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Cluster 4
“Traduci in italiano "The ringing of the phone startles her so much she jumps. Sh” (2 conversations)
fanfiction explicit toxic
4 turns Mar 7, 2024 at 2:27 PM CET Italy , Milan
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Me lo traduci in italiano? Carol's body goes still as stone, but her heart starts to rabbit inside her. Even in the smoky light, there's no mistaking that slim-figured girl, nor the dimpled smile that Therese turns on her companion, a brunette with great legs and vibrant red lipstick. Carol's eyes zero in, hawkish. Therese doesn't see her. They go to the bar, taking up stools and signaling the bartender. The brunette offers Therese a cigarette, and Therese takes it. They start smoking, talking, laughing, and soon there are two drinks in front of them. They're clearly quite familiar with each other, but they don't touch. Bars like this are the only public place they could touch each other, if they are lovers. So maybe they aren't lovers? The thought gives Carol an unexpected and irrational shot of hope. But then Therese says something and the brunette laughs, head tossed back, hand reaching out to squeeze Therese's knee. Carol's vision goes red for a moment. Stop it, she chides herself. What the hell is wrong with you? Just stop it. But she can't. She can't stop staring, wondering, wishing. She digs out a new cigarette and lights it, smoking restively as she observes the ongoing conversation. The brunette's hand doesn't stay long on Therese's knee, but at one point Therese touches the bracelet on the brunette's wrist, admiring, and there's such intimacy between them. They must be lovers. And why not? Carol's thoughts demand angrily. She is a gorgeous woman. She's kind and braver by far than you. She's an excellent lover. Just because you were too much a fool to snatch her up doesn't mean no one else will. It's been five weeks. A lot can happen in five weeks. Including someone seducing Therese Belivet. That word, seduction. Carol thinks of their night together. Thinks of everything she had planned, how much she had wanted to seduce Therese, to devour Therese, to give Therese pleasure over and over. And in the end all the tables were turned, and she was the one on her back, gasping and sobbing with need. A need she had only glimpsed in herself, these past few years. A need sparked by Fernanda and nurtured by Abby and then squashed, all in a fury. Squashed, as she tried to make it work with Harge. Got pregnant. Had Rindy, loved Rindy, loved Harge--but not enough, never enough. Their dissolution was a slow sad death, their divorce a slow sad thing, and through it all Carol had her little affairs that woke that spark of need in her, but it was always contained, never permitted to burn out of control. She couldn't afford that kind of conflagration. But then Therese came along, and lit her whole being on fire. She stares at her, drinks her in, agitated to realize that she is in fact just as beautiful Carol remembers. She has tried a couple of times to tell herself that she was looking at that night through rose-colored glasses. That if she saw Therese again, she would see just an ordinary pretty girl. How wrong she was. Therese is wearing a slim cut blue dress, with cap sleeves, and her arms are bare, her calves exposed beneath the skirt. Her collarbones are exposed, too, and her long neck, beautifully proportioned. Her smile shows off deep, arresting dimples, and her hair is tucked behind a tiny, distracting ear. There's something so... perfect, about her. Young and sweet and alive. Carol's eyes shoot toward the other brunette, assessing. Full-lipped; bright-eyed and grinning. A bit of the vamp, maybe? There's definitely something coquettish in the way she watches Therese. She's quite pretty, though not like Therese. Does Therese think her date is pretty? Does Therese think that her date is prettier than... Stop it stop it stop it. Now the vamp seems to be telling some kind of story, a serious one. Therese listens closely, curiously, with many little sounds and gestures. Totally engaged. Carol remembers the way that Therese listened, as she told her about her own life, about Rindy and Harge and her six lovers. Therese's attention had been genuine and earnest. She had seemed to care so much, about Carol's loves and Carol's suffering. She had asked questions and shared her own thoughts and it was all so authentic, so guileless. And so much like the way she looks at this brunette. This is absurd, Carol thinks angrily. You knew from the minute you met her that Therese is a sweet girl, a warm friend. Of course it was not something she reserved for you alone. And that she gives it to someone else does not take away from how she gave it to you. Yet Carol does feel bereft. Worse than that, she is terribly disappointed in herself. She wants to go up to the brunette and advise her, 'Be smarter than me. If you've got her attention, hang on to it. She is something different. Don't waste such a treasure on 'once.'' You should get out of here, Carol thinks. Just pick up your purse and go, before she notices you. There could be nothing more awkward in the world, than to run in to an old lover while out on a date with a new one. But as Carol dithers, she realizes that the brunette has finally cottoned on to her staring. Panic surges through her, at the little sidelong glance and curious smile. Then the brunette is obviously saying something to Therese and Therese is frowning and turning to look, and Damnit! damnit! damnit! thinks Carol--right before gray eyes lock with green.
CHATBOT
Il corpo di Carol diventa immobile come una pietra, ma il suo cuore inizia a martellare dentro di lei. Anche nella luce fumosa, e impossibile non riconoscere la ragazza dalla figura snella, ne il sorriso con le fossette che Therese rivolge al suo compagno, una bruna con gambe fantastiche e un vivace rossetto rosso. Gli occhi di Carol si fissano, acuti come quelli di un falco. Therese non la vede. Si avvicinano al bancone, prendendo posto sugli sgabelli e facendo segno al barista. La bruna offre a Therese una sigaretta, e lei la accetta. Iniziano a fumare, a parlare, a ridere, e presto davanti a loro ci sono due drink. Sono chiaramente molto familiari l'una con l'altra, ma non si toccano. Bar come questo sono l'unico luogo pubblico in cui potrebbero toccarsi, se fossero amanti. Quindi forse non sono amanti? Il pensiero da a Carol un inaspettato e irrazionale barlume di speranza. Ma poi Therese dice qualcosa e la bruna ride, gettando la testa all'indietro, la mano che raggiunge per stringere il ginocchio di Therese. Per un istante, la vista di Carol si tinge di rosso. Fermati, si rimprovera. Cosa diavolo c'e che non va in te? Basta cosi. Ma lei non puo. Non riesce a smettere di fissarle, di domandarsi, di desiderare. Estrae una nuova sigaretta e la accende, fumando inquietamente mentre osserva la conversazione in corso. La mano della bruna non rimane a lungo sul ginocchio di Therese, ma in un momento Therese tocca il braccialetto al polso della bruna, ammirandolo, e c'e tanta intimita tra loro. Devono essere amanti. E perche no? I pensieri di Carol pretendono arrabbiati. E una donna bellissima. E gentile e molto piu coraggiosa di te. E un'amante eccellente. Solo perche tu sei stata troppo sciocca da prenderla non significa che nessun altro lo fara. Sono passate cinque settimane. Molte cose possono accadere in cinque settimane. Incluso qualcuno che seduce Therese Belivet. Quella parola, seduzione. Carol pensa alla loro notte insieme. Pensa a tutto cio che aveva pianificato, a quanto aveva desiderato sedurre Therese, divorare Therese, dare a Therese piacere piu e piu volte. E alla fine tutti i ruoli si sono capovolti, ed era lei quella sulla schiena, ansimante e singhiozzante per il desiderio. Un desiderio che aveva solo intravisto in se stessa, in questi ultimi anni. Un desiderio scatenato da Fernanda e coltivato da Abby e poi schiacciato, tutto in un furore. Schiacciato, mentre cercava di far funzionare le cose con Harge. Rimase incinta. Ebbe Rindy, amo Rindy, amo Harge--ma non abbastanza, mai abbastanza. Il loro dissolvimento fu una lenta triste morte, il loro divorzio una lenta triste vicenda, e attraverso tutto cio Carol ebbe le sue piccole avventure che risvegliavano quel barlume di bisogno in lei, ma era sempre contenuto, mai concesso di bruciare fuori controllo. Non poteva permettersi quel tipo di incendio. Ma poi arrivo Therese, e infiammo tutto il suo essere. La fissa, la beve con gli occhi, agitata nel realizzare che e infatti bella come Carol ricorda. Ha provato un paio di volte a convincersi che guardava quella notte attraverso occhiali colorati di rosa. Che se avesse visto ancora Therese, avrebbe visto solo una ragazza ordinariamente carina. Quanto si sbagliava. Therese indossa un abito blu a taglio slim, con maniche a cappuccio, e le sue braccia sono scoperte, le sue gambe esposte sotto la gonna. Anche le sue clavicole sono esposte, cosi come il suo lungo collo, splendidamente proporzionato. Il suo sorriso mostra profonde fossette seducenti e i suoi capelli sono raccolti dietro un orecchio piccolo e distraente. C'e qualcosa di cosi... perfetto, in lei. Giovane, dolce e viva. Gli occhi di Carol si spostano verso l'altra bruna, valutandola. Labbra piene; occhi luminosi e sorridenti. Un po' vamp, forse? C'e sicuramente qualcosa di civettuolo nel modo in cui guarda Therese. E abbastanza carina, sebbene non come Therese. Therese pensa che il suo compagno sia carino? Therese pensa che il suo compagno sia piu carino di... Basta basta basta. Ora la vamp sembra raccontare una sorta di storia, una seria. Therese ascolta attentamente, con curiosita, con tanti piccoli suoni e gesti. Completamente coinvolta. Carol ricorda il modo in cui Therese ascoltava, mentre le parlava della propria vita, di Rindy e Harge e dei suoi sei amanti. L'attenzione di Therese era stata genuina e sincera. Sembrava interessarsi cosi tanto, agli amori di Carol e alle sofferenze di Carol. Aveva posto domande e condiviso i propri pensieri ed era tutto cosi autentico, cosi ingenuo. E cosi simile al modo in cui guarda questa bruna. Questo e assurdo, Carol pensa con rabbia. Sapevi fin dal primo momento in cui l'hai incontrata che Therese e una ragazza dolce, un'amica calorosa. Ovvio che non fosse qualcosa che riservava solo a te. E che lo dia a qualcun altro non toglie a come lo dava a te. Eppure, Carol si sente privata di qualcosa. Peggio, e terribilmente delusa da se stessa. Vorrebbe avvicinarsi alla bruna e consigliarle, "Sii piu intelligente di me. Se hai attirato la sua attenzione, mantienila. Lei e qualcosa di diverso. Non sprecare un tesoro cosi per una 'volta' sola." Dovresti andartene, pensa Carol. Basta prendere la tua borsa e andare, prima che lei ti noti. Non ci potrebbe essere nulla di piu imbarazzante al mondo che imbattersi in un vecchio amore mentre sei fuori per un appuntamento con uno nuovo. Ma mentre Carol esita, si rende conto che la bruna ha infine captato il suo sguardo fisso. Un'ondata di panico la attraversa, quando noti ing the little sidelong glance and curious smilela bruna lancia uno sguardo di sottecchi e un sorriso incuriosito. Poi la bruna dice chiaramente qualcosa a Therese e Therese e perplessa e si gira a guardare e Accidenti! accidenti! accidenti! pensa Carol--proprio prima che occhi grigi si blocchino con quelli verdi.
USER
traduci in italiano ""Someone's looking at you," says Gen. Therese, who has just taken a sip of her wine, frowns in confusion. "What?" "There's a very gorgeous blonde in that booth in the back corner. She's been watching you for at least the last five minutes." Therese hesitates. This sort of thing happens sometimes. After all, so many of the women who come to these bars are looking for love, and Therese has learned over the past couple of years that she is pretty enough to attract interest. Still, it's usually an unreciprocated interest, and Therese always feels shy when people look at her. But Gen's mention of a gorgeous blonde peaks her curiosity, and so, she turns, looking toward the back booth. There, lounging indolently with a cigarette in hand, hair tossed back and eyes on fire, is Carol Ross. Therese almost squeaks in surprise. No sooner has her gaze locked with Carol's then she is breaking it to turn back to Gen, to say in a whisper, "Oh, God, that's her." "Her?" repeats Gen. "Do you know her? If so, please introduce us. She is absolutely--" "Gen, that's her." "Who?" "Carol!" Gen's eyebrows shoot to the top of her hairline, before she shamelessly looks toward Carol again, not even pretending to conceal her interest. "Stop that!" Therese cries. "You stop it. She's seen you and you've seen her; there's no use pretending otherwise." "You'll make her uncomfortable." "That woman looks like a damned goddess; I doubt very much I can make her uncomfortable." But Therese knows that isn't true. She's seen Carol in the throes of anxiety and uncertainty. She knows that Carol fears to be recognized for what she is. Which begs the question of what in the hell she's doing at this bar! "Aren't you at least going to acknowledge her?" asks Gen. "What?" "Buy her a drink? Wave hello?" "No, no--she wouldn't want me to." Gen looks downright offended. "Reading between the lines of your very modest retelling, I have gathered that you gave that woman the night of her life last month. So why in the world wouldn't she want you to acknowledge her?" Because she said once. Once once once. But Gen's words send memory searing through her, all the images that keep returning to her in her waking and dreaming moments. The sounds and tastes and smells of that night, and the beauty of Carol, for which she was and remains unprepared. Therese can't help herself. She turns to look again, and again, Carol is staring straight at her. This time, though, there's the slightest smile on the older woman's face, visible even at this distance. The amusement in that curled lip is devastatingly erotic, as is the way Carol lifts her martini glass, tipping it toward Therese in acknowledgment. "Well," Gen says, gathering her hand bag. "That's my cue." Therese goes wide-eyed and panicked. "What? What are you doing? You can't leave!" "I'm not, honey," Gen says, even as she stands up from the stool and grabs her glass of wine. "But Paige and Jodie are over by the juke box and I want to at least say hi. And now you have no excuse not to talk to Carol." "Gen, I can't," Therese insists. "I told you what she said. She doesn't want to see me again, she--" "Therese," Gen interrupts in her firmest, most no-nonsense tone, "you may think the fact you haven't mentioned her name in a month means you've got me fooled, but I can see right through that nonsense. Whatever she said, she's here now. And I for one don't believe in coincidences." "Gen, I--" "If it all goes wrong, I'll be right over there," Gen says, and starts to point, but the minute she does, her eyes widen. "Jesus, she doesn't waste any time. Gotta run!" And Gen darts away. Therese turns with her, meaning to protest, but the sight of Carol chokes the words out of her. For that tall and statuesque creature has performed some kind of magic, transporting herself from the booth in the back--to right beside Therese's stool. And the smile on her face has not faded, but become a sultry and inviting thing. "Well, hello," Carol says. Therese swallows hard. "I--hello." "I would never dream of interrupting, but it seemed like your date was about to abandon you." Therese's eyes widen. "My--date? No, oh, no, that--" She laughs nervously; Carol's look sharpens. "That was Gen, my friend. I--told you about her." A half beat, and then realization. "I see," says Carol, drawing out both words like pieces of taffy. "Then I suppose I'm not interrupting?" "No, not at all. Would you--like to sit down?" Carol holds her stare for another second. Two. Until Therese thinks her heart is going to start hammering right out of her chest--and then she is slipping effortlessly onto the stool Gen vacated, her body facing Therese. She's dressed in a way that Therese hasn't seen before-- flannel trousers and a checkered hacking jacket, threaded with jewel tones. It is somehow both masculine and feminine, and it makes Therese's mouth water. Their knees almost touch. Carol takes out her silver cigarette case, drawing one for herself and then holding it open for Therese. "Cigarette?" she asks. Therese accepts it, and Carol lights both their cigarettes and takes a long, pensive drag. Therese thinks of the night she went to Carol's Christmas party, and how talkative and confident and cheerful Carol was. And she thinks about the night that Carol came to her apartment, a totally different Carol, all nervousness and moments of quiet stammering. Tonight, Therese is presented with another Carol. Quiet, watchful, aloof but almost... amused? Is that the look in Carol's eyes as she observes Therese? Maybe it's... curiosity? Desire? Something completely different? Whatever it is, it makes Therese feel fluttery and anxious and warm, because Carol's look is molten, her eyes like gray stars and her red lips parting to exhale ribbons of smoke. How well Therese remembers Carol exhaling in her bed. Breaths punched out of her by every thrust of Therese's fingers-- "I'm surprised to see you here," Therese admits, desperate to have something to say. Carol making a 'hmming' sound. "Yes, I can imagine. I've never been before. My friend Abby brought me, but she had a date and left me to myself. I was just about to leave when I saw you." Therese swallows hard. Carol was about to leave, but she saw Therese. Carol stayed, because she saw Therese. And now Carol is sitting with her, looking at her like that. "How do you like it?" Therese asks, going for light, trying to smile. Carol glances around at the room, her own smile dry and feline. "I'm a creature of habit, and it's not my usual scene," she admits. Then her eyes are on Therese again. "But the view has certainly improved in the past few minutes." Therese's stomach swoops. It takes all the learned confidence of two years in this scene to not flush red or show how startled and embarrassed and--and pleased she is, by the words. Instead she takes a drag and chuckles, trying for cool. "I know what you mean." Carol's smile edges into a grin, coy, and somehow mysterious. After their night together, Carol should not be mysterious. Therese has seen all her secrets laid bare, hasn't she? And yet-- "So," Carol asks. "Do you come here often?" Amused, Therese takes a drag on her cigarette. "Periodically. Always with friends. You're brave to have sat at the booth alone." Carol's eyebrows lift. "Really?" "Yes," Therese shrugs. "A place like this. A woman alone doesn't stay alone very long. She's sure to be approached by would-be suitors." The answering glitter in Carol's eyes, the smirk, are devastatingly attractive. "I see. And, case in point--you were barely alone two seconds before being set upon." Heat prickles Therese's skin. She asks, "Is that what you're doing? Setting upon me?" "Well, I have to protect you from the locals," says Carol airily. She sips her drinks and sets the glass back down. She puts an elbow on the bar and leans subtly closer, looking into Therese's eyes. For a moment they are silent, staring at each other. Then, voice performatively casual, Carol asks, "Are you seeing anyone?" Therese stares back at her for several moments, and then smiles. "No." One of those blonde eyebrows twitches, sparking a similar twitch between Therese's legs. Marshaling her courage, Therese asks, "Are you?" A scoff. "No." Therese wonders why she scoffs, why she behaves as if the very idea is ridiculous. When so many women would throw themselves at Carol, given the chance. And yet Therese can't deny she is... very pleased by the answer. "I'm sorry to hear that," she lies. "Are you?" "No." Carol's grin is lazy and seductive and it makes Therese want to tackle her against the bar. But then Carol says, "In the interest of honesty, I suppose I should say that I'm rather cross with you." Surprised, Therese asks, "Cross?" "You can't deny you've been rude." Her heart thumps, eyes widening in confusion. Carol is smirking at her, that cool smirk, those eyes glittering. "Our goodbye, Dearest. Or, lack thereof, I should say. Very rude, to leave a woman without even a kiss." So much for learning how to navigate the lesbian bar scene with poise. Try as she might, Therese cannot prevent the color that rises in her cheeks. Not just at being reminded, but at the exquisite reality she finds herself in: Carol, flirting. With her. But Therese is no blushing virgin and she refuses to be dismantled. She gives Carol a shrewd look. She drawls, "That's odd. I remember quite a lot of kisses." Carol's teeth flash; her eyes crinkle. She uncrosses and re-crosses her legs the other way, foot skimming Therese's calf. "True," she murmurs. "But your bed was very lonely come morning." Therese, legs also crossed, rotates her knees a fraction closer to Carol. She takes a drag on her cigarette, tipping her head back to blow the smoke in the air even as she is careful not to break eye contact. "Well," she says. "I can offer a perfectly logical explanation." "Please." Excitement ripples through Therese, excitement and determination. Carol's flirting has turned out to be as delicious as Carol in the throes of passion. Therese leans in, lowers her voice, murmuring, "You were very clear that what we shared would only happen once. If we had woken together, and I had stayed in bed with you, I could never have kept my promise. And I'm a woman of my word." Carol's lips part, pupils dilating. Therese nearly preens with pride at this reaction, but apparently Carol is not ready to raise the white flag. "That's just it, Ms. Belivet," she says coolly. "You did not keep your promise." Therese gives her a droll look. "I think I'd remember." Carol chuckles. It's such a low, sinful sound; it makes Therese vibrate. She can feel herself, the warm ache gathering between her legs, already damp. "You promised me once," Carol says. "And while you were very generous when it came time to give, you were far less so when it came time to... take." Therese can't help it. She blushes scarlet. Restlessly she uncrosses her legs. She reaches for her glass of wine and takes a swallow, aware even as she does it that alcohol is not likely to help her with this conversation. She sets the glass down and clears her throat and forces herself to make eye contact with Carol, who is watching her avidly. "I don't recall being dissatisfied," Therese whispers. No, in fact, she remembers a torrent of pleasure that made her rock and writhe and gasp in almost uncontrollable-- "But I was," Carol whispers back. All banter, flirting, humor, vanishes between them, replaced by something far more intense, something that lives and breathes between their locked eyes, between their bodies leaning close. When Carol places a hand onto Therese's knee (the hand nearest the bar--the one others can't see), it feels as overwhelming as the first time she saw Carol at the furniture store. But when that hand slides around, cupping the back of her knee, teasing the back of her thigh, Therese is hit with a wave of erotic sensation that makes her breathe in sharply. Goosebumps erupt beneath Carol's touch, and Carol must feel it, she must. This is why Therese wouldn't let Carol touch her that night. Because even this comparatively innocent contact is too much. She feels weak and hungry and unscrupulous. A moment later and Carol is shifting her own legs, creating more of a barrier between Therese's body and the room. Protecting her from view. No sooner has she done this, then she uses one finger to trace a taut muscle in Therese's thigh. Therese barely keeps from whimpering. Even so, she lets out a trembling sigh. "Carol," she says, but forgets what she was going to say, utterly transfixed by the way Carol's lips dart to her mouth. "I've thought about you," Carol murmurs. Oh God. Oh God. Carol meets her eyes again. "Have you thought about me?" Therese shivers, swallows. "Of course I have." Then, she slips her own hand down, touching the hand that holds the back of her knee. She presses into Carol's fingers, to stop their teasing strokes. "But you told me what you wanted. You made me promise that I understood. I don't want you to do something that you don't really want to do. Not if you'll regret it." Carol looks at her silently for several moments, but with such an intense focus that Therese feels pinned. She can hardly breathe for waiting to see what that look means. Lust is burning through her now, making her flushed and fluttery. She wants to move her hand, to stop stopping Carol's fingers; to encourage them, instead. To slide them up her thigh, under her dress. To show them the limit of her stockings, and the clasps of her garter belt. Right here in this bar, she wants to part her legs and give herself to Carol, let Carol's touch consume and devour her, in the way she couldn't bear to do, when Carol spent the night. But whatever impulse for self-preservation drove her that night, it is disintegrating now. Floating away like chaff. She needs so many things. But not if it will cost Carol too much. "You're a very strange girl," Carol murmurs finally. Therese frowns, unsure what this means, unsure if she should be hurt. "Is it strange to want to respect your wishes?" she asks, challenging. "In my experience, yes," Carol admits. That makes Therese so sad, makes her arousal momentarily bank as she considers all the disrespect Carol must have endured. But then Carol's hand tightens, squeezing the back of her knee and inching up to grip the back of her thigh, and she looks at Therese with an expression that is almost savage. "Perhaps you're right," she says. "Perhaps I'm being foolish and reckless, breaking my own rule. Perhaps I shouldn't have even come here tonight. But I did come here. And so did you... Therese," she draws out the name in a slow, plaintive tone that feels like music trailing over skin. "Therese... let me be foolish.""
CHATBOT
"Qualcuno ti sta guardando", dice Gen. Therese, che ha appena sorseggiato il suo vino, si corruga in confusione. "Cosa?" "C'e una bionda molto attraente in quella cabina nell'angolo in fondo. Ti sta osservando da almeno cinque minuti." Therese esita. Questo genere di cose accade a volte. Dopotutto, molte delle donne che vengono in questi bar cercano l'amore, e Therese ha imparato negli ultimi anni che e abbastanza carina da attirare interesse. Tuttavia, di solito e un interesse non ricambiato, e Therese si sente sempre timida quando le persone la guardano. Ma la menzione di Gen di una bionda attraente desta la sua curiosita, cosi si gira, guardando verso la cabina di fondo. La, adagiata indolentemente con una sigaretta in mano, i capelli gettati all'indietro e gli occhi infuocati, c'e Carol Ross. Therese emette quasi un cigolio di sorpresa. Non appena il suo sguardo si incrocia con quello di Carol, lo spezza per rivolgersi di nuovo a Gen, sussurrando, "Oh, Dio, e lei." "Lei?" ripete Gen. "La conosci? Se si, per favore presentacela. E assolutamente--" "Gen, e lei." "Chi?" "Carol!" Le sopracciglia di Gen salgono fino all'attaccatura dei capelli, prima che guardi sfacciatamente di nuovo verso Carol, senza nemmeno fingere di nascondere il suo interesse. "Smettila!" esclama Therese. "Smetti tu. Lei ti ha vista e tu l'hai vista; non c'e motivo di fingere il contrario." "La farai sentire a disagio." "Quella donna sembra una dannata dea; dubito fortemente che io possa farle sentire un disagio." Ma Therese sa che non e vero. Ha visto Carol nell'angoscia e nell'incertezza. Sa che Carol teme di essere riconosciuta per cio che e. E questo fa sorgere la domanda su cosa diavolo ci faccia in questo bar! "Non le farai almeno un cenno?" chiede Gen. "Cosa?" "Le offrirai da bere? Saluterai?" "No, no--non vorrebbe che lo facessi." Gen sembra decisamente offesa. "Leggendo tra le righe del tuo racconto molto modesto, ho intuito che hai dato a quella donna la notte della sua vita il mese scorso. Quindi perche al mondo non vorrebbe che tu la salutassi?" Perche lei ha detto una volta. Una volta, una volta, una volta. Ma le parole di Gen mandano un ricordo bruciante attraverso di lei, tutte le immagini che continuano a tornarle nella mente nei momenti di veglia e sogno. I suoni, i gusti e gli odori di quella notte, e la bellezza di Carol, per la quale era e rimane impreparata. Therese non puo fare a meno di guardare di nuovo, e ancora, Carol la sta fissando dritto negli occhi. Questa volta, pero, c'e il leggero sorriso sul volto dell'anziana donna, visibile anche a questa distanza. L'ironia in quel labbro arricciato e devastantemente erotica, cosi come il modo in cui Carol solleva il bicchiere del martini, accennando un saluto a Therese. "Ecco," dice Gen, raccogliendo la sua borsetta. "Questo e il mio segnale." Therese allarga gli occhi e si agita. "Cosa? Cosa stai facendo? Non puoi andartene!" "Non e cosi, tesoro," dice Gen, mentre si alza dallo sgabello e afferra il suo bicchiere di vino. "Ma Paige e Jodie sono vicino al jukebox e voglio almeno salutarle. E ora non hai scuse per non parlare con Carol." "Gen, non posso", insiste Therese. "Ti ho detto cosa ha detto. Non vuole rivedermi, lei--" "Therese," interrompe Gen con il suo tono piu fermo e deciso, "puoi pensare che il fatto che non hai menzionato il suo nome da un mese significa che hai ingannato me, ma posso vederci chiaro attraverso questa bugia. Qualunque cosa abbia detto, lei e qui adesso. E io, per non credere alle coincidenze." "Gen, io--" "Se andra tutto male, saro proprio la," dice Gen, e inizia a puntare con il dito, ma nel momento in cui lo fa, i suoi occhi si allargano. "Gesu, lei non perde tempo. Devo scappare!" E Gen si precipita via. Therese gira insieme a lei, intendendo protestare, ma la vista di Carol blocca le parole. Perche quell'alta e imponente creatura ha eseguito una specie di magia, trasportandosi dalla cabina in fondo--proprio accanto allo sgabello di Therese. E il sorriso sul suo volto non e svanito, ma e diventato una cosa accattivante e invitante. "Be', ciao," dice Carol. Therese deglutisce. "Io--ciao." "Non vorrei mai interrompere, ma sembrava che il tuo appuntamento stesse per abbandonarti." Gli occhi di Therese si allargano. "Il mio--appuntamento? No, oh, no, quello--" Ride nervosamente; lo sguardo di Carol si intensifica. "Quella era Gen, la mia amica. Ti--ho parlato di lei." Un mezzo battito e poi la realizzazione. "Capisco," dice Carol, allungando entrambe le parole come pezzi di caramella mou. "Allora suppongo che non sto interrompendo?" "No, affatto. Vorresti--sederti?" Carol mantiene il suo sguardo per un altro secondo. Due. Fino a quando Therese pensa che il suo cuore stia per iniziare a martellare fuori dal suo petto--e poi lei scivola senza sforzo sullo sgabello che Gen ha lasciato vacante, il suo corpo rivolto verso Therese. E vestita in un modo che Therese non ha mai visto prima--pantaloni di flanella e una giacca da caccia a quadri, intrecciata con toni gioiello. E in qualche modo sia maschile che femminile, e fa venire l'acquolina in bocca a Therese. Le loro ginocchia quasi si toccano. Carol prende il suo portasigarette d'argento, ne estrae una per se e poi lo tiene aperto per Therese. "Una sigaretta?" chiede. Therese la accetta, e Carol accende entrambe le loro sigarette e fa un lungo, pensieroso tiro. Therese pensa alla notte in cui e andata alla festa di Natale di Carol, e a quanto Carol fosse loquace, sicura di se e allegra. E pensa alla notte in cui Carol e venuta al suo appartamento, una Carol totalmente diversa, tutta nervosismo e momenti di balbettio silenzioso. Stasera, Therese e presentata a un'altra Carol. Silenziosa, osservatrice, distaccata ma quasi... divertita? E quello lo sguardo nei suoi occhi mentre osserva Therese? Forse e... curiosita? Desiderio? Qualcosa di completamente diverso? Qualunque cosa sia, fa sentire Therese svolazzante, ansiosa e calda, perche lo sguardo di Carol e fuso, i suoi occhi come stelle grigie e le sue labbra rosse che si aprono per esalare nastri di fumo. Quanto bene Therese ricorda Carol che esala nel suo letto. Respiro strappato da lei ad ogni spinta delle dita di Therese-- "Sono sorpresa di vederti qui", ammette Therese, disperata di avere qualcosa da dire. Carol facendo un suono di 'hmmmmm'. "Si, posso immaginare. Non ci sono mai stata prima. La mia amica Abby mi ha portata, ma lei aveva un appuntamento e mi ha lasciata da sola. Stavo per andare via quando ti ho vista." Therese deglutisce. Carol stava per andarsene, ma ha visto Therese. Carol e rimasta, perche ha visto Therese. E ora Carol e seduta con lei, guardandola in quel modo. "Come ti trovi?" chiede Therese, cercando di essere leggera, tentando di sorridere. Carol guarda intorno alla stanza, il suo sorriso secco e felino. "Sono una creatura dell'abitudine e non e la mia scena abituale", ammette. Poi i suoi occhi sono di nuovo su Therese. "Ma il panorama si e decisamente migliorato negli ultimi minuti." Lo stomaco di Therese fa un balzo. Ci vuole tutta la sicurezza appresa in due anni in questo ambiente per non arrossire o mostrare quanto sia sorpresa, imbarazzata e--e contenta, per quelle parole. Invece fa un tiro e ride, cercando di essere soave. "Capisco cosa vuoi dire." Il sorriso di Carol si spinge verso una smorfia, timido e in qualche modo misterioso. Dopo la loro notte insieme, Carol non dovrebbe essere misteriosa. Therese ha visto tutti i suoi segreti rivelati, non e vero? E tuttavia-- "E allora," chiede Carol. "Vieni spesso qui?" Divertita, Therese fa un altro tiro sulla sua sigaretta. "Periodicamente. Sempre con amici. Sei coraggiosa ad esserti seduta al tavolo da sola." Le sopracciglia di Carol si alzano. "Davvero?" "Si", fa spallucce Therese. "Un posto come questo. Una donna da sola non rimane da sola molto a lungo. E sicuro che verra avvicinata da pretendenti." Il luccichio rivelatore negli occhi di Carol, il ghigno, sono devastantemente accattivanti. "Capisco. E, caso in questione--sei rimasta sola appena due secondi prima di essere attaccata." Un calore punge la pelle di Therese. Chiede, "E quello che stai facendo? Attaccarmi?" "Beh, devo proteggerti dai locali," dice Carol con disinvoltura. Beve il suo drink e riappoggia il bicchiere. Appoggia un gomito al bancone e si inclina sottilmente piu vicina, guardando negli occhi di Therese. Per un momento sono in silenzio, fissandosi l'un l'altro. Poi, con una voce casualmente performativa, Carol chiede, "Hai qualcuno?" Therese la fissa per diversi momenti, e poi sorride. "No." Uno di quei sopracciglia bionde si contrae, scatenando un tremito simile tra le gambe di Therese. Raccogliendo il suo coraggio, Therese chiede, "E tu?" Uno scherno. "No." Therese si chiede perche schernisce, perche si comporta come se l'idea stessa fosse ridicola. Mentre cosi tante donne si getterebbero ai piedi di Carol, se ne avessero la possibilita. E tuttavia Therese non puo negare di essere... molto contenta della risposta. "Mi spiace sentirlo," mente. "Davvero?" "No." Il sorriso di Carol e pigro e seducente e fa venire a Therese la voglia di assalirla contro il bancone. Ma poi Carol dice, "Nell'interesse dell'onesta, suppongo che dovrei dire che sono piuttosto incrociata con te." Sorpresa, Therese chiede, "Incrociata?" "Non puoi negare di essere stata maleducata." Therese sente il cuore battere forte, gli occhi si allargano in confusione. Carol sta ghignando a lei, quel ghigno freddo, quegli occhi luccicanti. "Il nostro addio, Tesoro. O, dovrei dire, la mancanza di addio. Molto maleducato, lasciare una donna senza nemmeno un bacio." Cosi tanto per imparare a navigare con eleganza la scena del bar lesbico. Nonostante cio, Therese non puo impedire il colore che le sale sulle guance. Non solo per essere ricordata, ma per la squisita realta in cui si trova: Carol, che flirta. Con lei. Ma Therese non e una vergine arrossata e rifiuta di essere smontata. Le lancia uno sguardo acuto. Pronuncia lentamente, "Strano. Ricordo un bel po' di baci." I denti di Carol brillano; i suoi occhi si increspano. Slega e rilega le gambe dall'altra parte, il piede sfiorando il polpaccio di Therese. "Vero," mormora. "Ma il tuo letto era molto solitario la mattina." Therese, anch'essa con le gambe incrociate, ruota le ginocchia un po' piu vicino a Carol. Fa un tiro sulla sua sigaretta, inclinando la testa indietro per soffiare il fumo in aria, facendo attenzione a non perdere il contatto visivo. "Beh," dice. "Posso offrire una spiegazione perfettamente logica." "Per favore." L'eccitamento ondeggia attraverso Therese, eccitamento e determinazione. Il corteggiamento di Carol si e rivelato delizioso quanto Carol nelle braccia della passione. Therese si china in avanti, abbassa la voce, mormorando, "Sei stata molto chiara che quello che abbiamo condiviso sarebbe accaduto una sola volta. Se ci fossimo svegliate insieme e fossi rimasta a letto con te, non avrei mai potuto mantenere la mia promessa. E io sono una donna di parola." Le labbra di Carol si aprono, le pupille si dilatano. Therese quasi si pavoneggia per questa reazione, ma apparentemente Carol non e pronta ad alzare bandiera bianca. "Ecco il punto, signorina Belivet," dice con tono freddo. "Tu non hai mantenuto la tua promessa." Therese le lancia uno sguardo ironico. "Penso che me ne sarei ricordata." Carol ride. E un suono cosi basso, peccaminoso; fa vibrare Therese. Si sente, il caldo bruciore che si accumula tra le sue gambe, gia umida. "Mi hai promesso una volta," dice Carol. "E mentre sei stata molto generosa quando e venuto il momento di dare, sei stata molto meno generosa quando e venuto il momento di... prendere." Therese non puo evitarlo. Diventa rosso scarlatto. Agitata, slega le gambe. Afferra il suo bicchiere di vino e prende un sorso, consapevole anche mentre lo fa che l'alcool non e probabile che aiuti in questa conversazione. Appoggia il bicchiere e si schiarisce la gola e si costringe a fissare negli occhi Carol, che la sta guardando voracemente. "Non ricordo di essere rimasta insoddisfatta," sussurra Therese. No, infatti, si ricorda un torrente di piacere che la fece ondeggiare e contorcersi e ansimare in un quasi incontrollabile-- "Ma io lo ero," sussurra Carol. Tutto il battibecco, il flirt, l'umorismo, svanisce tra loro, sostituito da qualcosa di molto piu intenso, qualcosa che vive e respira tra i loro occhi chiusi, tra i loro corpi che si inclinano vicini. Quando Carol poggia una mano sul ginocchio di Therese (la mano piu vicina al bar--quella che gli altri non possono vedere), e travolgente come la prima volta che ha visto Carol al negozio di mobili. Ma quando quella mano scivola dietro, afferrando il retro del ginocchio, accarezzando il dietro della coscia, Therese e colpita da un'ondata di sensazione erotica che la fa inspirare affilatamente. Brividi sbocciano sotto il tocco di Carol, e Carol deve sentirlo, deve sentirlo. Questo e il motivo per cui Therese non ha permesso a Carol di toccarla quella notte. Perche anche questo contatto comparativamente innocente e troppo. Si sente debole e affamata e priva di scrupoli. Un momento dopo e Carol sta spostando le proprie gambe, creando piu barriera tra il corpo di Therese e la stanza. Proteggendola dalla vista. Non appena ha fatto questo, usa un dito per tracciare un muscolo teso sulla coscia di Ther
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Traduci in italiano It's a good thing she's carrying me, because with my legs slung around her waist and my hands tangled in her hair and her mouth fucking devouring me like I'm her last meal on earth, I've never felt so weak. Getting to her bedroom seems to take a century, but when we do we fall onto the bed as one, her on top of me and groaning as our bodies align. We've done plenty of touching in the past few weeks, plenty of full body contact, even (at least, through our clothes). But there's something about lying together, tangled, that hits different, and I feel almost woozy with desire. I start pulling at her clothes, desperate to feel her skin. Knees planted between my thighs, she rears up, yanking her shirt over her head. Oh, thank Jesus, she's not wearing a bra, gimme-- But before I can cup her breasts she's got her hands on the hem of my shirt, and yes, that's a very good idea. We dispatch it together. I pull her back down to me, reveling in the sensation of her naked torso. Wanting more of it. I slide my hands under the back of her slacks to feel her ass. She rocks her pelvis into mine, and I whimper, breaking our kiss with a gasp. "Fuck." "Are you okay?" her forehead creases with worry, and I can't help a breathless giggle. "Yeah, yeah, just--sensitive." She grins, pleased, and toys with the edge of my skirt, rucked up just above my knees. "Sensitive, huh?" Sensitive doesn't begin to cover it. When we first started this no sex thing, I masturbated almost every night, constantly keyed up, constantly wet for her. As solo sex goes, it was the best I'd ever had, full of fantasies about her body and the sounds she makes and the things I planned to do to her when I finally got my chance. But after a couple of weeks, masturbating itself became a source of frustration. I wanted Carol, and while touching myself might bring temporary relief, afterwards I always felt depressed and lonely for her. I threw myself into work instead and told myself the abstention would just make it even better when we finally crossed this line. Well, I think I underestimated what a month without an orgasm would do to me, because as Carol's hands slide up my thighs, and then toy at my underwear, the shivers that move through me are almost debilitating. It's all so much more intense than I'm used to. I feel like I might combust. "Come here," I beg her. But for all my desperation, the way she cradles my face is tender. Her kiss is a little slower than before, deeper, and I fall into it; our tongues slide together as our bodies meet. I feel Carol's bare belly against mine, her nipples brushing the thin fabric of my bra. It's the most exquisite sensation, but I know what would be better. "Take it off," I mumble into her mouth. "Please. Wanna feel you." We don't bother with the clasps. She pulls it right over my head, and I was right--the firm press of our nipples is even better. I put my hands on her arms, then her back, limning the muscular perfection of her body. But when her hips start slowly grinding into mine, the pressure hitting my clit perfectly, a flush runs through me, white hot and almost embarrassing. I jerk against her, head tipping back. "You're trembling," she says, like she wasn't expecting it, like the force of my desire is a surprise. "Yeah," I say, shuddering into another push of her hips. "Yeah, I--I want you." "Tell me what you want." In answer, I lift up, wrapping my arms around her and turning us. She goes willingly, on her back and panting as I straddle one of her thighs, pressing my thigh in between her legs. I want to get her where I am, I want it to be equal. I remember the pressure that she likes, I remember the pace, but I'm unprepared for the answering sensation of her strong thigh against my sex. Even through my underwear, it's so intense. "Fuck," I gasp, hands braced either side of her shoulders, and head hanging down as pleasure pulses in me. "Fuck, Carol, I--" "It's okay," she answers. "You're so beautiful--just go with it." Her hands go to my hips and start encouraging me to grind. And I don't know how this is possible--I've never come this fast--but I'm right on the edge, I'm so close, fighting it-- "It's okay," she says again, her raspy voice tugging the orgasm closer. "Oh, God," I lift my head, staring down at her. I'm flushed all over, I'm grinding faster, I'm -- "Gonna come--Carol--" "Give it to me," she growls. "I want it." A sob catches in my throat as she presses tighter, and with a sudden sharp cry I dig my nails into her thigh, yanking her close, and burst. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck-- "Yes," Carol says. "That's it, good girl, don't stop." My voice chokes off, stunned into silence. My head tosses back, and I feel like an animal, rutting into her, mindlessly chasing the hot flood of my release, that pours outward from my sex into my thighs and calves and toes--up my chest and throat and into my spinning head. I can feel the clenching of my sex, with nothing to hold on to, and I remember how she fucked me with the strap-on all those weeks ago. Oh, God, maybe she'll do that again? I need more. I need her inside me. But first--I need my body to stop shaking. The last hard wave rolls past, and with a whimper I sink on top of her, burying my face into her neck. Her arms wrap around me, holding me close and I gasp for breath, trying to recover. "God damn," Carol says. And then she starts laughing. It is a sound of such bright delight and joy that I can't help it, I start laughing, too. Then we're just too crazed and happy women, laughing and panting and raising our heads to kiss. It's hard to kiss and giggle at the same time but fuck it. We try anyway. I put my hands in her hair, relishing the silky gold between my fingers, and I kiss her with a deep, consuming gratitude. It's the gratitude of the seafarer, who finally comes home. Her thigh, still locked between mine, nudges teasingly upward, and I groan. Little aftershocks steal through me. "Oh, God, wait," I beg her. "Fuck. I need a minute." "Take all the time you need, love." I drop my head onto her chest again, mouthing at her collarbones, gnawing at her shoulder, aimless as a teething kitten. She tastes warm and salty and her fingernails dragging up my back are heaven. "Carol... Oh my God... You're so incredible." "Me?" she laughs again. "I'm not the one who came after ten seconds of dry-humping!" Eeeping in embarrassment, I hunker down even more, pushing my face between her breasts. "God, I'm sorry." "Don't you dare be sorry for that. That was like... the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen." I can feel the flush in my cheeks, embarrassed but also pleased. Still-- "I thought I'd have more stamina than a teenage boy. I wanted to... I don't know--I wanted it to be--better." "Therese, not having sex with you over the past few weeks has been a true test of my sanity. I don't need or want hours of foreplay. I just want--" she pauses, and I manage to lift my head enough to peek at her. Her eyes have gone soft, adoring. "I just want you." Her words spill warmth through me, and I scoot forward, seeking the perfect bow of her mouth. We kiss, slowly and sweetly. But it doesn't stay slow for long. Or sweet. I lick into her mouth, relishing her rumbling groan, and I feel her body under mine, arching and rolling. "Fuck, you feel so good," I tell her between kisses. "I've missed you so much. What do you need right now? What do you want?" In answer, she rolls us again, placing me under her before, and she looks at me with a molten hunger that I'll never forget, her lip curling. "What I want... I want to taste what I've done to you." I whine--tempted to object--I want to taste her!--but then she is crawling down the bed. She pushes my skirt out of her way, impatient, and nuzzles against me. She tongues at me through my underwear, growling, and I clench on nothing. "Carol--" She hooks a finger under the gusset, pulling it aside and licking into me. It's so--filthy. So hot. Her tongue is warm and wet and sinful, dragging through the heart of me. "You're so wet," she rumbles. "Fuck, you taste amazing." "God--please--" "I wanna make you come again. Can I make you come again?" Panting, I lift my hips. She gets the message and drags my panties down my legs, tossing them away and getting down on her belly. She pushes my thighs apart, gets me wide open for her, and then her mouth is all over me. I make a sharp choking sound of delight, straining toward her, toward heat and pressure and pleasure that makes my body burn. The last time she went down on me was in the hotel room at the wedding, and I was so fixated that night on making love to her that I barely remember her reciprocation. Now, all my focus is on this, on us--the indolent circles of her tongue, and the gentle suction over my clit. The way she tastes me inside, shallow at first and then deeper. Suddenly she asks, "Do you remember the first time I did this?" Though her mouth has lifted, her fingers join the party, two of them gently probing at my wetness. I release a shaky laugh. "Yeah, I do. No one had ever--done it like that." "Like what?" she asks, curious. "Made it good," I explain, looking down into her pale but sparkling eyes. "No one had ever made it feel good like that." Something devilish enters her smile. "Good... like this?" Her fingers slide into me, a smooth glide, instantly crooking, and when my hips shunt upwards her mouth is there, closing over my clit, sucking and laving. "Oh, baby," I whimper. "Yeah--yeah--like that." She makes messy, rapid circles, and I hear myself whimper, "Do you--do you remember it?" She growls, like the memory wakes a beast in her. She says against me, "I never stopped remembering it. I've never stopped wanting this. Wanting you. Come on, darling, don't hold back. Show me what you want--" She grabs my ass, yanking me closer, and when I start to lift my hips toward her, creating the rhythm I want, she makes an encouraging, "Mmhmm," sound, her mouth on me again. It's so erotic my eyes roll back. But then it gets even better, because she lets go of my ass to take my hand, bringing it down to tangle in her hair. On instinct, I pull, tugging her against me, and she makes a sound of such naked, starved lust that I think I might be about to lose my mind. She is such a dominate person. For her to want me to grab her hair and hold her head and-- and use her--it brings me right to the edge. "That's it," I groan, pushing my head back, my chest arching. "Just like that, don't change anything." She groans again, the vibration lighting me on fire. Her fingers rock into me, slow and