should I?! You're sleeping with someone else! How could you do this to me, Vicki? I thought that we were..."

Vicki grimaced. "You thought we were what? Girlfriends? Brooke, I told you that whatever happened between us would just be about sex! I told you I wasn't looking for commitment! I don't owe you anything!"

"You're lying...!" Brooke pleaded between sobs. "I know that you feel something for me! You and I have been together for months! How can you just throw that away...?"

"You don't get it, do you? We've never even been on a date, for Christ's sake! I never said I'd be exclusive to you! And yet you have the nerve to waltz into my apartment and spy on me?! Who the hell do you think you are?"

Brooke covered her mouth to stop crying. "...Vicki, please..."

Vicki face-faulted once more before exhaling to calm herself. Then she looked up at Brooke with the coldest look she'd ever seen before. "Look, this isn't the L Word and I'm not Jennifer Beals. I'm not gonna make grand gestures to sweep you off your feet and ride off with you to some big, dyke-friendly sunset in the distance. We're not gonna get married in South Africa, we're not gonna buy sperm off the black market to impregnate you, and we're not gonna be buried under twin tombstones that read `Mrs and Mrs Valentine'. I'll spare you from any trite lines like `it's just not working out' or `it's not you, it's me' or even `I just need some space'. I'll just tell it like it is. We're done. Done and dusted. Done, dusted and dead. And I don't mean comic book character dead, I mean Charlemagne dead. The deadest kind of dead there is. It doesn't matter what you say, do or think. There's no phoenix down that's gonna bring that `relationship' back to life, all right? Game over and get out."

Tears start to well up in Brooke's eyes. "W-why... why are you being this way with me?"

The girl with the pink forelock opened the door, grabbed Brooke by the shoulders, and then muttered `get outta my house' as she shoved her out of it. The door was slammed in her face before she could get back in. Brooke launched up and banged her fists against it, repeatedly screaming Vicki's name in sobs, making so much racket that some of the neighbours opened their curtains to see what was going on. But it became clear soon that Vicki wouldn't open the door. Brooke burst into tears and slid down the wood of the door, more shaken, aghast, embarrassed and vulnerable than she had ever felt.

**********

That Saturday was to stand out for the rest of Brooke's days as one of the worst in her life. In fact it wasn't until what she did to Amanda that she felt any lower. There were so many more levels to it. Not only had she allowed herself to rely pathetically on Vicki's explosive sexual affection, she had also blinded herself into being they were `girlfriends', then had gone on to humiliate herself by going over there and ended up catching Vicki in the act. If that hadn't been enough, Vicki had kicked her out of the apartment and had been the one to dump her. Brooke didn't even have the comfort of that to help boost her ego. Needless to say the event went on to occupy much of her thoughts for the following three weeks. It was the most embarrassing set of circumstances she could have imagined at the time. Brooke could never go so far as to say that she was in love with Vicki -- so she wasn't heartbroken in any way. But she had been deeply hurt and more strikingly, horrifically humiliated. To want someone as badly as she wanted Vicki back then and then to feel how little Vicki even cared about her was the real kicker.

For the next two and a half weeks Brooke entered into a period she would always call the `The Black Fortnight'. In a sense she couldn't will herself to do anything. Not only did she feel angry with Vicki for everything, she also felt depressed about losing her, and sexually irritated without her affection. She didn't want to go to school for running the risk of bumping into the girl -- which also meant dropping her philosophical studies after school class. Unfortunately Karen Leigh Williams, the history teacher who had suggested the idea to her in the first place, went out of her way to make her reconsider. Brooke had caved simply because she was so heartfelt and warm about it. But in the end she avoided school altogether by pretending to be sick. It was the usual stuff of deception. When her Mom gave her a thermometer she put it on top of a cooling radiator to get it warm -- not too cold and not too hot. She faked coughs and tried to generally seem ill, which wasn't very difficult considering that she had been in a depressed mood ever since Vicki had `dumped' her. She was already eating little and spent most of her time moping about the house in her lavender bathrobe. Her parents hadn't been oblivious to that. Brooke was never a very happy person to begin with but she certainly wasn't the angst-ridden emo type, so it struck the `rents as odd that she'd be acting like this. It validated the whole `I-am-sick' angle.

Two weeks were spent with Brooke at home, mostly home alone, doing nothing but sulk in bed watching movies, eating ice cream (though she had to do that behind her Mom and Dad's back. When they left for work they'd leave a bowl of chicken soup in the microwave for her. In reality she just fed it to her pet kitten, Jackie, and ordered out for a pizza, the boxes of which she hid in her closet), and generally trying not to burst into tears anymore. After a fortnight of that system, of laying about the house and avoiding school, Brooke soon started to do some thinking.

She had plenty of time for it, after all.

But the conclusions she came to gave her a stronger sense of what went wrong with Vicki. The pink-banged girl had obviously started to back off when Brooke felt closer to her. She had the foresight to see things were going beyond the no feelings realm. As much Brooke hated Vicki, she had to admit that this was no one's fault but her own. And the more she thought of that the more Brooke realized it was true. She thought back to night that they had first had sex; the same night she met Amy and Carmen. Vicki asked her if she was `ready'. At first Brooke thought that she was merely asking if she was ready to cross the gap and lose her virginity. Now Brooke was beginning to think otherwise. Perhaps what Vicki meant was, was she ready to have sex that didn't mean anything. After a while that seemed stupidly obvious to her. Both Brooke and Vicki had miscalculated. Brooke certainly was NOT ready to free herself to someone without their being any substance to it. Not only had Vicki stolen her first kiss but also her first time... how could Brooke want anything less from Vicki after all that? At the end of it all Brooke and Vicki had entered into their little fling with the same want, sex. But inevitably they had conflicting ideas about the situation surrounding that sex. Since Vicki had said pretty clearly that she only wanted to fuck, no strings attached, Brooke placed most of the blame for it all on her own shoulders. But then toward the end of the Black Fortnight Brooke started to think in a different way.

She knew the score now. She didn't want to be just another bit of skirt to anyone, but why was she the one who had to be `that bit of skirt'? There was a rationale here that Brooke took time to see... but when she found her way to it she found that it couldn't be denied. Why was she alone at home moping around when Vicki was likely out there moving onto her next conquest? Why did Brooke have to be the one most damaged by the whole thing? Why should her sex life come to an end simply because Vicki had cut her off? If Vicki could move onto sluts, like Tammy undoubtedly was, then why couldn't she?

The time Brooke came to that conclusion she was in bed, mid-afternoon. It was a sunny day. Kids were coming home from school and stopping only to offer their bits of change to the dude in ice cream truck. Clouds weren't obscuring anything, the grass was green and the sky was blue. Everything was as it had been before Vicki Valentine had entered her life. Brooke crawled out of bed and went to the window. She found herself observing and absorbing all this. Why should ANY of it change now that Vicki wasn't in her life?

There was something about the review of all this that presented the girl with a new side to the argument.

Brooke was an attractive young woman, attractive enough for Vicki to pay attention to her, no matter how fleeting that was. She had a middle-class background, she wasn't smart but she certainly wasn't stupid, she was probably headed for college and a well-paying job following it. Vicki be damned. Why hang around and mope?

As soon as those thoughts came to mind, Brooke dropped the bucket of vanilla ice cream in her hands and swiftly peeled off her nightgown. She marched up to her mirror and tossed her hair in front of it, running her fingers through her long brown tresses. Tear tracks had stained her cheeks (at that moment she could remember her Mom asking about that last night) so she licked her thumb and wiped them away. It was a new day and Brooke was certainly not going to waste it thinking about Vicki and the mistakes she'd made with her. A quick review of thought made Brooke rush out of her bedroom in her underwear and go straight to the bathroom. She assembled some shampoo, bathing oils and a towel, then turned the taps and poured herself a nice hot bubble bath. She didn't come out until an hour or so later when steam seeped out the door and the scent of wildflowers clung to her damp tanned skin.

Brooke grabbed her hair into one thick lock and squeezed the droplets of water from it, as she emerged naked and free from the bathroom. It was sudden and weird but as she did this she felt as though a weight had been removed from her back. There was a sense of a great renewal that she now felt the need to exploit. And with that burst of energy, Brooke felt the need to assert herself. Not by saying to herself that she didn't need Vicki but by displaying it wholeheartedly. Her mind scrolled through every little detail that she could remember Vicki explaining to her, specifically about where and what she did to get close to women like her, women-who-like-women. Over time she came to recall that Vicki once said that she frequented certain nightclubs in Minneapolis. `Dyke bars', she called them. A moment was taken and Brooke thought about it. Why not go to one? Both she and Vicki were underage, but weeks earlier, she had given the girl her photo and so Vicki had gotten one of her shadier friends to forge her an ID. Vicki had one too, and thus far Brooke had never used hers, but now was as good a time as any. Though Vicki and Brooke had never been to any clubs together there was one that Vicki had spoken of frequently, Crimson. It was apparently where she'd met Carmen (and thus Amy, as they both had fake IDs of their own, though not provided by the same person).

Brooke went to her handbag and pulled out her fake ID. If this could get her into a club, and if getting into a club helped her to find someone who could in turn help her to get over Vicki, then it was well worth using it. Resolved on this, Brooke spent the rest of the afternoon assembling something to wear. If what Vicki had told her was true then Crimson was open every day except Mondays and Wednesdays, so she didn't have to worry about that. Brooke had a little money from her Saturday job (basically she worked retail at a clothes store) so drinks and taxi fare wasn't a problem. Half an hour later she had decided on what she wanted to wear and how she was going to wear it. She had a white number that could only be described as a cocktail dress, but it was cut a little shorter and ended a third of the way down her thighs. She had also selected a pair of open-toed club heels, two teardrop-shaped diamond earrings, and the skimpiest white lingerie she'd ever bought for herself. Brooke put it all together and hid it under her bed. Her parents wouldn't let her out now that they thought that she was sick and so would have to sneak out when they were asleep.

By eight, they returned together, ate at the dinner table together, and then curled up on the sofa watching reruns of Frasier together. They were one of those extremely weird and extremely rare couples that always seemed to be happy with each other. Brooke waited until they went to bed at about eleven or so, then got dressed and snuck the hell out of there. Under the cover of pitch-black darkness she crossed the Jordan that was her street and waited by the bus stop for the next thing smoking. Crimson was downtown so there was a bit of a ride from the white suburbia that was her homestead to the district that her intended nightclub was in. Forty-five minutes later in hours inching toward midnight, Brooke got off at a stop close to the location. Immediately though, Brooke saw the change in the tone of her surroundings. Neon lights of every colour brightened up the numerous clubs and arcades that lined this high street, emphasized by the night's darkness. White faces were abound in her little corner of Minneapolis but here it was different -- a mixture of ethnicities littered the streets, Whites, Blacks, Latinos, Asians and all those in-between. Brooke suddenly thought of those dumb country girls wowed by the `big city'.

"I'm no Sheronda..." She thought privately.

So rather than stand around and marvel she crossed the road and went over to an alleyway gap between two other buildings. Vicki's directions had been accurate. Brooke entered it and saw at the end of the pathway a small stairwell. It had a door at its bottom and a sign hung over that door displaying the name of the club, `Crimson'. There was a burly bouncer ahead, cool dance music banging in the background and a lengthy line of people queuing to get in. Brooke joined the end of that line and noted with some relief that aside from the bouncer, everyone here was female. Time passed slowly as the number of people ahead of Brooke grew smaller and the number of those behind grew in number, until finally she was next to be let in. It was then that she took out her fake ID and displayed to the balding, rotund African-American bouncer standing ahead of the door.

He glanced at the card and then eyeballed her suspiciously. "...Ain't you a little small for a 21-year-old?"

Brooke shrugged and found her humour once more. "...Just call me Gary Coleman. Minus the dick, of course."

The bouncer rolled his eyes and tossed her back the card. "Just get your ass in there."

She got the feeling that he was too irritated today to ask any serious questions, hapless as that was. Brooke only smiled as she caught the card and walked into the nightclub when the bouncer made way for her. When the girl walked in and the intensity of the loud music thundering from wall-hanging stereo systems made its mark, she found herself within an environment in which more women had been assembled into a sole place than she had ever known possible. No jocks, stoners or geeks in sight. It was a great mixture of women whom she was sure that the vast majority of were older than her. Many were on the dance floor getting down and around with their respective partners to the beat on the air. Some sat around the tables with drinks at their side. There were numerous couples around and there was an intimacy between them that Brooke never imagined would occur collectively. There were couples necking by their tables, by the walls and even on the dance floor. Brooke was overwhelmed and startled by it all. Minneapolis wasn't exactly a small town so realistically it shouldn't have been any big surprise to her. Yet it was. Nevertheless she didn't want to give out the impression that she was. So the young woman sustained her will and thought about the first thing she wanted to do -- get a drink. Brooke nudged her way between women and strode over to the bar on the other side of the club. There was a free stool nearby (as someone had just gotten off it) and so Brooke claimed its scarlet upholstery for herself.

When she sat down a scantily clad woman in her college grad years walked over to her and beamed a flirtatious million-dollar smile. "What can I get for you, cutie?"

Brooke was so caught up in her surroundings that she scarcely remembered that she didn't drink often. The only time she really started was when she was with Vicki. Even then she hadn't built up a preference for anything. And the only drinks that bitch Vicki had ever liked were vodka and Irish cream.

"Um..."

The blonde bartender smirked. "A little new here?"

"...Kinda," Brooke admitted, suddenly timid.

"I'll get you a pina colada then. It's got a kick to it but not nearly enough to have you bouncing off the walls."

"Sounds good. How much?"

The bartender winked at her. "It's on the house this time, cutie."

Brooke smiled with innocent esteem like a child recently given ice cream, and watched as the young waitress got that drink ready for her in a thin cylinder glass. She dropped a few ice cubes into it and gave it a miniature parasol before turning back to Brooke and handing the drink to her. "Here you go, cute face." She said.

"Thanks." The younger girl replied. When she noticed people standing behind her to be served she suddenly had the urge to get up. Brooke sipped her drink and did just that. She looked around for a moment and wondered what to do next. Somehow she got the quite accurate impression that she wouldn't be the life of this party so she searched out a free table. There was one in a far corner that was empty, even though it could seat about six people. So the girl tugged some of her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear and went for it. Though she had to bump past a few bodies again to claim the seat, she was there in little time.

Brooke sat down and placed her drink on its polished wooden surface. There were some coasters with beer labels hanging around the centre of the table but she didn't use them. It didn't seem important.

At that moment Brooke just sat back and absorbed all that was going on around her. Now coming here felt right because she didn't feel very nervous. There was something soothing about being near likeminded (notwithstanding older) women. And there were no pretences here. She didn't have to put on a straight show to be comfortable or to avoid suspicion. It was nice in a very specific way, like getting into debt then finding out you had a little bit of money stashed away to cover it. And the next hour Brooke spent doing that and that alone, watching these lively women dance, kiss, drink and smoke c