She Became My Water Read online

  She Became My Water

  by: Amy DeMeritt

  She Became My Water

  Copyright © 2016 Amy DeMeritt

  All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1539735946

  ISBN-10: 153973594X

  This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art by Amy DeMeritt

  Dedication

  To: Kristin

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter One

  I am a definite sucker for a quiet shy woman. I personally am the exact opposite of those two qualities, but there is just something so damn alluring about a woman that wears a closed expression, chooses her words carefully to not reveal too much, and judiciously awards on-lookers with her beautiful smile.

  I work at Bella Barista, a small, but very popular, coffee shop, and every Thursday for the past month I have been lured into the mental musings of “what is this mysterious woman’s story”. Every single Thursday, like clock-work, my latest “shy” girl obsession comes in at 9:30am, orders a tall mocha cappuccino and blueberry scone, before sitting at a small table against the wall. After finishing her scone, she opens her laptop and types away for an hour or two and then leaves. She is always polite, but generic in her greetings, yet I always feel like there are words, more depth, just bursting to be spoken and shared. It’s just before 9:30am and I’m anxiously watching the door, waiting for her to enter. Why has this woman captivated me so?

  My cell phone pings in my pocket and I smile big, but then bite my lip and anxiously look towards the door. I have ten minutes before her usual entrance. We’re slow right now so pull out my phone to check the new notification. I’m not much for social media or apps, but I have been religiously following the “Controversial Lesbian” blog for a few years and it has been a few days since the mystery woman has last put out a post. I am totally in love this woman. I think if the writer of this blog was to walk through that door and tell me who she is, I would drop down on one knee and propose to her, no matter what she looks like or how old she is. It’s very frustrating that she stays anonymous. For all I know, she could live in another country.

  I start reading her latest blog post and my face spreads into a painfully wide grin as it typically does when I read her posts. This woman is a brilliant writer and her little “mind explosions” she posts are just so damn intriguing and relatable.

  When I was fifteen, sitting in a tight circle with about a dozen other fifteen-year-olds in Shelia Montgomery’s basement playing spin the bottle, I never would have guessed that I would spend the next fourteen years pining for a mouth that could equal Jenna Tourney’s. Who would have thought that the mouth of a fifteen-year-old straight girl would be more talented in the art of kissing than the “many” girls and women I have kissed over the past fourteen years.

  I’ve kissed every type. There’s the “hoover vacuum” that so violently sucks your lips and tongue that you feel bruised after five minutes. Oh, and the all too common “excited puppy tongue” that you quite literally need a towel after she finally releases you. There is the “plunger” – you know the one; she kisses you so hard and deep you gag as her tongue enters your throat. Really people, that is not pleasant. Please stay to the front two thirds of the mouth. And let’s not forget, well, now I know this is not a word, but the “face-squishers”. Really girls – stop squeezing my face! I don’t want to feel my cheeks squeezed between my teeth when I am trying to kiss you! Oh, I’m forgetting one… the “pit viper”. This is the one that quickly opens her mouth, thrusts her tongue forcefully into your mouth, and quickly retracts, only to return a second later. It’s the equivalent of being tongue fucked in your mouth, which really does nothing to excite you downstairs.

  There is a huge misconception that ALL lesbians are great kissers. Why do people believe that? No, really people, not all women are good kissers. Now, don’t get me wrong, all of the previously mentioned “types” have great potential. All of those techniques, if used properly and in moderation, have the makings for the perfect breath taking, make my panties wet, stop my heart, kiss. Have I experienced such level of perfection before? Remember that time when I was fifteen? Yeah, that long ago! It’s been fourteen years and I am still waiting for my Jenna Tourney.

  Jenna Tourney, last I heard she was married with two kids living the picket fence life. Damn lucky bastard of a husband getting to enjoy that perfect beautiful mouth, while the rest of us have to endure so many clumsy mouths that have yet to figure out what Jenna Tourney figured out so young.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my fair share of “decent” kissers. But, there just hasn’t been that one kiss, you know, the foot popping, mind numbing, “wow”, kiss. You might think you can judge a good kisser based off her mouth – the shape or size of her lips, can she tie a cherry stem with her tongue, wow – watch her lick that lollipop! No, those will not help you, trust me. You don’t know till that girl latches on your face and goes to town whether or not this is going down in your mental list of “fuck yes!” or “why me?”.

  What “type” am I, you may be wondering? Well, to be honest, there hasn’t been a single woman to give me a chance to figure that one out. Yeah, you think men are controlling in a kiss? Guess what… so are women! Trying to get a woman to let you dominate the kiss completely can be just as hard as getting a man to. But honestly, I don’t want to fully dominate – then I just end up as one of those category kissers. No, two mouths moving in equal push/pull, suck/lick, yeah, that’s the way it should be; not one person having more control than the other.

  You may be reading this and wondering, “am I one of those category kissers?” With no apology before or after, I will simply say – if you are wondering, then yes, you are a category kisser. But not all hope is lost. Guess what, you can choose to end the self-deceptive thinking that you’re a great kisser! Again – no apologies here. Do it because you probably aren’t as good as you think you are.

  Now that you’re a little pissed or a little self-conscience to this tragic reality, let me leave you with some words of advice. Slow down and let up on the reigns! It’s not a race! Flex your kissing muscles more delicately. Loosen the lips, slow the tongue, don’t penetrate the mouth so deeply, don’t try to cover your partners mouth with your entire mouth, and please watch those teeth! We all like a good lip nibble, but it stops being sexy when you draw blood or leave a bruise.

  Readers, note that the names in my true recollection are false to protect the identity of the seemingly only woman that can kiss perfectly! Don’t try to find her, you won’t crack the code.

  Here’s signing off –

  “Controversial Lesbian”

  P.S.

  If this post was too hard to handle, and you now feel the need to stuff your face with chocolate to sooth your bruised ego (or lips), click here to try a recipe that will make you “almost” forget about trying to find that pe
rfect “Jenna” kiss.

  This is exactly why I love this woman! Yes, she hides behind the mask of anonymity, but at least she says it when it needs to be said. This is just all too true. I would totally give my whole life savings for a chance to see if I could be her “Jenna kiss”. I can’t believe she actually revealed her age – twenty-nine; that’s only three years older than me. This fact only makes me that much more intrigued and longing to meet her. She almost never reveals anything that might actually help identify who she might be. The only other hints she has revealed is that she lives alone, has no pets, and frequents a park near her home almost every day just to sit and read. All of which are not the least bit helpful in revealing who she is.

  Just as I slip my phone back in my pocket and look up, I find myself face to face with my adorable quiet woman obsession. My smile impossibly spreads even wider across my face, cleaving my face into a ridiculous cheesy grin.

  “Good morning.”

  She has just a hint of a small smile playing at the right corner of her mouth. Oh, you teasing vixen! My heart leaps at the lure of her delicate round red lips baiting me to fall under her charm.

  “Good morning. Would you like your usual?”

  Her eyebrows raise just slightly, betraying just a hint of emotion and thought.

  “I have a usual?”

  I slightly bite the inside of my cheek to steady my eagerness. I want so badly to ask this woman so many questions about herself and learn all her mysteries.

  “Tall mocha cappuccino with a blueberry scone. After you order, you sit at that table and work.”

  Her tender lips reward me with a genuine closed lip smile. The effect is beautiful. She has a slightly long slender face with high cheekbones that’s framed by soft thick shoulder length auburn hair, perfectly sculpted arched eyebrows that are more of a naturally thicker brow than the pencil thin brows so many women opt for, her eyes are dolphin gray-blue with little specks of dark gray, and her nose is small with just a little roundness at the tip. Her smile makes her eyes and cheekbones pop in a mesmerizing way. How much more beautiful will that face be with those pearly whites revealed? I will get her to shine me a full toothy grin – one day.

  “Yes, I will have my usual, Piper.”

  She used my name. Oh, she just keeps rewarding me today! Using my name is like an invitation to begin exchanging more than the typical patron and barista interactions.

  “Since I know your ‘usual’, can I know your name?”

  She regards me a moment with that tauntingly sweet, barely visible smile in the corner of her mouth, before answering, “The name’s Bailey.” Mystery number one discovered!

  “Nice to meet you, Bailey.” I smile and turn to fill her order. While I’m making her cappuccino, I glance over at her and she has that same little smile on her face, but she’s looking down at her hands sitting on the counter.

  I set her order down in front of her and she tries to hand me some cash, but I shake my head. “It’s on me today.” She regards me a moment and then nods once and puts the money back in her wallet. “Thank you.” Her smile curves upward more defined before looking down in a shy way. She meets my eyes one last time and then turns to walk to her usual table.

  As if the universe is running to my aid to control my compulsive obsessive behavior, I get a flood of customers and have to steal my gaze away from her. Thank you Universe for not letting her catch me staring at her. I don’t want her to think I’m creepy and over eager. If I come off too strong or too forward, I may scare her away. Women like her are like gentle woodland creatures, like bunnies or doe’s. Rush in too quickly and they’ll startle and run away in the blink of an eye. Approach ever so slowly and quietly, and they’ll go about their business just keeping one eye on you while they allow you to get closer.

  We’re super busy for a straight hour before the rush finally trickles down to a single customer every couple minutes. While its slow, I decide to clean up the counter. It’s amazing how messy the counter becomes even when I don’t remember spilling anything at all. After cleaning up, I dare to steal a glance to see if Bailey’s still here. My face involuntarily cleaves into a ridiculously wide cheeky grin again. Bailey’s watching me with that tiny little smile sitting in the right corner of her mouth. I feel my tongue tease at the right corner of my own mouth thinking about how nice it would be to taste that sweet little corner of her mouth that holds her secrets.

  Too quickly for my liking, she looks back to her laptop. She reaches her hand up to her face and places her forefinger above her top lip and her thumb under her chin. A classic move to try and hide the smile that has reached her full mouth. I do believe I have made a good impression and laid the ground work for something possibly amazing. I feel a rush of excitement and have to mentally lasso my feet behind the counter to prevent myself from rushing over to her table like an eager child in a candy store.

  “Piper, I’m going to make a batch of lemon muffins. We only have a couple left. Holler if it gets busy again.”

  I watch Naomi head back into the kitchen and then steal another glance at Bailey. She’s staring at her screen slightly biting her bottom lip. Her brow furrows and then she starts furiously typing away. She suddenly stops typing, looks like she’s reading what she just typed, and then exhales deeply as she slams her finger down on a key, presumably the backspace and presumably deletes what she just typed. She sits back and folds her arms over her chest staring at the computer screen. She suddenly looks over at me and catches me watching her.

  Bailey stands and starts walking over with her coffee cup and now empty plate. “I think I need a refill, please.”

  “Absolutely. Would you like another scone as well?” She shakes her head. “No, thank you.”

  I turn to make her a fresh mocha cappuccino and venture to see if she may possibly reveal any new mysteries for me today. “Two tall mocha caps in one morning – it must be a challenging project you’re working on over there.”

  She inhales and exhales deeply and nods her head a couple times. “Frustratingly so.” She looks back at her laptop a moment and then back at me. “Do you want to talk about it?” She regards me a moment with a blank expression before saying, “You don’t know me. Why would you want to listen to my frustrations?” I smile and let out a small laugh. “Isn’t that how you get to know a person? Listen to them talk about things they care about.”

  “Good point. Have you ever heard of the magazine ‘Introspect’?” I shake my head. “No. I’ve never been much for magazines. They tend to have too many pictures and advertisement’s and not enough actual content.” She smiles and takes a sip of the cappuccino I just placed in front of her.

  “Yeah, most mainstream magazines are pretty much glorified picture books for adults. ‘Introspect’ is an Indie magazine and we focus more on actual content. Particularly, controversial thought provoking content. I’m a copyeditor and the piece I’m working on cleaning up for publication is a mess. The journalist has a great mind, but her grammar is horrible and she has a really bad habit of repeating herself or jumbling her thoughts. A sentence that should be in paragraph two may actually be in paragraph ten.”

  “Sounds like trying to piece a puzzle together. Isn’t the ability to actually write part of the job and qualifications for a journalist? How is she writing for a magazine if she can’t actually write?”

  “I used to think so. Since working at the magazine, however, I’ve discovered that most journalist are not actual writers. They’re good at delivering facts and sometimes they’re good at provoking deep emotion and thought, but the majority of them will not be publishing any novels. Not without a really good editor anyway.”

  “So, basically, you unscramble and piece together poorly written thought explosions for people that probably believe they are brilliant, but actually would appear uneducated if it wasn’t for you.” Bailey lets out a small laugh and rewards me with a pearly white shining grin. “Something like that.”

  “That has to be extr
emely frustrating, helping to make these people appear more intelligent than they really are and not getting any actual recognition or credit for it. The readers get to believe that name under the article title actually wrote that piece, while in actuality, you did.”

  “I try not to think about it that way, but today I’m having a very hard time cleaning up this article without feeling bitter about it. Anyway, I guess I better get back over there. Thanks for listening.”

  “Anytime.” I smile and shake my head as she tries to hand me cash for her fresh cappuccino. “I told you, today’s on me.”

  “Can I ask you something?” I smile and nod my head. “Of course.”

  “Do you do this often?”

  “What? Buy an intriguing woman coffee? No, never.” She gives me a smile and then starts to turn back to her table. “Thank you for this.”

  Chapter Two

  I’m not quite on my “game” today. I’m moving slower and my mind is extremely unfocused. More than once, or twice, I’ve forgotten a person’s order entirely, only seconds after they say it. I feel like I’m new on the job or something. Yesterday, when Bailey left, I was so busy she didn’t get to say goodbye before leaving. I could see on her face she wanted to talk to me, but with as many customers as we had, she was only able to wave goodbye. I just can’t get the woman out of my head.

  Good friends know that I don’t date much. I’m very particular about the women I “court” and only accept dates or make dates with a woman that I think could offer a real lasting relationship. I’m not into flings. “Ok” friends or acquaintances believe that I’m wild and date tons of women because of my outgoing personality – they never believe me when I deny it, which is annoying. I like to go out, and I can easily strike up a conversation with just about anyone, but I don’t develop feelings for a person very easily.