against you, for instance your pot smoking. It's against the law and why should he risk trouble, losing his job or jail or what not?'
'Because I like smoking grass!' Myra shrilled. Her cheeks reddened with anger but shortly her foot eased on the accelerator, as though the outburst had eased her tension.
She slowed the car and scooped up her skirt.
Surprised, Kit saw a pink streak near her panty waistband. Myra dug in for it, drew out a skinny grass cigarette and handed it to Kit.
'Light it for me, will you?'
Kit took a pack of matches from the dashboard, bent down below the whipping air currents and lit up. She guessed a car was the safest place for smoking the stuff. If a cop car showed, the roach could always be flipped out the window.
She took a deep drag before handing it to Myra, held it bottled up deep inside her, hoping she would again get the movie-camera effect and turn colors inside out the, way she had the abstract paintings at Myra's house. She had no interest in renewing their lesbian play. She simply felt so good that she wanted to try out the psychedelic color effects again.
By the time they had smoked half of the stick, she had it. Trees along the highway, drab, dusty things, were Technicolor to kelly green. Wind stripped clouds miles above turned pastel, gorgeous dusty-blue and baby-pink, lowered until she could touch them. She was in marvelous shape when Myra at last threw away the roach. Slouched in the seat, an arm out the window, legs spraddled, breezes cooling her, Kit lost all sense of time and space as she gazed at the magically transformed world about her.
Myra said, 'That beautiful pussy of yours! Move over here. Let me pet it as I drive.'
Kit realized that her skirt had blown up. She gazed down at her crotch. Her muff was pure spun copper and drawn gold, shadowed with green and mahogany, colors that had never naturally adorned any twat unless seen through the kaleidoscope lenses of pot and hash.
She spread her legs wider and slid a hand over her thigh, caressing the silky tangles of pubic hair, saying, 'I'll do it myself, Myra. I like to.'
'You gorgeous piece, you're teasing me, you mouth-watering bitch!'
'No. I'm through with girlie stuff.' 'You have something new?'
Kit nodded.
'Who is he?'
'Santa Claus.' Kit forked her index and middle finger on her pussy lips and slowly rolled them, as she had been doing before Myra arrived at the house. Quickly her clit stood up into the oily friction.
She ignored Myra, gazed at the Technicolor landscape and toyed with her cunt, not rising to orgasm, just simmering happily along, as the car raced over the milky white ribbon of highway, sweeping over hills and careening into the valleys beyond.
Myra at last wheeled the car into the parking lot of a fake log-cabin roadhouse.
Kit straightened, adjusting her skirt and using a big white comb on the dashboard to arrange her hair.
'Where are we?'
'You'll see.
They got out and Myra led her to the door of the place, which was marked, 'Mona's Grill'. Drawn curtains hid the view through the windows. But inside she got it instantly.
The joint was all female, two or three dozen woman customers, not a manin sight.
At the bar they were waited on by a butch-dyke wearing a shirt and black shoelace tie and a red vest. She was built like a fire hydrant.
'Myra!' she called. 'Sweetie! Give me a kiss, baby.'
Myra leaned over the bar and kissed her full on the mouth.
So that was how this place was, Kit thought, climbing onto the barstool, smiling politely when introduced to Mona herself, the bartender and proprietor, but not offering a kiss. Myra ordered drinks and stood beside Kit, man- style, an arm about her.
Soft music was playing. A few couples danced. In darkish booths around the walls, women in pairs sat close together, whispering in each other's ears, caressing, occasionally kissing.
Kit had never been in a lesbian place before. It was amusing and her turned-on state fitted the languorous female movements. She guessed that if a man strode brusquely in she would be startled.
They sipped their drinks in silence. Myra seemed to have drawn into herself, frowning, a muscle quirking in her jaw. Thinking of Don? Well, if she were basically lesbian, her marriage to him was pretty impossible.
Abruptly she asked, 'Kit, do you want to dance?'
'With you?' Kit giggled.
'What's the matter with me? Why do you hate me all of a sudden?'
'Myra, don't get paranoid. I meant, it seems funny to dance with a woman. I haven't since I was about twelve and we girls did it to learn the steps.'
'Please?'
Kit shrugged. She finished her drink and slipped off the barstool and let Myra take her to the meager space between tables and booths where others were dancing to syrupy-slow music. There Myra took the male role, right arm about Kit, left hand holding hers. They drifted together and Myra stepped into the music.
Kit's forehead touched the taller girl's cheek. They swayed and Myra's arm drew her close. She let herself curve against the other and soon found it pleasant. The drinks and pot had helped, of course. She slid her hand from Myra's shoulder up to her neck and caressed the nape under the flow of blonde hair.
They moved like that until the music ended. They waited in close, comfortable embrace for the next piece.
Myra whispered, 'You do like me, don't you, Kit?'
She nodded, rubbing her cheek against the other girl's. 'But don't expect a big involvement, Myra. It's pleasant. That's all. I have another life to live, complicated enough to suit me. Okay?'
Myra did not answer. Apparently she could not be that casual about it.
As the music started she asked, 'Could we get rid of your bra? It makes your titties feel wrong, hard.'
'You unfasten it.'
Myra pinched the hooks free and it was a great deal pleasanter, their soft breasts rolling over each other. Kit's bra worked down and soon only dress material separated the raking points of their nipples. By then both of Kit's arms were twined about Myra's neck and she felt the pressure of a thigh against her pussy. Myra nuzzled her cheek, begging a kiss, and Kit turned, licking the girl's creamy lips, felt that sweet lesbian fluttering of lips and curling tongue tips.
They drew apart as the music ended. Kit sighed deeply, stood caressing the other's backside.
A girl appeared between them. Dark curls fitted closely as a cap about a pretty, sun-browned face. Violet eyes beamed at Kit. The newcomer was slender but plump breasts showed through a very thin blouse the color of her eyes.
She said, 'Myra, introduce me to your yummy friend.'
Myra looked daggers at her. But she said, 'Kit, this is Grace.
Kit felt the girl's hand slide warmly up her arm. Her smile was brilliant.
She said, 'Kit. The name fits you. Darling, could I-have a dance?.'
'No!' Myra snapped.
Grace turned silkily to her. 'Darling, don't be so wretchedly possessive. Besides, I have a stash of those little pink sticks you love so dearly.'
Myra let the girl turn Kit away when the music started.
Kit soon found this was something else. Grace seemed to embrace her without touching, danced like a feather, flowed in and fitted to her as snugly as the clinging dress she was wearing.
As they drifted she thought of milkweed fluff blown on the wind. She closed her eyes and let herself go. Her hands were on Grace's shoulders, the girl's on her hips. Kit did not know who led and who followed. Damp, lips brushed her cheek. She turned, cupped her mouth on the other's and lost herself in a wobbly flow of honeyed lips and waving tongue tips. The kiss seemed natural, the thing to do. Shortly Grace's hands oozed up her body and caressed her tits. That too was expected, and welcome, silken strokings that raised her nipples to hard, throbbing
