Chapter Text
Mary Jo hadn’t been with a lot of women in the past, but she could tell when one was using her. Specifically to experiment with her.
Of course, there was that time in college that made the signs clear to spot: a classmate named Violet, whom she hooked up with after sketching her for an art class. Thankfully, it wasn’t nearly as emotionally damaging as you’d expect. Violet was a sweet girl who just wanted to see if she liked women sexually; that’s partially what college was for— to find yourself. Afterwards, she apologized and informed her that she figured out she was straight and that Mary Jo had actually confirmed her bisexuality for herself.
That whole confirmation opened up the can of worms she’d been ignoring since her teens: her same-sex attraction and what it had to do with God. It would take a while to tie down her immense guilt and reduce the sleepless nights spent worrying about her fate. It took a while to fix her mindset. Luckily, she rarely has guilt nowadays. That guilt had been replaced with pure rage: for her homophobic pastors, her homophobic peers, and anyone who dared to discriminate against queers of any kind.
Violet wanted to stay friends afterwards, and they did. It was those kinds of relationships, ones filled with acceptance and care, that taught Mary Jo to love herself for who she was.
So because she’d encountered a fair amount, she usually knew when women wanted to soothe their bi-curiosities and whatnot with her. Atlanta, although one of the safer places in the South for queer people, didn’t exactly compare to San Francisco or New York City’s scene. When a polite, consenting woman would come on to her, she’d seize the opportunity.
She just never would’ve guessed that Suzanne Sugarbaker would be one of those women.
In some aspects, it tracked. Suzanne had her good moments, but on most days, she was about a football field away from being an empathetic person. It was understandable she would want to use Mary Jo for her own gain, and it probably (definitely) wouldn’t be the first time.
And regarding her sexuality, it also tracked if you thought real hard about it. At times, the woman would show a great lack of attraction to and even a repulsion for men. She showed interest in dating them but somehow always failed to convey romantic feelings. (Although that figures, considering nine out of ten times they were 150 years old.) Hell, there was even her obsession with her fellow pageant contestants. In the many anecdotes about her fellow beauty queens, sometimes Mary Jo had to observe that she fixated on these women so much that it crossed the line of just jealousy. If you looked a little closer at her, it wasn’t all that shocking.
No, the thing that actually shocked Mary Jo was that she’d let Suzanne experiment with her.
But it made her more ashamed, if anything. All this time, she had thought she was better than to stoop to Suzanne’s level. Sure, she was one of Mary Jo’s closest friends, and yes, she loved her, but man, did she also dislike her sometimes. It wasn’t hard to, considering her blatant disregard for others and countless ego-driven actions that lead to conflict. That got on her nerves every damn time, because seriously, what was the point? With the amount of audacity Suzanne had, at that point, it was admirable.
To have sex with Suzanne Sugarbaker: would that be me stooping to her level or Suzanne rising to mine? She wondered, flipping through a furniture magazine that was absolutely getting read.
Mary Jo set it down, plopping it onto the coffee table; there was no use. She was too distracted to read, driving herself up a wall with things to worry about: those things being what she was going to say to Julia when her all-seeing eyes catch onto the fact that she and Suzanne are acting suspicious, and what she would do when Charlene’s unmalicious prying eventually sways her into spilling the beans, because realistically, there’s zero chance of subduing her curiosity until she knows everything. At least she could rely on Anthony to not make a fuss.
She was sitting next to the space where it all went down. To her left, her florally throw pillows laid staring back at her. They were still wrinkled and pushed up against the armrest, left untouched since Suzanne’s damn visit.
Mary Jo couldn’t stop thinking about it. For a good six hours, her mind had been a broken record, replaying the events over and over and over.
And fuck, no matter how hard she tried, she especially couldn’t shake the ungodly image that was Suzanne Sugarbaker having an orgasm.
Earlier that day, Suzanne had come over unannounced. Claudia and Quinton were at Ted’s for the weekend, so Mary Jo had some time to herself to catch up on some sketches for clients and relax a bit.
It was the afternoon when Suzanne showed up at her doorstep, dolled up in a summery blue blouse with perfect hair and makeup. Like always, Mary Jo felt underdressed around her, sporting a worn-out shirt and pinstriped pajama pants, not to mention the only makeup on her face being the residue mascara that refused to wash off the night before. Just maybe if the woman called beforehand…
Suzanne’s regal, flawless image clashed with the plastic garment bags she was barely balancing in her arms. She spoke fast and breathlessly as she came inside, telling Mary Jo that she has a dinner date on Monday and needs help picking out a dress to wear.
“This seems like an Anthony thing.”
“He’s busy with Bernice today.” Suzanne huffed as she ungracefully threw the bags onto the carpet. Mary Jo’s eyes widened as she counted at least seven bags. Suzanne was already shuffling through them, telling the other woman to sit down.
“Oh, why not?” She said after a moment of consideration, as if she had a choice to assist her in the first place. But whatever, she had nothing better to do except work anyway. So with that, Suzanne immediately went into the bathroom to change, while Mary Jo waited on the couch. When she came out, suddenly her bright red lipstick popped. A dark green bandage dress with short sleeves clung to her body breathtakingly, outlining everything from her love handles to her thighs. Oh yeah, and the sweetheart neckline dipped lower than the ocean’s floor, Mary Jo noted. She cooled her reddening face with a hand held over her mouth. Trust her, she was trying her very best not to stare.
“Suzanne, that dress is stunning, but is it meant to look like you were vacuum-sealed?”
“Seriously, Mary Jo?” She half-heartedly rolled her eyes, smoothing the fabric down. It’s not a bad look, she wanted to clarify before noticing something off. Suzanne was noticeably fidgety. It seemed like she couldn’t pick between resting her hands on her hips or fluffing her already styled hair. Today, it was styled it into a classic bob, just like Marilyn Monroe’s.
“Can I just ask what the theme for this date is? Are you going to a place where the most overdressed person gets a free appetizer?” She tried cracking a bad joke to ease the rising tension, or at least the tension she could feel.
“Um, I’m not sure, probably formal. I just want your opinion on how good they look.”
“Fine, fine, let’s see another one.”
Once more, she went down the hall to the bathroom after grabbing another garment bag. In a matter of minutes, she came out in a long, flowing fuchsia gown, still adjusting the silky material to cover her bra straps. Three-quarter sleeves fell elegantly on her arms, and the neckline remained low but hung loosely and comfortably. It was perfect on her in every way, but Mary Jo didn’t exactly want to say that. She didn’t want to shower her with compliments, especially when they could be taken the wrong way, so she went for some humor again. What was the harm in having some fun and riling the woman up a bit?
“Wow, I’m speechless! This one is just dazzling, Suzanne. Where are you getting these, by the way? I need to get in on these… Well, I don’t wanna say hooker dresses, but—”
“Mary Jo! What about this gown is saying hooker to you? It’s tasteful.”
“Oh, it’s tasteful, or it costs 800 dollars? It’s just, these dresses look like they were specifically designed to make you look…” like a whore, her socially-ingrained misogyny filled in before settling for a nicer word, “arousing.”
Suzanne folded her arms.
“Well, is it working?”
Mary Jo’s jaw dropped at the unusual question. At first, she couldn’t place the tone of her voice, her intentions.
“Ohh,” she realized, “are you trying to seduce someone at this dinner?” Mary Jo teased with a flustered, smug smile.
Turning away, Suzanne muttered something under her breath that Mary Jo couldn’t quite make out. Then she sighed all dramatically, the way she always did when stressed out. This must be important to her, Mary Jo collected.
“You can try out the other ones if you want.”
“If you think I look like a hooker in this, does that mean you’d hook up with me?” She asked hesitantly, putting her hands on her hips in an impatient stance. Something about the way her face scrunched with tension, anxiously chewing the inside of her cheek, made Mary Jo feel all the same.
What is this? Is she actually putting the moves on me? Where’s her usual spiteful lines and haughty faces? Obviously, Suzanne was acting abnormal, but Mary Jo couldn’t place her finger on the cause. She didn’t know whether or not to meet Suzanne’s eyes as she silently contemplated. After a moment, it came to her. At last, Mary Jo made eye contact.
“Suzanne, is this about your body image? You already know that it’s—”
“No, surprisingly, it’s not. Gosh, I just...”
As she let out a breath, her entire body changed. Suzanne’s body language relaxed, her ocean eyes darkening as they locked onto Mary Jo.
“Do you find me… sexually attractive?” She asked lowly in her exaggerated southern accent. For a second, she made the living room her runway (not an exaggeration, weirdly) and ambled to the coffee table, elegantly bending over it with two hands flat on the surface. The stance hotly pushed her breasts together, her loose-hanging neckline leaving nothing to the imagination anymore.
Maybe the sight would’ve made Mary Jo squirm and overheat less if Suzanne didn’t glare at her through her perfect eyelashes like that, all the while inching toward her like a cat woman cornering her prey.
Oh, okay, this is happening.
When Suzanne first asked that question, if she found her attractive, Mary Jo’s initial thought was that she’d never not found her attractive. It was difficult not to, but it was also something she could easily ignore. For example, when Suzanne came to work with her chest threatening to spill out of her top and her skirt hugging her body so fucking flawlessly, Mary Jo would never ogle. Of course she didn’t when she knew what it was like to be harassed and gawked at. Even so, she was just respectful like that. Well, more or less, if you count the occasional jealous—was jealous the right word?—comment about her bust size.
Long story short, just because she technically did find her hot, sexy, whatever, it did not mean she was about to risk it all for whatever Suzanne’s angle was because she was being all provocative. She needed an explanation.
“I’m so confused here, Suzanne,” was all she settled for. It was all she could manage as her ears and neck burned hot.
Suzanne’s act dissolved as her sharp, seductive expression changed to one of pain and distress. She plopped down onto the brown coffee table with a cry, starting to massage her temples. If she moved an inch or two to the left, their legs would bump into each other.
“Mary Jo, this is terrible. I have no idea what I’m doing.” She mumbled, stress seeping through her words.
“Maybe try explaining?” Mary Jo asked softly. She leaned forward, still a little flustered but willing to listen.
It took a bit of time for Suzanne to speak up. All Mary Jo could do was just breathe with her and be patient, something she could do effortlessly thanks to her motherhood. After a moment, she shifted and spoke up.
“I overheard you and Charlene…”
She cleared her throat, eyes to the floor.
“…talking about your ex-girlfriend.”
Mary Jo’s jaw tightened as the realization hit her like a single bullet through the chest.
“Oh.”
A few days ago, an ex girlfriend of hers called the firm, half for decorating advice and half to catch up. Charlene had gotten the call and immediately knew who it was (what else would you expect from the woman who was friends with everybody?), so she spoke the words into the air, “Mary Jo, your sweet ex-girlfriend Tracy’s on the line.” Suzanne must’ve been in the storage room or upstairs, completely unbeknownst to them. She hadn’t noticed.
“Guess that cat’s out of the bag.” Mary Jo deadpanned, turning her head to meet the other woman’s nervous gaze.
“What’s it to you, Suzanne? You suddenly want a piece of this just ‘cause you know you can?” She gritted out, trying to keep her eyebrows relaxed. If she didn’t, she’d get those rage-induced crazy eyes. Getting those on a weekend of all days wasn’t worth it.
“Listen to me, alright? I’m not done.” Taking a breath, Suzanne started to explain. At this point, her mouth seemed to go a mile a minute.
“I’ve been hanging out with Eugenia’s friends lately. At first, I wasn’t sure about it, but I don’t know. It’s been really nice. It feels right when I’m with them. And they’ve been informing me about… I don’t know. The other day, Bonnie said this joke, something like that waitress is dryer than my… sex drive for men, and I said something about how I relate to that. Apparently, that’s not all that normal, and I should reevaluate my entire life. They started asking questions like, what about for women? And…”
“You’ve never been with a woman?”
“Of course I haven’t, Mary Jo. For crying out loud.” She gritted her teeth, sounding offended, but she always did when she was out of her comfort zone. Mary Jo’s eyebrows furrowed with concern.
“Suzanne, it’s… disrespectful for your friends to pry about your sex life like that, don’t you think?”
“Please, I’ve come across people worse than that.”
“So you did that whole… routine just now because…?”
Nervousness crept back into her body language, bringing a furious red to her cheeks and an uneasy frown to her face.
“I knew you liked women somehow, so… I thought maybe I could…”
It was just as she suspected. You could never be too sure with Suzanne, but now, nothing seemed more obvious.
“You thought you could seduce me? To see for yourself.”
“See, Mary Jo, this is just awful.” She wailed, hiding her face with both hands.
“I feel bad because you never even told me yourself. I just didn’t want to go out looking for a total stranger. It’s too risky.” For her social status, Mary Jo guessed.
Why did I have to be the one she went to? What about her new Sisters in Sappho girlfriends? Mary Jo breathed in and attempted to emulate her best mom voice, AKA her Quint is having a temper tantrum and I need him calm voice, hoping it would calm her down just the same.
“There’s a reason why I never told you. But if I knew you’d be so accepting, I would’ve done it sooner. I just already knew what your stance on bisexuals was, so there was no need to have a repeat of Eugenia.”
Her face hardened as she remembered that whole incident. Sure, it was hilarious at first, but she couldn’t exactly ignore the pangs of hurt she got as Suzanne treated lesbians like they were some kind of revolting, otherworldly species.
“Me and Eugenia are on good terms now! I thought you knew that.”
“How was I supposed to know that before today?!” Mary Jo was stunned. She chuckled, humorless, before treading into the kitchen. There was no real reason to, but she needed to get up and move.
“Where’re you—”
Suzanne jumped up and followed suit. Mary Jo felt fingertips grazing her arm, like she reached out to catch her wrist and backed out at the last second. The contact made her stop and turn around. She was met with desperate eyes peering down into hers.
Their faces were close, so much so that she could see Suzanne’s pupils dilating and how the ring around them looked more gray than blue today. She could see the rise and fall of Suzanne’s shoulders and hear the puffs of air through her nostrils. All the while, Suzanne, stubborn as ever, made no move to back away. Mary Jo wasn’t sure if her racing heart was due to anger anymore.
At that point, it was getting dangerous. She diverted her eyes to the ground, backed up, and managed a gulp of air before speaking.
“Suzanne, if you came here for sex, you could’ve just asked. But I appreciate the sentiment, I really do.”
“So, if I had just asked…”
“You’re actually serious?”
Suzanne looked anxious, but not unsure. She was still chewing on her cherry lips, but now something else was in her eyes. It was clear that Suzanne did want to. It made Mary Jo twitch in her years-old underwear and pinstripe fucking pajama pants.
“You really— like this?”
She nodded, not-so-subtly giving Mary Jo a once-over, something akin to a smile on her face.
“I don’t care about what you look like. I don’t care where it is, either; I just need it over with.”
It’s like having sex is like a chore to her. She doesn’t have to do this. But she wants to? This is so bizarre.
“You know that you can ditch this. You can leave, and I won’t ever mention this again.” Her voice slightly shook.
“Right now, I really do think this is my best option. I just wanna know… I wanna know what it’s like. I doubt I’m a… lesbian, but I really have no idea how to decipher my feelings. I just need some help.” Suzanne whispered, so genuine, with pure vulnerability, something Mary Jo hadn’t seen from her in a long time.
The way she’d approached Mary Jo with this proposition was baffling, invasive, self-serving, and all-around fucking stupid. Did she not expect this to flip her whole world on its head? It read as Suzanne not thinking it all the way through. So at least that part was pretty on-brand.
Mary Jo didn’t like change. But for some reason, rather than hell no, her brain was leaning towards why the hell not?
Maybe it was the vulnerability. She’d been truthful and transparent about her purpose, and all she wanted was help from a friend. After all, friends help friends out. (Or maybe it was just that Suzanne was fucking hot.)
“You don’t think this is a bad idea?” Mary Jo squinted as she looked into her achingly blue eyes.
“I think… thinking’s overrated.” Suzanne smirked as she traced a line on her arm. Mary Jo’s mouth went dry.
“You would think that, huh?” She tilted her head, her eyes softening.
“Mary Jo, what do you say? You’ll do this little favor for me?”
The line was so unnatural coming out of her mouth, but somehow, with an awkward yet sultry collapse on the couch, it happened, and how it happened fast. Too fast, with Mary Jo on her knees and her head between Suzanne’s legs, the skirt of her fuchsia dress lifted up and draped on the cushions.
Mary Jo stroked her over her pantyhose, varying between speeds all the while caressing her inner thigh. Insanely enough, after only a couple minutes, Suzanne groaned and voluntarily ripped a hole in them. Mary Jo knew how to tease, but she didn’t think it would affect her that easily.
“Go faster,” she panted, voice unsteady and shaky, almost like she was scared. Instead, Mary Jo moved Suzanne’s black lace panties to the side to reveal her vulva. Beautiful dark hair surrounded it and peaked out from the top. God, she’s gorgeous, she thought as her stomach fluttered. She eyed the damp, shiny spot on the inside of them before getting ready to ease a few fingers into her.
Mary Jo was about to suck them when an opportunity presented itself.
“I bet you’d be good at this.”
Mary Jo expected her to cringe at the very least, but there was only hesitation when she presented three fingers to her red lips, eager and tingling with adrenaline. Her eyebrows scrunched, no doubt thinking too hard about it.
“I’ll show you how good I am.” Suzanne suddenly hissed, her competitive nature jumping out at last. She grabbed her wrist and engulfed her fingers, slowly and sinfully sucking, her teeth lightly dragging across. Mary Jo felt every inch of Suzanne’s warm tongue as it thoroughly swirled, wetting and warming her fingers.
And, of course, she held eye contact the whole time.
That was the final push that knocked Mary Jo over the edge. It felt like something had ignited inside her. Suddenly, the warmth in her fingers spread all throughout her body. Blood rushed up to her face and below to the desperate, pulsating region that begged for just a sliver of stimulation—anything. But the visuals were enough, and oh, the noises and feel of Suzanne’s saliva glossing her fingers—they worked just fine.
Without any words exchanged, Mary Jo pulled on her underwear and slid them down, Suzanne lifting up her hips. Afterward, there was nothing in her head except give it your all to make her come, gently rubbing her clit while pumping in and out, cranking up the speed with every minute. After a few minutes flew by, Mary Jo made sure to go deeper as she soaked up every moan, every whimper, every expression. Suzanne was gripping some of her dress’s fabric as her hips jerked and thrusted down onto her something fierce. She spewed cuss words as she neared the edge, mouth agape, back arching, neck craning up as she let her body fall back into the couch—
It’s over way too soon, Mary Jo shamefully thought as she made Suzanne come. Gutturally, she cried out (the sound so good that Mary Jo thought she could’ve come from it alone) as Suzanne’s walls tightened and throbbed around Mary Jo’s fingers. Dear God, she was throbbing too.
Then she slid them out, and their bodies both sagged, catching their breath and coming down from the high in unison. It was overwhelming in the best way possible; that or Mary Jo was just stoked to have sex as the dominant role again.
She just didn’t expect that after it was done, the first thing Suzanne would do was go for the door.
She laid on the couch, still dazed and undone, for a moment before something violently broke her out of her post-coital trance. “Shit, I have to go.” She pulled up her underwear and stood up too quickly, almost losing her footing on her high heels.
“Oh, um, alright.”
Suzanne gathered the dresses like she was in a race. Maybe she was running on a tight schedule?
“I can’t be a lesbian.” Mary Jo heard her say under frantic breaths, somehow carrying all the garment bags in one arm and opening the door. You’d expect she’d at least say goodbye on her way out, and yet.
With a slam, Mary Jo was alone again, sitting on the carpet, her fingers still slick with Suzanne.
Her stomach churned as the intense desire she felt there was replaced with something else. Shame, maybe. Shame and dread? That seemed right.
Mary Jo groaned. It hurt, yeah, but she signed up for it. Maybe it would turn out to be a Violet situation. Suzanne would get the answer she was looking for, and that would be it.
It was a depressing walk up the stairs to her bedroom. In the bottom drawer of her nightstand awaited a toy, half charged and guaranteed not to kick her to the curb.
Being a beauty queen since her youth, Suzanne was wired to hate her female peers from a young age. She was trained to be jealous and compare herself to them, all so she could pick out her own flaws and eradicate them. Resentment, sabotage, gossip, you name it—it was anything to make herself ‘better’ for the pageant, anything to be a worthy contender for Miss Atlanta Arboretum, or whatever the silly title was for that year.
In turn, it strained her relationship with women in general. Women—or rather close friendships with them—were like blazing, open flames, while Suzanne was a timid, unacting pyromaniac; she’d seen the fires before all around her in fireplaces, stoves, and lighters, always longing to ignite one. She yearned to get closer to the flame but was too scared of the burn that would come after, scorching pain that would only register when it was too late.
To Suzanne, it was second nature to not seriously befriend women she met. She would never let herself get too close. It was never a problem, and she justified it well: she was scared of somehow managing to make them jealous or damaging their self-esteem, making them turn on her.
But after yesterday, Suzanne was stumped: were those the only reasons?
Was she scared they would… turn her on instead?
Okay, no, stop. Obviously, that wasn’t it. Her most recent friends, Eugenia, Lily, Bonnie, and Karen were a great bunch that she felt comfortable with.
Well, more or less. But there was a different reason for that.
She’d met the three other women at that broadcaster’s dinner event. Surprisingly, they hit it off, so they all went out to the Pink Giraffe that next weekend. Initially, Suzanne was not in the slightest willing to go, but Eugenia eventually swayed her into it.
Then came that joke. About relating to not really desiring men, she meant that entirely.
That didn’t mean she didn’t regret saying it.
“Well, what about for women?” Karen asked before she felt her face and ears burn up with the heat of a damn curling iron on high. Nerves made her throat kind of close up and refuse to get a word out, so she just channeled her pageant days and did the best fake-laugh she could utter.
“Maybe my radar was wrong, Suzanne.” Eugenia said, all smug with a knowing smile, as if she actually knows anything about me. Bonnie and Karen snickered like some stereotypical high school mean girls straight out of a movie.
If Lily weren’t there, she most certainly would’ve blown up on the uncouth, inconsiderate dogs. They don’t know diddly squat. What gives them the right to act like they know me better than I know my own damn self? I oughta ask Consuela to make some more voodoo dolls for these—
“Hey, you don’t need sex to be in love. Suzanne, you’ve been married, right?” Lily, the oldest, most refined, and seriously the nicest of the group, asked as she placed a consoling hand on her forearm. Golden earrings poked through her long, silky jet-black hair.
“More times than I can count.” She forced a smile, shrugging less subtly than she aimed for.
“See?” The woman gave her a dainty little pat on the wrist before taking a sip of her mocktail, heavenly perfume flitting around her.
So, that’s it. I’ve been married to a shitload of men. Of course I’m straight. Suzanne thought as she tried to ignore the tingling skin left from Lily’s touch.
And that should’ve been it, but no, her mind had to run with the idea that maybe, just maybe she wasn’t.
It got her thinking, something she’s been doing way too much of recently. And true, she firmly believed that thinking was overrated.
And yet:
Marriage doesn’t always mean love. I was in it for the money almost every time.
And maybe there were times I was in it for pleasure, but it was never for deep, passionate, true love.
And I have to ask what lipstick Lily was wearing. The shade was chosen with such care; it looks like it was made for her. Her hair, too; I wonder if she styles her hair herself or if she gets it done. If so, maybe we could go get it done together.
And I wonder if she has a preference for younger women or if that’s just who she hangs out with. Maybe I could be just her type.
And maybe I could be like Eugenia.
God damn it, just stop thinking about this, she chanted in her head on the drive back home from the Pink fucking Giraffe. Frankly, the topic was growing into a monster, like some kind of lesbian Godzilla. It had invaded the city that was her peaceful, stable-ish mind, and its thrashing was giving her a migraine.
Eventually, it drove her mad because it led her to justify the ever-so-brilliant plan that was the Seduction of Mary Jo Shively.
After that train wreck, Suzanne drove home, dumbly sitting in her torn pantyhose as all her life’s meaningless moments with men turned meaningful.
Still breathing unsteadily, she turned them over and over again, comparing them with the moments she had with other women. There was that one time her best friend from junior high held her hand and made her heart dance in her chest (they haven’t talked in decades), or those times when she and her fellow pageant contestants had to change in front of each other and she’d feel perverted for the shortest, accidental glimpse at a girl’s body.
And more recently, there was Lily and her delicate way of speaking, how she did her makeup, how she presented and carried herself, and how she’d make Suzanne feel when she showed the littlest bit of interest in her.
The endless thoughts only progressed after coming home; she couldn’t even focus on what they were saying on the news, and most certainly not on Eugenia’s weather report.
“Let’s watch the map in motion.” Eugenia gestured on the screen. She turned the TV off.
Suzanne had spent the whole rest of her day doing a whole lotta’ nothing but sit around in her head, and as much as she wanted to, she didn’t have the gall to get wine-drunk. So, that night, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing when she decided to touch herself.
First, she laid on her back and rubbed her clit back and forth through her underwear. Closing her eyes, she gave attraction to men one last try, imagining her favorite ex-husband, Dash Goff, pleasing her with his fingers and his deep, gritty voice. Unlike her other exes, she didn’t need to be tipsy on wine to do anything with him, and she actually cared about him a decent amount.
“Shit, you’re so wet, like a goddamn geyser. Am I turning you on?” He spoke, unenthusiastic, glasses thrown to the end of the bed. Dash was never that good; he would always apply too much pressure to her clit too early, but it was pressure nonetheless. God, his and Jack’s hands were so rough and fumbly. That is, when they were actually trying to pleasure me. Key word: trying.
Nothing was working to arouse her, until.
“You’re a bad girl, you know that?”
Dash’s deep voice turned into a much higher, needier one, a southern twang ringing out with it.
“Oh, you’ve been so bad. I think you need Mommy to teach you a lesson.”
Dirty blonde had warped into shades of red, and tired, droopy eyes suddenly were filled with fire.
A petite woman sat beneath her with flexing freckled arms working in and out of her, panting like a dog. On her knees, her legs were spread, battered shirt hanging down, and bralette peeking out like she meant for it to.
Her eyes lit with passion, hitting that spot in her cunt so damn perfectly, fucking her so good that it wouldn’t be hard to believe that she was put on God’s green earth just to do so.
“Come for me, baby girl. Come for me.”
Guiltily, she came, her back arching and arm stiff with exhaustion, headache pounding harder than ever.
Even after the climax, the pictures that helped her get there lingered on. Mommy, huh? Now that is something to unpack for another day.
Besides her wanting to protect her reputation, it was becoming clear to Suzanne that she wasn’t very honest about her reasons for choosing Mary Jo to ‘help her out’.
Yeah, it was true that she had always felt drawn to Mary Jo in a way. They clicked somehow; she was the mediator to Suzanne’s instigator. And yeah, there were times they genuinely connected, like that time on the cruise when they made that dumb bet and it ended with them growing closer. And maybe it even made her heart skip a beat when she thought about it, but that didn’t mean anything.
Or… maybe it did. After Mary Jo was quite literally inside her, Suzanne’s eyes were ought to be open.
It sucked, because she wanted so badly to regret it for what it did to their friendship. But past that? She asked for it. Suzanne wanted it, and Suzanne wanted her.
That sort of felt like a big fucking problem.
So the next morning, at a quarter past ten, Suzanne came up with the best solution she could think of.
Miserably, she got out some stationary from her bedroom’s desk drawer. She’d stolen it from Julia a few years ago for whatever reason and hadn’t touched it since. It would finally get a use today.
Dear Julia and Co.,
I’m leaving Atlanta for personal reasons I cannot disclose.
Suzanne sighed, tapping her pen on the desk.
A framed picture of Noel in her pretty purple dress was perched right in front of her. She still missed her like hell. Thankfully, nowadays she is more at ease with the vast possibilities of Noel’s present whereabouts. She remembered how Anthony had reassured her the week she ran away, saying how she was probably taken by animal control and brought to a better, safer place. The thought of her pig rolling around in the mud at a hillbilly farm wasn’t the happiest, but at least it was something.
“Noel, what do I do? Should I leave Atlanta?”
Her beady eyes stared back at her. Suzanne laid her arms on the desktop and rested her cheek on one.
“Maybe I’ll start looking for you again. Try to find you. And try to find myself.”
It made her content just looking at Noel’s picture, pretending they were still at the Dairy Queen, her diamond-studded leash wrapped around Suzanne’s hand. Their staring contest was interrupted by a shout from downstairs.
“Suzanne, bring down your clothes, por favor. I’m doing the laundry.”
Oh, no. How am I going to break it to Consuela that I’m leaving?
“Okay, just a sec.” She called back, getting up and gathering the discarded clothes scattered across her bedroom floor. There were also some dirties in her walk-in closet. Her room was rarely as disorganized as it was today, and fortunately, it rarely stayed like that, thanks to Consuela.
After tossing everything in the hamper next to her bedroom’s entrance, she noticed something was missing in the pile.
“That is not your color.” Consuela had commented yesterday as Suzanne made her way out the door. Suzanne scoffed but quickly shook it off, since it didn’t matter what she showed up in; what mattered was what she would change into, obviously.
So, that ugly blue blouse and business skirt she wore yesterday? They were nowhere to be seen.
Letting out a wail, her whole body slumped over as she recalled yesterday—mentally banging her head against a wall—to when she dumped her clothes on the tiles of Mary Jo’s bathroom and left them there to catch grime and wrinkles. It would bother her so much to leave them there.
To leave them with Mary Jo.
She went downstairs with her hamper and placed it in the laundry room. Her socked feet shuffled into the hallway and moped, still bothered about those missing clothes and the thought of skipping town without them.
Suzanne had to get them. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t.
Stopping by at Mary Jo’s again wouldn’t hurt. And if they talk a little and get some closure on the whole mess they made… well, that wouldn’t hurt either. It was now or never since she was planning on leaving tonight, and her expected return date was still undetermined.
As Consuela approached the laundry room, her mind was settled. She would finish writing the letter later. She turned on her heels and went over to her.
“Consuela, I’m leaving the house for a bit.”
“Like that?” Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion and a big hunk of judgment.
Oh, she looked down at herself. It didn’t even dawn on Suzanne that she wasn’t exactly runway-ready. She sported tacky black sweatpants and the old gray cotton shirt she only wore on laundry days. She made her way to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, reminding herself that she didn’t have on a hairpiece, her hair flat and deflated, and that mascara was the only thing adorning her weary eyes.
Suzanne never liked the natural look, but it would have to do.
There was no point in biting back at Consuela. She was already sleep deprived as is, and she needed to save her energy if she wanted to deal with packing and traveling, and God knows what else from Mary Jo.
“Yeah, might as well.” Suzanne pouted, staring into her reflection.