Kelly woke in the soft, toned and tanned arms of a woman, the arms of a lover she had not ever considered loving. Kelly had never fancied herself a lezzy, but here she was, in the arms of a woman. She had never really gone for the idea and the thought of going down on another woman had always repelled her. She didn’t even like kissing a guy after he had done that for her. But Kelly had had no idea that a hierarchy existed among these people, that these women placed each other on an ascending ladder of sexuality, a ladder that led to the pedestal she had perched upon all night long, as Cheryl, husky-voiced, tall, pretty even, and shouldered like a man in her wife-beater and cutoff jeans that drove men crazy, sent Kelly Thompson—hitherto straight and earthy in her dull resignation—joyfully over the crooked moon.

As moonlight streaked through the curtains to the left, and the streetlight shone dully on the heavier drapes to the right, she heard the creak of Joe-Joe swaggering down the hall. Ever since, Jase, her super-cute boyfriend, had gotten into the crack scene, the beautiful house she rented had been continually crawling with characters like Joe-Joe, Munch, Jerry and Shawn, and so long as they brought the rock, Jase could care less if they propositioned her, snuck into her room, felt her up, or whatever. She had been close to tears and on the verge of moving out, back with Mom, while working on Cheryl—a regular monthly customer—when the older woman, in her mid thirties, a woman who exuded confidence and sauntered into the office like a man in a woman’s body, had offered to spend the night. Kelly was aghast when Cheryl had called her husband up and told him that she was spending the night with a girlfriend—just like that, like she made the decisions—and then accompanied her to what had once been her independent dream, but had become her nightmare.

Joe-Joe, the one that at least asked before entering or copping a feel, knocked on the white-painted pine door and said, “How abouts a massage, Kelly.”

This had ever been his angle, appealing to her to relate to him professionally, for the most unprofessional goal, getting his hands on her. She had typically said, “Call the office and make an appointment. Miss Doreen will be glad to schedule you.”

But with Cheryl’s toned arms enwrapping her and soft, firm breasts in her back, she did not feel as if she needed to answer.

Cheryl answered, in her husky smoker’s voice, “Get lost, needle-dick.”

Joe-Joe snarked, “I could get lost between the two of you.”

With that, Cheryl reached into the purse that was before Kelly’s face on the bed and withdrew a long dog-leg shaped object that shined in the moonlight. Raising up on her left hip, placing her manicured left hand gently over Kelly’s right ear, pressing her left ear into the mattress and snarling like a she-wolf, Cheryl extended her arm toward the door, a black shadow of menace in her hand. There was a dull metallic click, and then a booming roar, as flame shot out at the door and Joe-Joe screamed like a woman from the other side.

The sound of Joe-Joe running down the hall hopefully meant he was not hit, and the sound of the cackling and laughter of Jase’s other friends, who had apparently put him up to it, seemed to indicate that no harm was done, other than the fist-sized hole in her bedroom door.

She worried momentarily about the door, then felt a tingling sensation between her legs, and sensed the fear slip away from her in the night, as Cheryl roller her over on her back and ruthlessly pried her legs apart with her greedy knees, more man than Jase had ever been, more like—Wow, can she kiss! How could I have forgotten so soon?

For once in her short, pretty life, Kelly Thompson did not have a care in the wide world.