Lonely Housewife

Kendra James moves through her empty house like someone who is constantly waiting for anything to happen. Her husband is gone before dawn each day and her son is always out with friends. The street outside sits quiet and she finds herself wandering from room to room with nothing to fill her hands. When Chanel Preston and Dana DeArmond step out of the moving truck next door, something finally shifts. They look almost like sisters, soft cheeks and dark hair, laughing as they carry boxes inside. Kendra feels the old urge to be useful, to be wanted. She mixes dough, slides cookies onto a tray and marches next door with something hopeful on her face. Nobody answers the front door. She slips around back, the tray still warm, and stops short at the sliding glass. The two women are on the couch, legs tangled, mouths sliding over each other with the kind of hunger that leaves nothing to the imagination. Chanel’s hand cups Dana’s breast through her thin shirt while Dana’s fingers work between her wife’s thighs in slow, knowing strokes. The tray tilts. The soft thud of cookies on concrete catches their attention. Suddenly two pairs of dark eyes pin Kendra where she stands. She expects anger, embarrassment, excuses. Instead, Chanel smiles—lazy, open-mouthed. Dana’s hand never stops moving. “Come in,” Chanel calls through the glass. “You might as well meet us properly.” Kendra steps inside on shaky legs. Names are exchanged. Apologies are waved away. The two women stand, loose-limbed and flushed, and circle her like a gift they are in no hurry to unwrap. They touch her shoulders, her waist, her jaw. They notice the hunger she no longer bothers to hide. Clothes come off in pieces. Chanel’s tongue traces Kendra’s earlobe while Dana’s palm slides under her skirt, fingers pressing hot and certain against the cotton between her legs. Kendra’s hips tilt before she even thinks about it. She parts her thighs wider. Dana’s middle finger sinks into her first, slow and deep, curling until Kendra’s breath breaks in half. Chanel’s mouth closes over a nipple, sucking gently, then harder, each pull echoed by the wet sounds below. They take turns. Dana on her knees, licking steadily while Chanel holds Kendra’s wrists behind her back. Chanel stretched on her back, Kendra on top, Dana behind her pushing two fingers inside as Kendra rides Chanel’s tongue. Sweat slicks their skin. Their hands never still. Kendra forgets the empty rooms and the quiet street, every sound she makes swallowed by their kisses. When she comes it rushes up from her toes and bursts like heat behind her eyes, loud and shaking. Afterward they lie close, limbs loose, trading slow touches while dusk turns the ceiling blue. For the first time in years Kendra breathes without the weight of loneliness pressing on her chest.