Chapter 4
It didn't take much time for the brunette to come up with a name for that smart-shit. Her mind was a good oiled working machine of cleverness.
The train of thoughts leaving Logic-Alley located in her left brain half, across Corpus-Callomus-Drive, to Creativity-Town in her right brain half was on the express lane.
It's called brainstorming. And she knew, she was hella good at it.
Starting with Phony-Call, but sounded too much of a love-love relationship, to Smartacus, that simply didn't work out, because she refused to call this yelling drama goat anything but what it was: a stupid alarm equipment. And she just used Speak-Bone once, when Bane looked up in shock from his resting place.
Bone? Bane? Never mind.
Maybe these candy canes of borderline ingeniousness were caused by all those minerals and nutrients running through her veins again, after ravishing a Caesar's Salad, two slices of garlic bread and a Lasagna from Alfredo, the Italian take away restaurant two blocks down the street.
She even had three donuts with really beautiful colors from that little bakery she loved most for dessert.
The koala dream kind of stuck to her.
Well, and let's be honest here. Regardless of how stuffed her stomach felt. No matter how much it begged for mercy and to stop that permanent padding of her innermost part, it wasn't a real meal unless there were some white sugar monsters waiting to be swallowed.
To top off this feast, the brunette popped open a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. White wine went awesomely well with donuts.
Nom, nom, nom.
It was either that or the small gasp between being sated and the light headed feeling before falling into food coma that came up with this unimaginable distinguished accomplishment of a brainwave.
Yeah, okay. She didn't really understand why her mind wanted her to find a name in the first place, but that's not the question here, was it?
It's a feeling. Or gas.
Not long after dinner and on the verge of almost drifting into a deep slumber her mind cycled around cellphones in general. No need to ask why, she didn't know. But nonetheless she thought about them and came up with Celly, which led her to Sally that floozy in high school. This girl broke her newest strap-on during their make out session.
'Till this day, Bo was still wondering how the chick's choppy and jerky moves managed to break a gummy phallus in a leather bolt. Anyway, Celly turned into Sally and the brunette had a jackpot.
They had some kind of silent agreement, Sally and Bo.
Bo just couldn't bring herself to read the instruction manual Sally brought with her. Manuals were for those safety-fanatics too afraid to break things and not for adrenaline junkies like Bo -high voltage- Dennis. But before this evening to be honest, she had forgotten all about the shrieking personality of the small Canadian's Next Top Terror Machine.
That atrocious pain in her ear forced her to get up at six on Sunday and yet again on Monday morning. So without further discussion they had come up with this arrangement of 'you don't hurt me I don't hurt you'.
Sally would scream for attention in the mornings and Bo would stand up to put her in one of the top drawer of the kitchen counter, wrapped in a dishtowel, waiting for the orchestra of Rocky Horror Picture Show to fade away.
Yes, she knew, brilliant, right?
The week started and ended in a snap of a finger and Bo had to admit that this waking up early wasn't that bad. Now that she could actually eat breakfast, watch the sun rise fully and read the newspaper she had borrowed, meaning stolen, from Mister Douchebag's doormat.
She knew he wouldn't find out it was her as long as she replaced it at seven with a large brown spot of her favorite coffee mug on the front page, right on top of the short sports news he loved so much.
Sometimes that little demon inside of her came out to play. And she loved it.
Preposterous to common sense, a weird thrill of anticipation lingered in her belly since that Saturday night.
The brunette felt that unusual pull to go to work. She always had been dutiful and had done both school and work consciously, but for some reason which just didn't make any sense at all to her, Bo was eager to please her Lady-Boss. This time not only to keep the job but because she wanted to see that look in her eyes again.
Friday came and went and another long day of driving from meetings, to drugstores, over Organiacs, the coffee and tea house Miss Lewis bought her caffeine shots to get through the workload, back to Godzilla. That's what Bo had dubbed the enormous apartment building the blonde lived in.
It was either Godzilla or King Kong. She had thought about it and reconsidered a few times and had come up with the opinion, hairy ape hands holding on to this Lauren Lewis were a no go.
Lauren Lewis.
Somehow the feel of the blondes name on her tongue made her want to say it all the time.
All the time.
Well at least mouth it every now and then. It would have been awkward, if the Driver had addressed the blonde in the back all day long, only to satisfy this weird longing to roll her tongue around those two words. Not to mention, that she would have run out of excuses at some point about why she yet again said Lauren Lewis.
Lau-ren Lew-is. Neat.
A short tour through that last week. Just to get a better understanding of the circumstances. So when the brunette arrived at work last Monday, she didn't know what to expect. After that uncharacteristic behavior from the blonde, Bo had thought a lot about the possibilities and where they might lead them. She had almost filled her whole Sunday balancing arguments-the pros and cons of getting into something more than a working relationship.
But she hadn't thought about her Boss being that uncrowned ice queen all over again. She had thought they were over that. Apparently not. Miss 'no music, no air condition, no small talk' Lewis was back and at her best. But unfortunately, Bo was even more turned on about being bossed around than ever before.
On Tuesday, she considered buying some new panties while bossy Lauren was at one of her meetings, but found she should just calm down a bit and instead bought crushed ice to place it between the seat and her back. She ended up shivering like hell with teeth cluttering and all. If the blonde got any of that she didn't let it show.
On Thursday Bo felt like an army of ants were dancing the Polka along her inner thighs. The sweat forming along her forehead, down to her chest, dripping off her belly to settle between her legs made her wonder, when the heck she had pushed that damn button for the seat heater only to find it turned off.
The whole week concentration had been some kind of an alien. Or a foreign language. Something she obviously couldn't conceive as long as there was this Lewis-Woman sitting head placed on the headrest, mouth lightly ajar, throat stretched and her chest heaving rhythmically to the calm breathing in the back of her 320 PS strong black fine specimen of womanhood.
She had heard about a friend, well not a friend-friend, just someone she sometimes met in the bar she went to every now and then. Anyway, that someone heard of a friend, who had been told that an acquaintance had suffered of severe concentration disorder.
He had lost track of time and space and in the end, hadn't realized that he had been walking on the roof of his office building as he tried to read a file in hand. He only realized he had stepped into thin air when he was already falling down twenty floors to find a deeper connection with the hard concrete.
Not a beautiful picture for the next Christmas greeting card.
By Friday evening Bo was more aware of her sexuality than she had ever been before. All week long she had been hot and bothered and couldn't do anything about it. It scared the freaking nun out of her, because again that friend of a friend had heard of someone who couldn't get down with business and after weeks of sexual tension with the frustration of not obtaining satisfaction, they imploded.
Bo knew that this wasn't even possible, but in her situation, she had to be careful. No need to mess with powers she didn't know anything about.
Or she should stop listening to that old, shabby guy, who looked like he lived on that bar stool and his hands were glued on that bottle of cheap whiskey.
Bo got home around eight said Friday evening. Bane was waiting for her on the kitchen counter, tail in the air and greeted the tensed brunette with a crumbled meow.
"Hey Bane, buddy. At least someone is happy to see me."
Tossing her blazer on the back of the couch and throwing her shoes across the room, she patted his scrubby head.
"You're hungry?"
Another meow followed by a soft purr as Bo scratched the back of his left ear. With heavy steps she entered the kitchen and filled the cat's bowl with kibble. Tuna taste.
"Urgh. Great. Now I know why I smelled a fish market next to me the last couple of nights. You are not allowed to sleep on my pillow as long as there is any kind of sea-animals on your menu, understood?"
Pointing a finger at her pet, which strolled along her legs as she placed the bowl next to the fridge.
Fish. Slimy, slippery, smelly kids of Poseidon. Who would eat something that breathed through gills and had a look as if they would die of a heart-attack any second?
When she was young her father took her with him. Every third Sunday. Angling rod in one hand and living bait in the other. From the first time she had to cut open and disembowel those scaly marina animals, she had known she hated fishing. From the bottom of her heart. Looking at the guts of the dead spotted bass swimming in that small bowl filled with dirty water, Bo had puked on her father's favorites gumboots.
Not that he didn't deserve it.
She sighed by the memories of those expeditions. Worst part wasn't even the act of cleaning the fish but eating them back at home. She was forced to. All the time. One Sunday evening she had sat in front of her plate until midnight, picking at her dinner, her father leaning against the door frame behind her.
"Take your time, Ysabeau. I have all night."
Her mother tried to talk him out of it, more than once and he yelled for her to shut the fuck up. Saying, his daughter would do as she was told.
Her throat just refused to swallow anymore on that Sunday night at eleven thirty, when his hand connected with her mother's cheek for the first time.
Her eyes glued on the picture of her mother on the book shelf, her thoughts a thousand miles away. The ringing of Sally brought her mind back. Fiddling in her left pocket of her pants, she got hold on the phone. Pushing the front button the screen lit up. A short message.
"Okay, what did Yvonne say? Push button, insert code and tip on the message."
The screen changed colors, when the pop up opened to reveal the electronic letter.
Change in schedule. Monday business meeting at 8 in the Lewis Hotel. Your services are needed at 10. Lewis
"Great."
As soon as she read the words, all pictures she avoided to think about the whole damn way back home, rushed through her brain right down to the valley where her pleasure-point throbbed for the last- how many hours did the week have?
Well, a lot of hours!
It's not healthy what Bossy Lewis could do to her imagination.
"Okay, I need to do something, anything. I need to get laid."
It was still early and she hadn't been around town at night for an eternity.
Being poor and stuff.
She craved for loud music, a lot of booze and some skin on skin. Maybe some fingers and tongue, too. Depending on the choices of products in the place she would be heading to.
The cold water of her shower made her breath hitch. Ernst didn't repair anything and it was about two weeks ago that she had to suffer through this encounter. She needed to take care of that, too. But not tonight. Casan-Ernst or Ernst-anova, she was still debating over the two options, could wait.
Stepping in front of her closet an hour later she eyed herself up and down. Black leather pants, dark red leather corsage and black heeled, knee high leather boots, her favorites. She loved that Xena-Look on herself. It made her feel like riding a war horse, whip waving above her head and yelling for Gabrielle, sitting behind her, to hold on tight.
She felt like a warrior princess.
She felt like Lucy fucking Lawless and the name includes -without limitation- how the brunette would behave tonight.
Her hair in a ponytail high on her head, with a bigger strand of hair backcombed and adjusted atop like a rocker quiff. And boy, she'd so rock that club. Her makeup heavy around her deep brown orbs. She loved those smoky-eyes, she felt a bit naughty, too.
It got her horny just to think about the endless opportunities coming with that outfit. Sometimes it was awesome to be Bo Dennis.
She would definitely make out with herself. And no she never tried, not once. Okay maybe once, but she had been kind of stoned and who would have known that the hotness waving back at the brunette was her own reflection in a mirrored door and she didn't want to be reminded of that story right now.
She grabbed for some cash and popped it into her bra. Her keys found a place in her left boot, next to her ID card. A new peach lip-gloss hid in her right front pocket. All a girl needed. She didn't do bags. She had a tendency to either forget where she had put them before heading off to the dance floor or she had been drinking enough to simply not care about anything anymore.
One final look over in the mirror in her bathroom before she headed down the stairs.
Around ten pm she entered that bar a few streets down. She decided to walk as it wasn't far off and there was some kind of magic in the air. Bo hadn't felt that good and sexy in a long time.
The bar was crowded as always. The brunette had found that hell's kitchen a few days after moving in. She had been in desperate need of distraction after that first job at that dog parlor. Her finger had hurt like shit and that injection had burnt throughout her left biceps.
She wasn't whiney she just wanted something to feel better.
This place smelled like sex. Well, more like sweat and cigarette smoke, but it was dim lighted, full of bodies grinding against each other and alcohol, in the form of shots and cocktails, flooding out of the bartender's deft hands.
Perfect and just what she needed.
She moved to the corner she had marked as her own a few months back. On that day her whole body had ached because of that stunt with her Wiener-Costume and she was on the best way of getting mindlessly drunk when she had carved her initials into the thick wooden tabletop with a piece of a broken shot glass she had found under the stool she had been sitting on.
On her way she got checked out by at least three guys, one of them was already tongue deep down a redhead's mouth, and a chick, who cheered with a bottle of root beer. She didn't need to be a Succubus to track down all this sexual energies in this room. This night screamed of passionate itch scratching.
Time passed by like an eagle in vertical flight to catch that mouse on the muddy ground of a cow pasture. A really old eagle. With arthrosis and a blind left eye. The clock on the back of the bar told her, that she had only been there only half an hour.
Bo was way into her second beer and drowned at least a shot or three. She even danced with that really juicy blonde who was all over her until a more than wasted and long forgotten boyfriend joined the two, grabbing at Bo's rack without asking for permission. So she stepped on his right big toe with one of her heels. He didn't even as much as flinch, that's how drunk he had been. He would have fun in the morning though.
Bo had thought, she would have a tongue in her throat by now. But she hadn't, and that sucked. Well, it didn't and that was about the point.
"What does a girl have to do to get some TLC?"
Frustrated she step up to the bar to order one of the bartender's best cocktails. Maybe she hadn't had skin on skin or that tongue in throat thing yet, but at least she'd get some Sex on the Beach.
All she hoped for, was that she hadn't lost her touch or that these past months of living on the edge, jobwise, wasn't showing all over her face.
There was this smiling brunette next to her. Blue eyes telling Bo to get her inner tiger out for some hunting. Leaning forward to whisper into that hottie's ear over the pounding bass of the next song the crowed hollered to, her eyes spotted a familiar face at the other end of the room in a corner booth.
"What the hell?"
"What?"
The girl looked at Bo questioningly.
"No, no, not you."
Bo shook her head and forced her eyes to look back at the prey in front of her, smiling weakly.
"Hi, I- I'm Bo."
Extending her hand she looked back to the booth. Sitting there, obviously more than ready to get home an hour ago, was her Boss. Next to her a dark haired guy. A bit too close for Bo's liking and his right arm dragged over the blonde's shoulder.
The way her Boss' head fell down every now and then and those fumbling fingers of that animal roaming all over her body, with eyes sharp on its target, it just made the brunette's guts twist in dislike.
"I'm..."
Bo walked away, leaving the girl astonished and her drink untouched at the bar. Her senses fixed on the scene in the corner she had seen more than once. He, ordering drink after drink until she is all willing and too far gone to booze-island to realize anything going on around her.
A few feet in front of the table, where her Boss had just knocked over her half empty whiskey glass, Bo stopped and shook her head in disbelieve.
"She is a grown up woman, she can take care of herself! Just go. Get back to- whoever that girl was and get your way with her."
One last look, observing the interaction of the two, watching that sleazeball trying to capture the blonde's lips but failing because she couldn't hold up her seemingly heavy head on her own.
Bo turned around. Telling herself to leave again. Rolling her eyes up at the ceiling, she sighed.
Why, in all bars of the town, did her Boss have to visit this one?
And why, for all the sake of booze intoxicated women on this goddamn planet, did she have to be the one now sitting in that booth?
And why, in bloody hell, did she have to decide to put her layers of the incredible ice queen down tonight, of all nights?
"Gosh, what am I doing?"
Bo spun back around.
"And since when am I the protector? Since when am I freaking Mother Theresa?"
Well, wasn't Xena also helping the helpless or something like that?
Walking up she stopped right in front of the right side of the hyena, tipping on his shoulder.
"I am kinda busy here!"
He wouldn't even look at her as he continued to drool all over the blonde trapped in his embrace.
"Yeah, I can see that!"
He turned to face Bo and his look, hooded from a lot of alcohol in his own system, lit up as he scanned the brunette's leather clad form.
"Oh, hey cutie. You wanna join us? We're having a lovely little party going on and were just about to get into a place more private."
Seriously?
"No thanks, and she won't either!"
Bo pointed to the blonde, head resting against the wall, eyes closed, breathing heavily.
"What? I payed a lot to get her like that..."
Okay, Bo tried that counting thing. She was half way to ten or a seventh to ten. She really was. But listening to that pig head and hearing that he filled the blonde up on purpose just tickled the wrong spot and something snapped in her brain all the way down to her fist.
He was holding his nose, throwing mindless curses in the brunette's direction, who already got to her Boss' side and helped her up. The blonde wasn't fully awake anymore and leaned heavily against Bo's body. In a weird way and totally out of place a familiar sensation spread through her lower parts.
"Great!"
"Dri-er?"
The blonde's eyes tried to lock with Bo's but failed.
"Yeah, hi, it's me!"
"Wha- ya doing here?"
Bo had to adjust her hold on her Boss as she was gliding down the brunette's side. Wrapping her arms more firmly across the tired form of the woman, whose feeble attempt to keep standing upright seemed to take great effort. Slowly Bo started walking towards the exit, leaving the sobbing man behind. His nose wasn't even bleeding. Dickhead.
"Let's get you out of here, shall we?"
On her way out, Bo ordered a bottle of water. The blonde managed to throw one arm around Bo's shoulder and steadied herself a bit more.
Outside, the loud music faded away when the door closed behind them. Across the street, a line of cabs were waiting for their next passenger.
"Thank God!"
Placing the blonde inside, Bo climbed next to her on the backseat and found herself pulled into a tight embrace as soon as she shut the door behind her. The blonde almost cradled her, pushing hard into her left side. Entangling her left arm, the brunette placed it around the almost sleeping form next to her.
"Yeah, damn protector, I am!"
Feeling a pair of eyes on her, she looked up, to find the cab driver staring at them through the back mirror.
"What?", the brunette snapped, "never seen a drunk woman before?"
"Yes, but I need the address."
"Oh."
Destination Godzilla.
When the cab drove off, Bo tightened her grip as the blonde's head slipped from the brunette's shoulder into the crook of her neck.
Hot breath tickled the soft skin underneath her chin. Absentmindedly Bo turned her head slightly and inhaled the scent of the blonde tresses. A warm hand was sneaking along her belly to rest upon her right hipbone while the other was laying on the upper half of her thigh, drawing small circle with lazy fingertips.
"Oh boy."
There it was again. This sweating.
Bo had to suffer through the whole week bathed in her own body liquids. She had even considered to ask a doctor whether there was any dysfunction going on inside her sweat glands. That wasn't normal at all.
With her Boss close and her scent and warm body all over her, Bo got lost inside the feelings coming up.
"Warrior Princess, laughing the fuck out loud!"
"We're here, Miss."
She paid the cab driver and tried to slide herself out of this nutshell of warmth and soft skin and scents of perfume, shampoo and whiskey.
"Miss Lewis."
Bo tried to wake the sleeping beauty up, but she cuddled even more into the brunette's side.
"Miss- oh God!"
The blonde's hands magically found a way underneath the tight texture of red leather and brushed along the brunette's stomach.
"Okay, you have-", Bo gulped hard when she felt the blonde's nose caressing the soft skin underneath her left ear.
"Miss, Miss Lewis. C'mon!"
How to calm down. That wasn't the brunette's strong point. So she knew out of the latest experience that counting wouldn't work at all. Maybe slapping? But she wasn't in any position to get her hands high enough to come anywhere near her own face. What if...
A loud honk startled both women and when Bo's eyes fell on the cab driver in the front, she saw a big grin on his lips.
"You can thank me some other time, child."
Bo nodded.
They climbed out of the back and her Boss almost fell. Holding onto the blonde, Bo maneuvered them along the front to the side alley. She thought, that her Boss might be embarrassed enough the next day without the gossip of the rest of the staff working in the lobby.
The alley was dark and the only light was coming from the full moon shining bright.
Full moon. That explained a lot. Crazy things happened when the moon showed off his whole backside. Like sleepless nights, because Misses Meier, or better said Fräulein Meier -she insisted-, the seventy three year old, German and slightly crazy lady, living in the apartment right underneath the brunette's, used to sing all songs of ABBA with her window open wide while dancing on her coffee table, naked.
Bo saw her. In all her glory. Oh, the things she saw.
For some uncalled reasons Bo would never ever look at these dogs, Shar-Pei, like the way she once had. She had seen Shar-Peis at the dog parlor. Even had to clean all those wrinkles. Fräulein Meier looked very much alike.
"Whe- we goin?"
"Huh?"
Bo looked down at the woman in her arms. She seemed more fragile and so very unlike the uptight person the brunette got to know so well.
"The back door."
Bo nodded to the entrance, abandoned of any eyes and ears. Bob told her about the back entrance leading right to a small elevator that went straight to Lauren Lewis quarters.
‚For emergencies,' he said.
"Give me your keys."
When she received no response Bo stopped and looked at the blonde, who was thinking hard, eyes in tight slits, lips pouted and forefinger tipping on her chin.
"Miss Lewis? The keys to the back door."
"I don't have any."
"Say that again."
"I said..."
"I heard you."
"But you told me to..."
"Yes, I know, that was rhetorically speaking."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh."
Bo was looking around, when a forefinger came into sight. Blinking twice, Bo watched the finger flex a few times in front of her eyes.
"I don't have keys. I have thissssss."
The forefinger poked at Bo's cheek and chin and nose and back to her chin. A giggling blonde as background music. The brunette sighed and took a hold on the dancing hand, several fingers were now poking and brushing along her face.
"Okay, okay, stop it. Miss, argh, the heck, Lauren! Lauren look at me!"
Bo turned her body to completely face her Boss. Placing her hands on either side of the blonde's face, locking gazes. Watching as the amused look on her Boss' features turned into a more serious one.
"Your fingers won't open this door, okay. We need a key. So if you don't have a key, it is either the way through the lobby with all the service staff watching your drunken state or… well, my place. Your choice."
A heavy scent of whiskey was breathed upon the brunette's face, hot and spicy. She could literally see the wheels turning in the woman's head in front of her. Tired eyes glancing back at her. Warm hands came up to cover her own ones still holding on to her Boss.
The air grew thick and it got harder and harder to inhale the sweet perfume and unique smell of the intoxicated, but still gorgeous woman with those unbelievably soft strands of golden hair, Bo hadn't even dreamed of laying her fingers upon.
Like never ever.
Swallowing hard Bo's eyes ever so often lost track and moved to those beautiful lips. The tip of the blondes tongue slid along her bottom one, leaving a wet shimmer.
So inviting.
"Your place, please."