Sharmayne’s hair got so it knew the gentle touch of Nzinga’s fingers better
than it knew her own. Since the afternoon Nzinga had driven to Sharmayne’s house
and whisked her off in a white Camry to her fortress, Sharmayne’s hair and
Nzinga’s fingers had become lovers, like the women themselves.
“Didn’t know what you preferred for brunch,” Nzinga said, setting a feast of a
repast on the freshly wiped white gazebo table in her fenced-in North Highland
backyard, a wilderness of magnolia trees, lush grass, and spray of bees and flowers.
“Thus, I’ve prepared a sampling of tastes for your palate’s pleasure.”
Sharmayne’s mouth watered, savory smells whetting her appetite.
There were waffles, vegetable omelets, fresh fruit, pancakes, maple syrup,
hash browns, bacon, sausages and even a dainty pot of brewing chamomile tea.
“You shouldn’t have.” Sharmayne was outdone. And to think, they’d only
known one another for less than a month, via telephone; yet in spite of that, Nzinga
had unrolled the red carpet, a thing Victor Naylor had never done, would never do.
She flushed, hands fluttering to her lips. “I’m overwhelmed. I feel so honored.”
Nzinga sat on a sun-warmed seat across from the diminutive woman and
smiled.
“That so. Before you dole too many accolades, taste a mouthful, and if it’s
yummy, I promise I’m yours for the heaping on of more praise.” She speared a
forkful of a fat omelet and brought it to Sharmayne’s mouth, waving it slightly to
release whiffs of its wafting heat.
Sharmayne parted her lips. Its flavor, like the aphrodisiac of Nzinga feeding
her, ricocheted inside her mouth, snapping her thighs together under the round
table.
The movement not lost on Nzinga, she unfolded a cloth napkin, fanned an
insect, and dabbed at the corners of Sharmayne’s lips. “Good?”
Sharmayne finished chewing, nodding her appreciation and amazement.
“Speechless, huh? That’s a good thing.” Nzinga tapped slender dark fingers
when they reached for silverware beside a mirror-clean plate. “What of the
waffles?”
“Oooh goodness! Fabulous and filled with blueberries.” Sharmayne licked her
lips. “They make me want to shout. To teach Women’s Studies, must one know
one’s way around a kitchen?” She opened her mouth and accepted a bubbly brown,
juicy sausage. The taste beat a drum roll in her stomach.
Next, Nzinga waited with a love offering of buttery, syrupy pancakes. “To
love a woman is to be open to learning what stimulates her appetite.”
Sharmayne’s moistened lips agreed, her insides singing, mouth baby-bird
wide. With a low, delirious sigh, she licked butter trickling towards her chin. And
moaned.
“I could eat your cooking all day, every day.” A darting tongue swept her lips.
“Do that again.”
“What?” Sharmayne played ignorant, knowing full well what Nzinga
referenced.
“Lick your lips. That simple act rivals all of your generous compliments.”
Nzinga leaned in close to better watch Sharmayne’s pink tongue gloss those
dark, berry-sweet lips from across the table, the mouth playful, her lashes batting
under half-mask lids. Didn’t admit that she, too, could eat all day and night, equally as ravenously. But she put no stock in telling, preferring instead to show the lovely lady, sooner than later. Right now, feeding her satisfied a long dry well-spring of passion she hadn’t felt in ages, until now; the inclination to inhale another woman mentally, physically, and spiritually, not just smooch her, feel her up and wield her dick, overwhelming.
When Sharmayne had eaten to her stomach’s content, she sat back and stared
at Nzinga, concerned she hadn’t touched a morsel of the delicious spread since
lowering the fork.
But Nzinga surprised her by half standing to kiss traces of crumbs from Sharmayne’s mouth.
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TheGoldenGoddess
June 16, 2011
