Page 4 of Strap In

Ava rolls off the mattress and shimmies out of her cargo pants and cheekies.

Yanks the blouse over her head so she’s standing there in a sports bra.

In the half-light and shadow, it’s hard to make out specifics.

She’s slender with smooth skin and toned ample thighs that Jean wants to reach out and touch.

But – before she can find the courage – Ava crouches, pulling a crate from beneath the bed.

She digs about for a moment and retrieves the strap-on.

It’s more complicated than Jean had expected.

And she watches, mesmerised, as Ava steps into the harness.

Fastens the buckles with nimble fingers.

It’s obvious she’s done this before. Then the dildo’s in place, purple silicone that carries the promise of pleasure, curving upwards at a jaunty angle.

A pulse gallops between Jean’s legs. And the dildo bobs as Ava crawls towards her.

But she doesn’t climb on top of Jean – not right away.

Ava might be young, but she has finesse.

She pulls Jean close, their kisses hot and urgent.

The silicone presses insistently against Jean’s belly, a firm reminder of what’s still to come.

Ava strokes her hair, her arms, her breasts, her belly, her thighs, until every part of Jean is alight.

Only then does her hand slip between Jean’s thighs.

Jean parts to Ava’s touch, crying out at that perfect glide.

Pleasure sweet and golden as honey builds inside her.

Fingertips skate across her clit, knuckles nudge at her entrance…

but Ava never lets her reach the crest. She slides her fingers free and licks them clean, eyes fluttering closed as she tastes Jean’s desire.

‘Give me… Please,’ Jean says, incoherent with longing. ‘I need… Ava…’

‘Shhh.’ Ava kisses her forehead, shifting to straddle Jean. So warm and smooth on top of her. ‘I’ll give you exactly what you need.’

Ava doesn’t waste any time delivering on her promise. She braces both arms on either side of Jean’s head. And when they kiss Jean tastes herself on Ava’s lips, an unfamiliar tang. She opens her thighs, a clear invitation, and Ava slides between her legs. Fills Jean completely.

Her fingers curl against the blades of Ava’s shoulders, pulling her closer.

Ava’s breath hitches. She rocks her hips.

And pleasure licks at Jean, slow and relentless.

She buries her face in the crook of Ava’s neck, tasting the salt of sweat.

Breathing in cedar and jasmine – that delicious genderfuck of a scent – and something unnameable that’s all Ava.

With every thrust Ava shudders. Jean can’t tell where her trembling stops and Ava’s begins. And the strap-on must be working for her too, though Jean doesn’t understand the mechanics of it. And as she tips towards orgasm, she isn’t capable of puzzling it out.

Of their own volition her legs lock around Ava’s hips, pulling her deeper and deeper inside.

And Ava picks up the pace. Jean can’t stop herself from crying out.

Each stroke hits some tender spot deep inside, again and again, the ecstasy of it floods every nerve.

She’s breaking apart, only Ava’s arms holding all the pieces of her together.

Ava’s cheeks are flushed red with the effort. Then she too is tipping over the edge, eyes rolling back in her head as she slumps. Even at the crest of her climax she’s a considerate lover, careful not to crush Jean. Smoothing the hair back from her face.

‘You okay?’

Jean nods, breathless. ‘That was…’

Ava’s smile is tired, and more than a little smug. Her back is slick beneath Jean’s palms. ‘Good, right?’

‘Very.’ She can’t very well deny it; her limbs still slack with orgasm. And she doesn’t want to. Ava’s earned a little preening.

She pulls out, slow and careful, rolling onto her back. Unfastens the buckles, clumsy now.

The strap-on is glistening with Jean’s wetness. Her own thighs are coated in it. Empirical evidence, proof that she – Jean Howard – enjoyed sex with a woman. With a lesbian .

Ava pulls Jean close, stroking her shoulder. ‘If you have any questions, now’s the time.’

And there are dozens of things Jean wants to ask, so many questions they’re crammed against her skull.

What does it mean that I liked sleeping with you?

Do people judge you for wanting women?

How do you say it?

But those are all too heavy for a hook-up.

And there’s no use asking Ava how she can possibly change the idea of Jean that her friends, her colleagues, have held onto for decades – not when Ava herself doesn’t have the first clue who Jean is, even if she has an apparent knack for working Jean’s body.

Beside her Ava stirs, propped up on one elbow to look down at Jean’s face. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘Fine.’ Jean stares up at the ceiling, the strange interplay of light and shadow. ‘Is it always like that? With a woman, I mean.’

The mattress shakes as Ava chuckles. ‘No. I’m just that good.’

Jean rolls her eyes, grateful the shadows dim her own smile. ‘Be serious.’

‘I am. Not just anybody could rail you like this.’ She flops back down on the bed – apparently orgasms make Ava playful. ‘Think you’ll do it again?’

‘What, now?’ Jean snorts. ‘You have the stamina of youth on your side, but I’d ache for it tomorrow.’

‘Not now. I mean in the future.’ Ava rolls onto her stomach, the length of her body flush against Jean’s, long and brown and slender. And a fresh pulse flutters between Jean’s legs. ‘With other women. Or,’ she says, more quietly, ‘with me.’

‘I haven’t—’ Jean clears her throat. She wants a glass of water, but there’s a domesticity to that which doesn’t fit within the parameters of a one-night stand. ‘I haven’t thought about it yet.’

‘Take your time,’ says Ava, casual as if it matters not a bit to her. And she’ll have no trouble finding other women to take Jean’s space in this bed. ‘There’s no rush.’

‘Thanks.’ With a film of sweat coating her, the night air brushes cool against Jean’s skin. A shiver runs through her.

And Ava, already so attuned to her body, pulls up the duvet. Says: ‘Want to sleep here?’

‘No.’ Yes. It would be easy, to sink into Ava’s arms and let her eyes close; spend the night being held; wake up to a soft body and a playful smile. But difficult, not to get hooked on the reverence in her touch. And Jean hasn’t made it this far by depending on others. ‘No, I’d better get going.’

‘Oh.’ Ava pulls the blankets up over her own body. ‘Okay.’

Jean rolls out of bed and retrieves her clothes with all the dignity she can muster.

This is the advantage to going home with another person to their place.

At any moment Jean is free to gather her stuff and go – no awkward hinting that she prefers to sleep alone, no elaborate story about an early start.

Yet, from the moment her feet touch the carpet, Jean wants nothing more than to get back in bed; to curl up beside Ava until their limbs are tangled like vines. For the first time that night, what Jean’s doing feels wrong. But her head knows better than her heart – or her vagina.

Jean finds her phone, summons the first available Uber.

Stuffs her panties and shapewear into the handbag.

Squeezes back into her dress. Wraps the coat around herself – she’ll button it in the lift.

Her car is less than five minutes away. And there’s nothing here for her, she tells herself; at least, nothing that won’t upturn the careful order of her life.

Jean steps into her heels, ignoring the pinch and rub.

‘Thank you,’ she says. The words final, inadequate. ‘This was… Thanks.’

Jean turns her back on Ava, but not before she’s witnessed disappointment on the younger woman’s face. Walks out of the door, away from the yearning to kiss that frown away. Goes down the lift. Steps out into the cool night air.