“If we weren’t in the middle of a pandemic,” the plumber said, her voice shaking, “I’d pull you into my arms and kiss you so hard… So. Hard.”
Freddie swallowed. “How hard?”
“So hard. Girl, I put an apostrophe fault in my business’s name. You think I’m good with words?”
Freddie laughed.
“But I am fucking good with my tongue. And fingers. Other things, too.”
Their hands danced around each other on the chocolate bar. The distance between them seemed to shrink.
“You could, um, you could be part of my COVID cohort,” Freddie said hoarsely. “You know? Part of my expanded bubble. And then…”
And then she was in Janet’s arms. And then on Janet’s floor. And then in Janet’s mouth. Tongues, lips, limbs entangled, they shed clothes inelegantly, impatiently.
Somewhere, a cat meowed. Then clawed at Freddie’s bare back.
It didn’t break the mood.
“Couch? Bed?” Janet asked.
“No time.” Freddie kissed her lips. Throat. Each clavicle. Each pierced nipple. Then moaned in pleasure as Janet responded, reciprocated—and demonstrated that she was good—very good—with her tongue. Fingers.
Other things too.
They must have made it to the bed eventually, because when she woke up, an eternity later, Janet found herself under a duvet and gloriously wrapped around Freddie—Drip and Suck standing at the gorgeous woman’s head.
Janet kissed an exposed cheek. Then, the brown lips.
“Good morning,” she said. Suddenly terrified.
“Good morning,” Freddie said. “Oh fuck. Oh hell.”
There it goes, Janet thought. She’s sorry. She’s going to run. She’s going to say ‘it was all a big mistake and sorry and—’
“I should have told Gio I was going to expand my bubble before actually expanding my bubble,” Freddie said. “You know? He works as a cook in a long-term care home. And he was already stressed enough when I got the Lowe’s job. Seriously, you should see the ‘come through the door’ hygiene routine we practice.”
Janet blinked. OK. Now would come the part when she’d say…
“He’s gonna probably scour me with bleach every time I come home,” Freddie said. And pressed tightly against Janet. Kissed her. “Each and every time.”
“Just to be clear,” Janet said, “there will be more times?”
“So many,” Freddie said. Kissed her. Janet disappeared into her kisses. Her hair.
Her dripping wet pussy.
“Don’t want you scoured in bleach,” she whispered when she came up for air.
“I’ll gladly bathe in bleach if that’s the price for orgasms like that.”
The cats meowed in disgust. And suddenly, Janet knew.
“You’re just going to have to stay here until the plague is over,” she said. “Well. I might let you go to work.”
“That U-Haul joke is not actually a joke, is it,” Freddie said, nestling more fully into Janet’s arms.
“Not when you meet the right one to U-Haul with,” Janet whispered into her ear. Over Freddie’s now-chewed shoulder and cloud of thick brown hair, she saw a message flash across the screen of her phone.
It was, of course, from Dark and Stormy. “You’re welcome. Having more sex. You?”
Janet grinned. Soaked herself, she decided to find out how Freddie felt about... edging.
About M. Jane Colette
M. Jane Colette writes tragedy for those who like to laugh, comedy for the melancholy, and erotica for lovers who like their fantasies real. She believes rules and hearts were made to be broken—ditto the constraints of genres. Her flirty-funny-occasionally filthy novels include Tell Me, Consequences (of defensive adultery), Cherry Pie Cure, Text Me, Cupid, and the Cupid in Monte Carlo trilogy. She’s also the curator of the YYC Queer Writers’ fabulous anthologies Screw Chocolate, Screw Chocolate 2, Queer Christmas in Cowtown, and A Queer Summer Night in Cowtown. Ask her to send you love letters at mjanecolette.com/loveletters, talk to her in pictures at @mjanecolette, or tell her your story at [email protected].
Cohen
Andréa Joy, Edits donated by Nikki Holt Sexton
Who knew downloading the latest social media app would lead to meeting the love of my life? — Cohen
Cohen
Prologue
Cohen — One Year Ago…
The home is quiet except for a random giggle coming from down the hall. After making sure the laundry room door is closed behind me, I go check on one of the four individuals at the care home I work at. I push open the already ajar door slowly and peek my head in, allowing the light from the hallway to illuminate the dark room. She’s still asleep, her back facing the door. As I pull on the door again to close it a smidge, I make a mental note to put the giggles in her charting so that the day staff is aware. It’s not unusual for C.B. to have laughing seizures at night, but thankfully that wasn’t what that was. We call all our individuals by their initials at the care home. More to protect their privacy than anything. If you had asked me four years ago if I could see myself working in a long-term care home, I would’ve said no.
I was one of those weird ones who actually wanted an office job. I wanted to get dressed up every morning to go into the office, plunk my butt in a chair, and not move until it was lunch time, or I needed another coffee. It’s not that I’m allergic to physical exercise… well, not much. It’s just that I prefer the routine of having an office job. I love my job at the care home, though, and working graveyards means that I get to work by myself for six out of the eight hours of my shift. It also means I get to scroll through this new social media app I just downloaded after I’ve done all the night chores and checked on the individuals.
I grab a throw pillow from the back of the loveseat in the living room, hug it to my stomach, and fold my legs under me as I tap the app icon with my thumb. Immediately, a video of a husband and wife pop up and I grin. I love these two. He’s like a big kid and she just rolls her eyes at him. A couple weeks ago, he uploaded a video of their entire kitchen filled with every shape and size of rubber duckies. And I mean filled, like, the floor and every available surface was covered.
After scrolling through the accounts I follow first, I hit the button for the For You page and start mindlessly scrolling through several videos. A lot of these I’ve already seen done. I wish people would get more creative with their content, but I get it. It’s hard putting yourself out there without having to create something original as well. When I get to another one of those transition videos, I almost scroll past it, but I don’t because well…he’s hot as fuck. He has that whole Henry Cavill thing going on. When the transition happens, he goes from grey sweatpants and a navy hoodie to looking like The Witcher. He looks almost identical.
I watch the video a couple more times just because I can and then because I figure he put the effort in, I click on the conversation bubble and leave a comment as well as a like. Not knowing that it would be the thing that changes my life.