They made out for several moments before Christy shifted her attention to Wren’s come-spattered breasts. She licked up my semen and lingered over Wren’s nipples. Then she gently urged her to move to the side of the pool. Wren spread her legs and closed her eyes as Christy began licking.
I probably could’ve gotten hard again, but I decided to watch instead. After several minutes Wren’s breathing grew heavy. She moistened her lips and began rocking her hips as her climax approached. Christy slid two fingers into her and concentrated on her clit. Wren arched her back, cried out once, and then went silent as the orgasm rocked her.
After several heartbeats she relaxed and started breathing again. Christy rested her cheek on Wren’s thigh. Then she sighed heavily and closed her eyes.
“Oh, my love,” Wren said, “what would I do without you?”
* * *
Wren made a big salad and little cucumber sandwiches for lunch. Christy loaded her plate with salad and avoided the sandwiches altogether.
“What’s the matter?” Wren said.
“I… um… don’t like cucumber. Sorry. I can’t explain it,” she fibbed. “It’s the seeds. Or the crunch. Or something. Only, I don’t like them. The salad looks yummy, though.”
“No, hold on,” Wren said. She thought for a moment. “I know. I’ll be right back. Go ahead and start on the salad.”
“I’m fine,” Christy protested.
“Two minutes,” Wren insisted. “Go ahead, eat.”
“Thanks,” I said to Christy once she’d gone. “I’m not a fan of cucumbers either.”
“What? And you let me take the blame?”
“You bet I did. Wren only tolerates me. She loves you.”
“She loves you too.”
“I know. But it isn’t the same.”
“You’re right. The salad’s yummy, though. Walnuts and strawberries, mmm!”
Wren returned a couple of minutes later and set a rectangular plate in front of Christy.
“Buffalo mozzarella, tomatoes, and fresh basil.”
“Oh my gosh, it’s beautiful. What’s the dressing?”
“Balsamic vinegar, olive oil, salt, and pepper.”
“Yum!”
Wren glanced at me. “What’re you smiling at?”
“You. How you take a couple of simple ingredients and make something wonderful.”
“It isn’t difficult.”
“Then why doesn’t everyone do it?”
“I don’t know.” She slid into her chair and draped her napkin over her lap. She was halfway through her first little sandwich before she realized that I’d only taken a token bite. “Not you too.”
“Sorry. It’s the taste for me.” I shrugged. “I just don’t like cucumbers.”
She huffed. “Well, I’m not making you anything else.”
“That’s okay, I’ll steal some of Christy’s.”
“No! Mine! Get your own!” She brandished her fork.
“Feisty little thing,” I laughed to Wren.
“Stubborn, too.”
“Fine,” Christy sniffed, “gang up on me.”
“I thought you liked a gang,” Wren said. She was teasing, but her tone carried a hint of annoyance.
Christy heard it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I thought you liked guys.”
“I do.”
“Yeah, Paul. But what’s going on with Trip?”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly,” Wren said.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Christy lied.
“Look,” Wren said, “I don’t wanna start an argument, but something’s up with you and Trip. At first I thought he was just being overly sensitive. You know, the male ego. They’re fragile.” She dared me to object.
“No argument from me,” I said mildly.
“And then I thought it was just him being pushy,” Wren continued. “Yeah, he can be a jerk sometimes, but he doesn’t do it on purpose. Not like some guys I’ve known.”
I raised a questioning eyebrow.
“No, not you. You’re one of the good ones. As a matter of fact,” she added, “none of this is about you.”
“Except that it is,” I said, again mildly.
“Yeah, okay, it’s about you too. But it’s mostly about her. I wanna know what she has against Trip.”
“Nothing!”
“Then why do you keep avoiding him?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Christy lied again.
“I thought you wanted to be a swinger.”
“I do!”
“Then what’s the problem?”
I knew the answer, even if Christy didn’t want to say it aloud. She silently begged me anyway, and Wren misread her look.
“Hold on, is this about Paul?” She accused me with a glare. “You don’t want her to sleep with other guys?”
Christy sagged with relief, but Wren knew her too well. She could also read the truth in my expression.
“No,” she said to Christy, “this is about you, isn’t it? It isn’t Paul at all. What? Trip isn’t good enough for you? Is that it?”
“No, Wren, I—”
“He doesn’t meet your lofty standards?”
“Of course he does. Only—”
“Then what’s the problem? Why do you keep avoiding him?”
The words hung in the air, and Christy turned mulish. She glared at Wren for a moment before she turned her displeasure on me. I let it wash over me like a gentle breeze, which annoyed her even more.
“Remember what I told you,” I said at last. “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Neither will Wren. But you have to tell her.”
“Please, I can’t.”
“You have to. If you don’t, she’s going to draw her own conclusions. And they probably won’t be very nice.”
Wren agreed with pursed lips and expectant eyebrows.
“Fine!” Christy said. “I don’t want to sleep with him. There, I said it! Are you happy?”
Wren’s expression turned stony.
“What? I don’t want to. And you can’t make me.”
“Oh, boy,” I said under my breath. “Let me try. Wren, when she says ‘sleep with,’ she really means ‘have sex with.’ Blowjobs are fine.”
Christy nodded.
“I know it’s crazy,” I added, “but she doesn’t think they’re sex.”
“Of course they are!” Wren said. “Why d’you think they call it oral sex? Hello?”
“Yeah, but that’s normal people. Christy isn’t normal.”
“Hey! I’m not a freak.”
“No, you aren’t. But… you have a different way of looking at things.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing… if it’s a painting or a sunset. But when it’s another person? Or sex?”
“I still don’t understand,” Wren said.
“I don’t wanna have sex with Trip,” Christy said. “It isn’t personal, though.”
“Then what is it?” Wren snapped.
“No, you don’t understand. I don’t wanna have sex with any guy. Not sex-sex, penis in vagina.”
“So… then… what?” Wren said. “You don’t wanna be a swinger?”
“I do,” she insisted. “Only, not like that.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“You tell her,” Christy demanded in a fit of pique. “I’m not making sense.”
“Sex is a spiritual thing for her,” I told Wren, as Christy nodded emphatically. “Yeah, it’s physical and emotional too, but she’s Catholic. She believes in ‘holy matrimony.’”
“So do I,” Wren said irritably. “What’s that have to do with this?”
I glanced at Christy and decided to admit something I’d kept to myself until then. “I’ve… um… been reading about Catholic marriage.”
Her eyebrows flew up.
“It’s a sacrament to them,” I plowed ahead. “Like baptism and confirmation. They only have seven, so marriage is a big deal. Sex is part of it.”
Wren snorted but didn’t say anything.
“Maybe not to you and me,” I said as reasonably as I could, “but it is to Christy. I think that’s why she doesn’t think of oral sex as sex. Or even sex with other women. In her mind, she can have sex with her husband—well, her future husband—but not anyone else. So the other things aren’t sex. Not as far as she’s concerned.”