Scissor Link by Georgette Kaplan (good books to read for adults .TXT) 📕

skin while Janet instinctively reached for it, tightening a vise-grip around everything she’d just felt.

It was building security. They wanted to know if everything was all right.

Wendy didn’t push after that. She seemed satisfied, even if Janet wasn’t. And if she wasn’t, then she at least understood there was only so fast Janet could go. A pace she set that she wouldn’t be rushed through.

Still, Janet lingered in the elevator after Wendy had gone. On her phone, looking up where Wendy lived.

CHAPTER 7

“Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?” Wendy demanded the moment she came through her door.

She had a small apartment and with the way Regan was bustling around, finding new spots in Wendy’s cupboards to stow non-perishables from grocery bags, then finding stuff to be thrown out to go into garbage bags (also from the grocery bags), she seemed to take up all of it. “Keith bought groceries at the same time I did. I’m letting you have them. Do you know how few fresh vegetables you had in your refrigerator? And where’s your bottle opener?” She set a bottle of Pinot on the counter. Not that Wendy had much of a counter left with Regan’s bags on it.

“I actually use a corn cob holder. And don’t drink wine.”

“Where’s your corn cob holder then?” Regan asked in exasperation.

“Silverware drawer.”

“You mean the one with all the plastic utensils?”

“Hey, you date a girl who works at KFC, there are certain perks.”

Regan yanked open the drawer with a clatter of plastic, found a corn cob holder, and started in on the wine bottle. It wasn’t easy for her, but then, she was straight.

Wendy took the bottle from her and started working the tines into the cork. “Keith?”

“Keith,” Regan seethed. “He deleted a bunch of shows off the DVR—which I was going to watch, I was waiting to binge them—just so he could record some James Bond marathon. And I got him a DVD boxset of those a few years ago. For his birthday! He forgot! What other gifts from me has he forgotten? His son? My virginity?”

With the makeshift bottle opener inserted, Wendy clutched the wine bottle under her arm and started wiggling the cork out. “What about Bobby DiMino?”

“Bobby DiMino doesn’t count, we just went halfway.”

“Still, half a donut isn’t really a donut.”

Regan glared at her. “All right, it was forty percent, Keith was sixty, we round up.”

“I’ll let Bobby DiMino know.” With a grunt, Wendy popped the cork out. “He’ll be crushed.” She pointed at the cork. “Eh?”

“Yes, every time you do that, you save more of the one dollar that a corkscrew would cost.” Regan sighed to herself. “You do have glasses, right?”

“Sure!” Wendy popped the bottle into Regan’s hands, tossing the cork aside, and went to a cupboard. “Do you want Winnie the Pooh or Piglet?”

“Sis…”

“They were at a garage sale!” Wendy stressed, holding them up in her hands. “It’s called being thrifty. How do you think grandpa got so rich?”

“Whatever you say, Wendy. But just so you know, this bohemian act is not going to look good in your thirties.”

“How would you know? Are you still in your thirties? I can’t really tell with all the…” Wendy gestured about her face.

“Fuck you. Drink some wine with me.”

Wendy’s phone buzzed. She dropped the glasses on the counter and dug it out of her pocket, quickly checking her messages while Regan poured for them.

“At least you don’t have a flip-phone,” Regan commented.

She had a text from Janet.

I would very much like to see your pussy. Please show it to me.

 

Wendy went dead still. God, she had it bad—she could just hear Janet telling her that, her chilled voice feigning disinterest, but roiling with attraction underneath, pushing Wendy in turn to try to force her hand. Make Janet show just how badly she needed.

“Everything all right?” Regan asked. She’d filled her glass all the way full, and with the brim teetering with liquid, she bent down to suck a little through her lips.

Wendy almost would’ve felt proud of her, except—Janet. “Yeah, it’s all fine. Just let me go freshen up.”

“Uh-huh,” Regan said, taking their glasses to the bed. She crouched down to lean against it, setting the glasses down on the hardwood floor.

Wendy hurried into the bathroom, locking the door securely. She considered turning on the shower for good measure, but no, too secret agent-y. She looked at herself in the mirror. “Okay. We’re sexting. We’re sexting now.” She fixed her hair, as if that was what Janet was interested in. “No problem. I’m sexy. I’m sexy as hell. Janet’s sexy and she likes me. Sexy likes sexy. Brangelina. Bennifer. The other Bennifer. I’m good. Face. Boobs. Stomach area. Why should my vajayjay be any different? I’ve got a good-looking pussy, a beautiful pussy. Who wouldn’t want to see my pussy? Whoever they are, they’re not named Janet Lace, that’s for sure.”

She set her phone down on the sink, carefully—this was no time to crack her screen—then reached under her skirt and scooted down her panties. One last second of spiritual meditation—she did not achieve enlightenment—and Wendy lifted her skirt.

She looked at it. She wasn’t sure what spot adjustments one could make to a pussy…she wasn’t Hugh Hefner or anything…but lesbians went for the natural thing, right? There wasn’t some lesbian contingent who wanted women to wax, was there? You never knew, what with all the people coming out these days. Maybe Aubrey Plaza would start a trend and ruin it for everyone. She was bisexual now.

“Screw Aubrey Plaza,” Wendy told her area. “You look fine. You’re great. It’s a great pussy…okay, it’s a little weird. It has eccentric good looks. It has character. What does she want, an Amazon.com pussy? I’m an Etsy pussy. My pussy is homemade, it’s hand-crafted, it’s assembled with love!”

She picked up the phone, stood on her tiptoes to get her area above the sink, and aimed the camera at her reflection.

Maybe she could google Emily Ratajkowski’s twat, send that