A new quickie: Bea

Hi there!
I've written a new thing, in one sitting, and without any plan or anything. Just let the words flow. It's called "Bea", and it is sort of sideways inspired by a true story.
As it is, I think it works as a quickie, but might be the start of something longer and, maybe, kinkier.

I hope you'll like it.


B E A

I met Bea in first grade. She lived next door, and we went to the same school and were in the same class. We hated each other, with the unconditional, all-encompassing hatred that children often share. She was prim and proper, she was the teacher’s pet, she was terribly myopic and looked at the world through glasses so thick they looked like bottle-bottoms.
We hated each other for a few years, and then went our separate ways - different schools, different friends. I still caught her sometimes, but did not pay her much attention. Our mothers were friends, sort of, but really, who cares for their mother’s friends when they are teenagers?


Then, the year we turned eighteen, out old teacher retired, and the school threw a goodbye party for her, and all the former pupils were invited. I did not have anything better to do, having just crawled out of a catastrophic love story, so I found myself a lift - because I did not drive yet at the time - and put on some decent, half-formal clothes, and went there. The plan was to get in, say hello and then get out and grab a pizza and talk about the old times. Not that I had much to talk about, really.
The goodbye party was one of those misty-eyed affairs that seem to come from a Hallmark movie - the new principal did a bit of a speech, then our teacher did her bit, playing tough as she used to do when we were children. It was so strange, to see her red hair turned to perfect white.
There were some drinks, strictly non-alcoholic, and it was by the drinks table that I met Bea again.

She was taller that I remembered, in part because of the platform pumps she was wearing, in part because of the big afro that formed an almost perfect ball of tight black curls around her head.  She was catching a lot of glances, wearing a faux snake-skin dress, green and blue pattern matching her shoes. The dress came half-way to her thighs, brushing the top of her hold-up fishnets. Her neckline plunged down to her pierced navel, hugging her nipples and revealing the perfect globes of her breasts. She was showing a lot of skin, and there was a smattering of green and blue glitter in her cleavage.
She greeted me in a high, breathy voice, and with a wink she pulled a silver flask from her small, pillbox-style bag, and spiked my cup of lemonade.
“Vodka,” she said.
She asked about my mom, and then lit a long white cigarette. Her lips were blue-green, and her fingernails were pained blue, except for the ring fingers, that were green.
While the party buzzed around us, she managed to single me out, and push me in a corner, by a tall potted plant. She started chattering, in that breathy voice of hers, about this and that, dropping its of gossip about our old schoolmates, and our teacher, and commenting on dresses, hair.
She had a pouty, dissipated expression, and seemed to be able to talk, drink and smoke at the same time without pausing for breath. Big chandelier earrings hung from her earlobes.
She stood very close to me, and I caught a whiff of her sweet perfume underneath the smoke.
Some of our older friends stropped by, said hello, did a little conversation. How’s it going, what are you doing, what are you going to do. Are you seeing someone? Have you heard about…? Are they still together?
And then, usually with a last glance at Bea’s cleavage, they drifted away.
I got two more drinks, orange fizz this time, and Bea again spiked them without asking. Then she was chattering again. She was shallow, silly, superficial. A perfect airhead, a total bimbo, and she seemed to enjoy every brainless moment of it.
“God, by I really hated you when we were kids,” she said, giving me a long look. She licked her lips. “Kids can be so stupid.”
I agreed we had not been the best of friends.
“But now we’re all grown up,” she said in a low hum, moving closer still. She cocked a hip, and pushed her shoulders together, and for a moment I expected her perfect spheric breasts to pop out of their snake-skin prison.  “Isn’t it great to be grown all up?”
I admitted it had its perks, and she broke in a high-pitched, garrulous giggle. “You were always so smart,” she said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I was never very intelligent. Clever, maybe, but not really smart.”
“Don’t—” I tried to say.
“But I have other qualities,” she winked. “Don’t you think so?”
I was saved by the arrival of our old teacher, that was doing the rounds shaking hands and sharing memories with all the kids. She asked us about our current projects, made a little small talk. Bea offered her a cigarette, and was delighted when our teacher accepted. “Just imagine, us sharing a smoke!”
People were starting to leave. I looked around, craning my neck, but could not see the people I had come with. So much for pizza and reminiscences.
“You need a lift?” Bea asked.
I looked around desperately.
“Come on, I’ve got my tin can outside, and we’re going the same way!”
I followed her outside, and she linked her arm in mine and drove me to an old apple-green VW Beetle cabriolet. “Jump in!” she said.
It was a lot later than I thought. The full moon hung in the dark sky, and the roads were deserted. We discussed briefly the best course to our neighborhood, but soon we were lost in the suburbs, rows of dark houses on both sides.
We stopped at a crossroads, the traffic light burning red.
We sat there for what felt like forever, the motor idling, some sax-heavy urban sound on the car radio. I was talking, telling Bea about my plans after school, my driving test in a week.
The traffic light turned green, but we did not move. Bea lit a cigarette, turned to me and leaned closer.
“Listen,” she said with a deep sigh, “why don’t we just find us a quiet place and have a nice long fuck?”
The traffic light was red again. There was no traffic on the crossroads. Her perfume was intoxicating. The glitter in her cleavage sparkled in the moonlight.
“Let’s find us a quiet place,” I said, my voice hoarse, “and let’s have a nice long fuck.”
She smiled happily. The light turned green again.
We drove for about a quarter of a mile, then we turned in a darkened side lane and parked underneath an old apple tree.
Bea turned off the engine and turned to look at me.
“Do you smoke?” she asked, offering her packet.
I shook my head.
“It doesn’t matter, I do.”
She knelt on the driver’s seat, her ample bottom brushing the steering wheel, and she slipped in the back. “Come,” she said.
I pushed my hands in her ample neckline, and grasped her tits. Her nipples were pierced.
“You’ve been watching them all night,” she giggled. We twisted, and she sat astride me. I pushed with my wrists and her dress slipped down her shoulders, releasing her boobs.
“They are beautiful,” I said.
She leaned in on me and pushed her tongue in my mouth. I tasted smoke, alcohol, the sweet strawberry of her tongue, the mint of her lips.
She grabbed my breast. “Yours feel very nice too,” she said, squeezing gently. She pulled her dress off and sat in my lap in stockings and a snake-skin thong, her big head of black curls obscuring the moon like an eclipse.
I turned, and rolled her on her back on the backseat. She laughed, and holding the cigarette between her green-blue lips, helped me out of my blouse.
“I want to suck them,” she said. “Are they pierced?”
 She pulled me closer and undid the clasp of my bra. I ran my tongue between her breasts, tasting the warm saltiness of her skin, the sting of the glitter.
Her hand slipped inside my pants, her cool fingers caressing my pussy.
I pushed against her hand, arching my back, shivering.
“You’re good at this!” she breathed.
I gasped. She laughed, and closed my mouth with hers, pouring smoke inside of me. “Do me!” she hissed in my ear, her cheek brushing against mine.
Hearts racing, we started to rub against each other, exploring our bodies with our fingers, our mouths, our tongues. She locked a leg around my back, and held me in place as she entered me with two fingers. I bit in her breast, the nipple ring clicking against my teeth. She screeched and laughed and tugged at my slacks. Her mouth found my right tit and she sucked on it, humming softly.
Later, panting like marathon racers, we held on to each other, and watched the few stars that managed to penetrate the haze from the suburbs.
“I never thought you’re a screamer,” she said.
She lit a cigarette, took a drag and passed it to me.
“What you did—” I said, taking a puff. “I had to scream.”
She giggled, and shifted in a better position. I handed her the cigarette back.
“So you’re into girls,” she said, smiling like a happy cat.
“Well, actually—”
She placed her finger on my lips.
“Easy. I’m also, like, totally bi.”
I took her finger in my mouth, and sucked on it. The taste was maddening.
“It’s good to be grown up,” I said.
She giggled. “By the way,” she said, turning slightly. Her boob pressed against my side. “There is a thing—”
“What?”I asked in a whisper.
“I’d really like to, you know, see you again. Like, keep fucking.”
“Yes, I imagined you did not want to make conversation,” I laughed. She handed me the cigarette once again.
“That’s the point,” she said. I imagined more than see her frowning. “I don’t love you, OK? And you do not love me.”
I exhaled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I don’t care, OK? And you shouldn’t. I am not interested in how was your day, or what hang-ups you had or your projects or your plans for the future. I’m not interested in conversation, and you aren’t either.”
“Well, actually—”
“I’d like to get you to try some of my clothes,” she said urgently. “I’d like you to do my make-up. Share cigarettes, go shopping. I know a wonderful salon, they could do marvels with your hair. But most of all I want to do you, and I want you to do me. We could get high and then shag. It would be glorious. But love? No, thank you.”
She was silent, and let the tip of her fingernails do the talking, running in tight circles around my aureole. Cars were running in the distance, their sound like far away waves. The moon was going down. We were laying half-naked in the back of a cabriolet. Sweat was evaporating from our skins, giving us goosebumps. Her fingers were deliciously teasing, my nipples so hard they hurt.
“What do you say?” she asked after a long moment.
I leaned closer and ran my tongue along her jawline, until I reached the earlobe.
She shuddered, and rubbed herself against my side.
“Feel like doing some blow and then fuck again?” she asked.
I bit in her earlobe. “Let’s.”