Hot! Out of the Oven

Hot! Out of the Oven

Wendy Coco

Beth Mitchum

"A Kiss is Just a Kiss”

by Beth Mitchum and Wendy Coco

My mind follows you home at night when you leave the pub where I tend bar. My thoughts stroll along behind you as you walk the six blocks up 4th to your apartment. I know which building it is because I passed by you one morning on my way to work. You didn't see me because you were busy trying to shut the door behind you, while balancing a mug of something hot. I imagine it was coffee, though of course it could have been tea, hot cocoa, or even just hot water. Who knows? It just helps me to think about you in specifics. Specifics like watching your behind as you walk down the street in front of me. It glides back and forth subtly beneath your form-fitting skirt. I feel moisture leaking from my body at the mere thought of that scene.

Later that evening when you came in, I casually mentioned seeing you on the corner of 4th and Pine, you said, "Yeah, I live near there." So I knew that you hadn’t been staying with someone else. I don't think you have a girlfriend, but I can't be sure. I know you’re lesbian because you slipped once when we were talking. You said something about an old flame. Then later you used the pronoun she. I don't know if you did it on purpose to see if I caught it. You didn't seem to notice, but I sure did a double take. My heart stopped beating momentarily, and I barely kept myself from dropping the glass I was drying. But you were cool. You never missed a beat. You didn't even look up at me. You just changed the subject and started talking about the football game on TV. I remember that it was the San Francisco 49ers and some other team. I only remember the San Francisco team because that was what started you reminiscing about the "love of your life." Apparently she was from San Francisco. 

Only you sounded kind of bitter when you talked about her, like maybe she was the worst thing that ever happened to you. Well, it may be the best thing that ever happened to me because it was how I found out about you. I never would've guessed otherwise. You look straight, whatever that means. I guess you must've felt that I was safe to talk to. I've never come out to you, but I doubt you could think I was straight, considering how often I wear my "A kiss is just a kiss" T-shirt with two women on the front making out. I mean, you would hardly hang a shirt like that in a closet.

Sometimes I try to lean against the wet places on the bar so my T-shirt gets a little damp right at breast level. I'm hoping to turn you on. I know you've noticed, because I catch your eyes lingering over the erect nipples that await you beneath the thin cotton material. I wish I could train my nipples to speak sign language. But then again, maybe they do speak it. You seem to understand what they're saying, but you haven’t said anything back yet.

Are you interested in me at all? You are driving me out of my mind. You've been coming into the bar pretty much every night since you moved to Seattle. Sometimes I think you're interested in me, and sometimes I think you are oblivious to my subtle hints. Do you ever think about me when you're walking home from the pub at night? Do you ever relish the thought of removing my slightly damp T-shirt to engulf my excited breasts in your warm, wet mouth? Give me a sign. I need some sort of signal from you that it's okay to approach you. Maybe you're still recovering from that lost love of yours. How will I know when it's time to make a move?

I've been thinking up a plan to break through this barrier between us. The other night you gave me a big hug because it was Christmas Eve. So now with New Year's coming up, I’m going to ask you if you’re going to be there that night. Please, please, say you will be bringing in the New Year with me at the bar. Then, at the stroke of midnight, I'm going to kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before. I’ll be wearing my “A kiss is just a kiss” tee just in case you get offended, but I hope you won’t.  I’m ready to melt this stubborn ice between us. Oh, and I’ll be sure that my T-shirt is damp and my nipples erect, just for you.

Here is the response to the prompt by Wendy Coco, edited by Beth Mitchum:

I know you are going out. I have no question about that. When you showed up the other day with that dress on a hanger—wow, that dress!  I wasn’t sure if you were intentionally trying to turn me on. Were you teasing me, or were you really just coming from the dry cleaner as you said?  I should have asked you then but my mind went directly to a vision of you in that dress: your beautifully perfect breasts clinging to the soft material, the crease in the neckline, which I know will guide my eyes gently down to your cleavage, and the slit up the side of the leg exposing your perfectly silky skin and your long legs.

I briefly wonder how soft your skin is.  I got a little taste the other night when you hugged me and your cheek brushed mine, but that was only a tease, an invitation for me to run my fingers softly over your entire body.  I want to drink in every last curve, every last inch of you, just to feel the silkiness of your skin.

Moist and full of desire is the only way I can explain how you make me feel, but not just sexually. There is something about you that just makes me want you--your eyes, your smiles, the way my heart stops when you laugh.  I just want to make you laugh, see your eyes light up, and selfishly I want to hear you moan in pleasure as I slowly explore your body with my fingers and tongue.

Maybe today is the day; you’ll be in shortly and the thought of you in that dress, mm, I can barely take it any longer.  I want—no, I need to know if you will be here on New Year’s Eve, I want to know how to prepare.  I know I’ll be wearing my “A kiss is just a kiss” T-shirt, but I want to be the first, the first to touch you, feel you, and kiss you on New Year’s.  I want to be the one whose breasts you feel warm and inviting against you and whose welcoming lips you desire to kiss you.

I remain lost in thought until suddenly I hear your voice.  You’re here, and I pour your usual, bourbon on ice. I smile and mention that we are having a huge gathering here on New Year’s Eve with happy hour beginning at seven.  It’s the best I can sum up the courage to say. I hold my breath until you respond, cleaning the counter, pretending it’s just any invitation, but I know it’s not. I hope you know it’s not, but I don’t know, I can only hope.

“Of course,” you respond your smile and your eyes as bright as I have ever seen them. 

I begin to read my desires into your words and expression. Is it me? Could you becoming for me?  But I wait. 

“I already have my dress, and my hopes for midnight are high.” 

There’s that smile again. It’s almost coy? Is that for me?  I’m speechless and trying to hide my reaction.  I want it to be about me.  Please let it be about me; please let it be about me, and I silently promise if it is about me, I’ll make it perfect.

You don’t seem to notice the look on my face, but as you finish your last drink, you begin to fumble for your keys.  The night’s casual conversation has come to an end and while it appears once again you haven’t seen me admiring you, taking in every smile, every move you make, I cash you out and offer to walk you to the door, which you accept, but tonight is suddenly different, and as I walk you to the door, you ask me to walk you to your car.  My heart starts to explode in my chest, with hope, with lust, with desire, but I’m not sure if you asked me to do this because it’s late or because you’ve had more than your usual two drinks.

Either way, I’m definitely going to walk you to your car, I can’t help but think I would be a fool not to, and if nothing else, I want to make sure you’re safe and you know that I want you to be safe.

The walk to your car seems so long, so quiet, and I can’t help but think that if you were anyone else, I would be holding your hand already, but I play it cool and reserved as we slowly approach your car.  I know and quietly admit to myself I’m a chicken.  Right now I’m so scared I know all I will do is open your car door, watch you glide in, still wanting you, still secretly desiring to kiss you, but will slowly close the door behind you, knowing that I will see you tomorrow and hope that tonight’s missed opportunity will present itself again.

As we arrive at your car, I open the door for you, and ask if you are okay to drive the two blocks to your home. I mention how great it will be to see you on New Year’s Eve.  I have no idea what to say next, and I worry that my nervousness is written in every move I make. Then you stop, close the door of the car, and as you gently push me up against it, you lean in and kiss me, slowly moving your hands around me to pull me in closer.  The wall and distance between us has been broken as the kiss grows deeper and more passionate, our grip on each other tightens. At that moment I realize, “A kiss is just not a kiss.”    

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Beth Mitchum

Lynn Ames

"Tiger-Striped Moon" 
by Beth Mitchum and Lynn Ames

It was a tiger-striped full moon, and the only thing I could come up with to do by way of celebration was to go to the Local Bubble, the new pub just down the arm of Orion from the Restaurant at the End of the Universe. I was certain I could find something effervescent enough to match my mood. I was a bit chagrined tat I didn't have a friend, or better yet, a girlfriend to accompany me. It was probably too much to ask that I might find a pretty girl waiting at the end of the bar, fingering the condensation on the outside of a cold, cold glass of beer. Too much to ask, that is, until SHE walked in. Her hair was the color of wheat and seemed to flow in waves down her back. She carried herself with the air of one who was completely unaware of her beauty and the effect it had on others. She paused alongside me and I swear, even my ice cold beer began to sweat. I thought of a million easy pickup lines and discarded all of them. She was too good for that--this siren from another star system.

Lynn and I have finished writing and editing this short story, but the rest of it will have to wait to be revealed with the publication of the anthology.

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