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West Hollywood Dreams

By Jenna Cartwright

Copyright 2018 by Jenna Cartwright Publishing. This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of this material or artwork herein is prohibited. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All rights reserved.

The first time Candice saw Agatha was at a Yeah Yeah Yeahs concert. She waited in line about fifteen people ahead of Candice, wearing a short red plaid skirt and a faded black Nine Inch Nails T-shirt cut into a crop-top. Her leather jacket, the one she owned for the better part of her life, was unzipped and the lapels were so big they almost completely obscured the breast pockets. Her short, thick legs were covered in thigh-high black fishnets, all culminating at her feet. She had on black spiked fetish stilettos patent-pointed-toe six-inch heels. She stood there, not fully paying attention to one of her friends talking about the industrial party he attended the night before. Her fingernails were coated in dark nail polish with gray anarchy signs on her middle fingers. Candice watched those fingers raise a cigarette to Agatha’s lips which were coated with punk-couture-purple lipstick. She sucked hard down past where most people would have tossed it, nodding as she exhaled a plume of smoke.

She took another drag and flicked her cigarette further than just about any human could. Then she ran her hand over the shaved side of her head on the left, up into the longer hair on top. She had purple roots that faded into pink, that faded into blonde tips. Candice had no reason to go up to the group. What would she have said? “Hi, my name’s Candice. I really like your style. You look so cool. Can we be friends?”

She had been ignoring her boyfriend, Kevin, who was talking to his roommate. “You remember that, right babe?”

“Huh?” Candice asked.

“You remember when we saw Yeah Yeah Yeahs open for Red Hot Chili Peppers?”

“I do,” she answered, watching Agatha’s thick hips walk into the Hollywood Bowl. “It was a great show. It was one of the first ones we saw together.”

About a million miles away Kevin thought out loud, scratching his long dark beard, wondering if it was, in fact, the first show they had gone to together. Candice pictured what Agatha’s closet looked like. She saw hanger rods buckling under the weight of all the clothes and boxes filled with shoes not worn in a while but would be worn again.

“I think it was the Strokes or maybe Jack White,” Kevin said like he had discovered something meaningful.

“Yeah,” Candice nodded. “I think you’re right.”

Almost six months later, Candice sat at the edge of her bed crying, staring at her phone. It dinged and vibrated, then it dinged again, and again, and again. “Oh my God, just stop already. Just fucking stop.” She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. It dinged once more. Eight missed messages. Opening her phone, she read the first few lines of Kevin’s most recent text assault. “If we can’t be together then I don’t know what the point is. I’m better off dead.”

She set her phone face down on the nightstand. Holding her hands out in front of her Candice partially clenched the air like she was gripping a ball. She grimaced and groaned, until her invisible ball popped, turning her hands into clenched fists.

They broke up three days earlier and still Kevin came over that night to watch movies. The whole time, Candice said to herself, get through tonight, just get through the night. But movies weren’t all Kevin wanted. They had been together since their sophomore year of high school. That’s almost seven years. When he put his hands on her, Candice kept thinking, you’ve done this a million times. What’s one more? But she didn't understand. Did he not hear her? It was an hour-long talk that ended with, "I feel like I need to be alone for a while." And then, he showed up with two of her favorite B-movies, Birdemic and Hard Ticket to Hawaii. What did he think, that he could distract her and she wouldn’t notice their relationship was over?

Kevin spent the night and Candice laid there watching the strange shapes her eyes created in the dark. After a while, she watched YouTube videos. Then she tried to sleep again. When that didn't work, she got up to knit, but she kept messing up her stitches. Even in the other room, Kevin’s heavy breathing grated on her like a slow drill burrowing into the base of her neck. She cleaned the kitchen and re-watched the beginning of Birdemic, only up to the point where the eagles and vultures first attacked Silicon Valley. By that time gray light peered through the blind, and she was staring at a blank TV, too tired to think, too frantic to sleep. Kevin came in and kissed her forehead, “I’ve got to get to class. I’ll see you tonight.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Kevin showed up with Ninja Terminator and Robot Monster, but this time Candice sat by herself in the recliner. Around the time Robot Monster carried the female lead away from her colleagues, Candice yawned and said, “I’m going to bed. We can hang tomorrow afternoon if you’re free.”

“But we haven’t even gotten to the part where the Great Guidance teleports to Earth and unleashes his dinosaur-army.”

Candice insisted, and after a failed attempt at a kiss, she got her ex-boyfriend out the door. The next day, they met for lunch, something they never did as a couple. She tried to keep the conversation light, talking mostly about her plans to take nursing classes in the summer semester at CS Fullerton. “Why are you doing this to me?” Kevin asked.

“I’m not doing anything to you,” Candice groaned and glanced over Kevin's shoulder looking for their server. "Why can't you let me do what I need to do. Do you want me to stay with you if I'm unhappy?"

"No, of course not. I want the chance to make you happy. I don’t understand why you can’t give me one chance.”

Candice rested her elbows on the table and her face in her hands, covering her eyes. Speaking into her arms, she said, “It’s not about chances. It’s not about something you’ve done wrong. Please, please will you just let me do what I need to do.” Candice dropped her hands from her face and looked into Kevin’s eyes. “If you keep pushing me then I’m going to be out of your life forever. That’s the last thing I want.”

When she left the restaurant, he seemed to get it, but within a half-hour, the texting barrage began.

Over the next week, Candice knitted Christmas socks, beanies, and blankets for her twin nephews despite it only being May. In between semesters she had time to watch I Bought a Vampire Motorcycle, King Kong Lives, Horror Express, The Valley of Gwangi, and Mr. Sardonicus. She was in the middle of The Toxic Avenger, half paying attention, half scrolling through her feed when she came upon an ad for The Toxic Avenger, the French DJ (not the movie). He was going to be at the Pico Rivera Sports Arena Friday night. This has to be a sign. Kevin hated electro house/dance punk. Basically, that meant she had never been allowed to go to a show with that kind of vibe.

I should go. But who will I go with? I guess it wouldn’t be crazy if I went alone. That’s something I can do, right?

Hours before it was time to leave, Candice worked on putting together an outfit. She wasn’t picking clothes with the intention of trying to look good. It was more like she was getting ready her suit of armor. First, she set aside a red bra and her favorite pair of black lace panties. She had already decided she wanted her bra exposed in some way but wasn't sure how. Then she tried on a pencil skirt, but that looked too formal like she was getting dressed for an interview. Her floral tea-length skirt didn’t seem right, either, not for a late night musicgasm but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it will be good to stand out for a change. So, she set it aside for later consideration.

Going through her closet, she came across a black vinyl off-shoulder long-sleeved dress she wore one Halloween as part of a she-devil costume. She shook her head no at it and kept searching. She tried on three pairs of skinny jeans and set the black Levies aside because they were the ones that fit best. Above the tea-length skirt, she put a cute white crop-top with a lace-up top and a low cut back. Above the skinny jeans, she put a white mesh round neck beach T-shirt. Taking a step away from her bed she looked at the two outfits. “Hmm.”

Candice set a pair of white and metallic-silver Oxford platforms with a two-and-a-half-inch heel next to the tea-length skirt. Next, to the skinny jeans, she put a pair of leopard print T.U.K sneakers, while holding in her hands a pair of Dr. Martins ankle-boots. She switched the boots with the Oxfords and then switched the Oxfords with the T.U.Ks

After showering and blow drying her hair, Candice wished she had time to get her color done. Deep in the long black waves were faint hints of red highlights, but for a while now, she had wanted blue. Standing there naked in the bathroom, she applied foundation. Then she watched a couple of videos on how to do the perfect smoky eye. She was torn between Boo Berry or Star Cobalt, In the end, went with the Boo Berry because she liked Makeup Geeks strong stance against animal testing. She finished her face off by applying Peach Carnation lipstick to her lips. It would probably be too dark for anyone to notice the subtle color, but Candice didn’t care. Staring at herself in the mirror with nothing but her makeup on, her little robot tattoo on her hip and a vague notion of which outfit she would choose, she smiled.

Agatha walked along the uneven sidewalk towards the Arena, looking down at her phone, texting her friends. She had on a black embroidered floral kimono with long flowing sleeves. It hung open and waved in the breeze behind her like an honorable flag. Underneath she had on a white T-shirt with three diagonal slashes across the chest exposing the bottom of her braless breasts and much of her stomach. She used tape around her nipples to make sure that part of her remained covered, but much of the rest of her was on display. The shirt tucked into jean-shorts pulled up high around her waist and ripped at the thigh, revealing the bottoms of her pockets. In perfect balance, Agatha dodged the other show-goers who were moving faster than her without taking attention off her phone. She floated above it all in her black platform sandals with a three-inch platform and five-inch heel that had satin lace crisscrossing up her calf to her knee.

The line was a few hundred people long. Agatha moved ahead of them as they all talked, laughed and danced to the vibrations of pulsing music. She stopped and slipped her phone into her black leather studded clutch with spiked metallic knuckles for a handle. At the same time, she pulled out a pack of Parliaments and a lighter. Craning her neck, she wrapped her bright red lips around a cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag. That’s when she heard a girl calling out from near the front of the line, “Agatha! Agatha! Over here!”

Agatha made her way to her friend Christiana and her other two friends Ryan and Lance.

“Oh my god, you look gorgeous!” Ryan exclaimed, clapping his hands, before kissing the air around Agatha on each side of her face. “You look like a sexy monster attack victim.”

Lance gave the late arriver a big hug, “Don’t worry! The Toxic Avenger will save you!”

Ryan and Lance discussed Agatha’s outfit as Agatha and Christiana talked about the party they both attended the night before in West Hollywood. They compared notes about who they saw there and who they didn’t. They both agreed they would have rather gone to see the post-punk sufergaze band, Pastel Felt, who performed at The Troubadour on the same night. “Honestly, I don’t know why we didn’t do both,” Christina said.

Agatha, nodded in agreement, pulling in another long drag of her cigarette. Blowing out smoke as she spoke, "I know, right. We were right there. We need to start being more adventurous.”

“Excuse me?” Came from a voice behind the group. Agatha turned around to see a girl in a cute white-mesh shirt and red bra. “This may seem weird, but I think I recognize you from the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s concert last year.”

“Oh yeah?” Christina said, smiling.

“Which one,” Agatha asked before flicking her cigarette thirty feet away. “We saw them on back to back nights, in Santa Barbra and then at the Hollywood Bowl.”

“Oh wow,” Candice exclaimed. “That’s commitment. I only saw them at the Hollywood Bowl.”

The line slowly moved, and the group of four shuffled forward becoming a group of five. "They played a better set that night," Agatha said, turning to Christina.

“Totally,” Christina agreed.

“Are you here with anyone?” Ryan asked, just then becoming aware of Candice’s presence.

Candice let her head drop a little and frowned, “No…. I recently just kinda broke up with my long-time boyfriend. This is my attempt to, I guess…. be more independent.”

“That’s…” Candice half expected them to cringe and try to ease away from the conversation politely. "So cool,” Lance said, enthusiastically enough to lift Candice’s head.

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed. “Can we adopt her?” He said turning to Lance.

“I don’t think we have a choice. Look at her. She’s gorgeous.” The two of them moved on either side of Candice and locked their arms with hers. They both had on the same cologne which engulfed her, almost knocking her off her feet. “Would you be our date tonight,” Lance asked, resting his head on Candice’s shoulder.

“Please,” Ryan added, resting his head on her other shoulder.

“And there is,” Agatha chimed in, smiling at Candice. “The R &L welcoming party has arrived. This is why I love them. They’re like instant new friend finders. I hope you like to dance.”

Candice opened her mouth to answer, but Ryan spoke up first “Of course she does, you don’t wear shoes like that if you don’t want everyone looking at your feet. I can practically see myself in those things.” Ryan peered down at the ground and pretended to fix the wave of brown hair flowing across his brow.

The Pico Rivera is an opened roof arena used mostly for rodeos and large Lucha Libre events. Sometimes they held bigger concerts, usually country music. For The Toxic Avenger, they put down a parquet floor covering the dirt ring where the majority of people coalesced around the elevated stage. Behind where the DJ equipment was set, a large digital screen flashed different images and shapes towered high. To the left and right were two more screens, still large, but smaller than the one in the center. They were elevated and mounted on dark scaffolding that blended into the background. Above that were two rows of 360-degree rotating floodlights. They flashed on the crowd or acted as strobes, shooting beams in random directions. Additional lights lined the front of the stage, spaced about five feet apart with pyrotechnic cannons between them.

Ryan and Lance pulled hard, dragging Candice into the fray, with Agatha and Christina close behind. A local DJ, DJ Mojo, was on stage blasting his music and hyping the crowd. The five bounced with the beat, pushing their way to the front. This was something Kevin never wanted to do at any show. He always said he couldn’t enjoy the music surrounded by all those people. Candice remembered watching from afar and thinking, but they look like they are all having so much fun. Sure, she liked hearing the music and loved every show she had been to, but part of her always wanted to experience more. With Lance and Ryan on either side of her she couldn’t help but wonder, if they hadn’t adopted me would I be here in this spot or would I have hung back like I had all those years with Kevin.

“Have you ever been to one of his shows?” Ryan asked, cupping his hand round Candice’s ear.

Candice shook her head no and yelled, “My ex didn’t like this kind of music.”

Ryan pouted out his lip and then yelled something into Lance’s ear that Candice couldn’t hear. Whatever he said, it prompted Lance to grab Candice’s hand and hold it above her head. Ryan grabbed her other hand. Agatha and Christina raised their hands above their head, too, yelling at the top of their lungs, loud enough for the five of them to hear over the music.

Without warning, everything went black and silent. The crowd was a gathering storm with a few errant “wooo’s” that turned into a few more. This droning sound that could have been mistaken for electrical equipment humming grew louder and louder. Many reacted to it by screaming, and then one singular beat hit everyone in the throat, pushing them off balance at the same time the bright lights flashed. A few seconds later lyrics kicked in but the words were disjointed and broken, like an AI trying to find it’s voice for the first time. Tones and vibrations followed, obscuring the hum, and even that was misaligned, like one person clapping off beat. The music grew louder and louder as it tried to find itself. Blurred and broken images appeared on the screens.

Candice’s feet were attached to the ground, but something was pulling her higher. She glanced to her left and saw Agatha with her hand raised, her long flowing sleeve waving in the air, and her hair flopping around as she moved. Layer on top of layer the music stacked itself, building towards an invisible goal. All of a sudden, a voice echoed, “What’s up Hollywood!” And boom! Lights flashed, the music came together. All the layers melded to form one cohesive sound. “Get your hands up!”

Like a shockwave where The Toxic Avenger was ground zero, everything in its radius absorbed the beats. Not just the people at the show, but the walls of the arena, and the ground underneath. Candice looked up at the night sky. It seemed like even the stars were in on it. With her head tilted back, a smile grew ear-to-ear. The Toxic Avenger jumped up on a table, clapping his hands together above his head. The screen behind him and the strobes above flashed hard into a blinding light; all that was endured was his silhouette. Everyone in the arena clapped with him. Fog machines pushed out a mist that engulfed the stage. At the exact second the music peaked, everything went dark, and sparks shot up from the cannons. The DJ jumped down, and a woman’s beautiful vocals sang acapella.

The Toxic Avenger hit keys on his laptop and fiddled with a mixer. Some components of the music grew louder as others faded away. Over the next hour, he molded and sculpted something no one had ever heard before. What he made wasn't dissimilar from his Romance and Cigarettes album but to say it was the same would ignore the nuance of his set. It would disregard the complex tapestry of his digital invention. Over and over again he raised the intensity lifting the crowd up, and then he beat them down into the earth. He stretched them until they were on the verge of being ripped apart, only to compact everyone into the smallest space.

Candice believed no one could deny something new was being birthed. She showed up as one and became five. That five became many, and steadily it became one again. A new aggressive beat kicked in, and the DJ yelled into the microphone, "Go! Go! Go!" Jumping side to side, the crowd mimicked him. Christina bumped into Agatha, Agatha bumped into Candice, who bumped into Ryan, who bumped into Lance and so on all the way down. Their combined friction, with everyone else, rose the temperature one degree at a time until they were all cooking together.

Too loud to talk, the music rose and fell higher and lower, faster and slower. All anyone could do to communicate was exchanged knowing looks. At one point, Agatha saw Candice dancing, her long flowing hair whipping around with her head as she hopped to the beat. What else could do that to someone besides music she wondered. Candice felt everything folding in on herself like she was an infinite piece of origami, gradually transforming into something more and more complex: a heart folding into a dog, folding into a cat, folding int a swan, folding into a swarm of hummingbirds, folding into a city with its bright lights visible from space.

Agatha danced her way next to Candice to be closer to that feeling. Their bodies hit one another and everyone else around them. In a place where cowboys rode bulls and roped steer, where Mexican men in masks leaped from the top ropes, a brand-new organism emerged. Its central nervous system was the people. A girl in the crowed sneezed and someone in the stadium seating felt her nose itch. A group of friends guzzled water by the concession stand, and a hundred people were quenched. Someone in a dark corner snorted molly, and a thousand people felt their body tingle. Two boys made out and everyone felt it between their legs.

Kevin was always Kevin. Wherever he went, people would say, "There's Kevin." Candice had never been Candice. Wherever she went, people would say, “There’s Kevin’s girlfriend.” Even after they broke up, she was Kevin’s ex-girlfriend. But on that night, hours before she went to the show, when she picked out her outfit and put on her makeup, she couldn’t have known that choosing the red bra and mesh shirt, the shoes, and going with the smoky eye, someone new was about to ascend. Someone that had been lost her entire life, not because she was weak, not because others had kept her down. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. The version of herself that needed to come out had been under the surface, gnawing, itching, growing, spending years cracking the veneer that got Candice through the day.

The lights flashed outward and stayed lit as the music crescendoed. A camera transmitted images of the crowd dancing onto the giant screens. Everyone saw themselves as they were, a glorious part of a glorious whole, amidst a celebration in a moment in time when so much didn’t matter. They all felt Candice reborn, and they were all reborn with her. Agatha took her new friend's hand and held it high above their heads. They danced and screamed until their throats went hoarse. Ryan, Lance, and Christiana gathered around the two girls with their hands raised up, and they raised their hands up with them. Amidst the madness, a shared vision appeared. At first, it was as faint as the mist engulfing the stage, and then it became clear. The lights went out, and the crowd disappeared from the screens but the music carried them, and the vision persisted.

Agatha grabbed Candice’s face and pulled her close, their lips colliding. The Toxic Avenger yelled into the mic, “Everybody Fucking Jump.” His words repeated themselves on beat, and the crowd obeyed. The parquet floor and the earth beneath it shook under the pressure of 10,000 people hopping in unison, all except for two. Candice's hand slid up the back of Agatha's silk kimono as their tongues swirled around in each other’s mouth’s. They pulled one another as hard as they could until there was no space between them, and even then, they tried to pull harder. Agatha's fingers strained on the back of Candice’s neck, and Candice’s hand pushed into Agatha’s back. Their tension unleashed at the same time as the music, breaking them free. They turned to face the stage and jumped with everyone else.

Flames shot out of the pyrotechnic cannons high into mid summer’s night air. The crowd erupted. Over the next couple hours, Agatha and Candice danced, kissed, and danced some more. They shared looks with smiles that ranged across the entire spectrum. There were sad smiles and lustful ones. There were smiles of friendship and understanding. There were nervous smiles and smiles that reassured. Candice took a moment to marvel. Less than two hours earlier she was a stranger to these people, and now she could imagine being a bridesmaid at Ryan and Lance’s wedding. She pictured brunches and late nights of getting high with her friends while watching B-movies. She envisioned a future where every show she went to she stood near the stage, where she could feel the air coming off the speakers and the energy of the people near her.

Agatha ripped the mesh shirt up over Candice’s head and unhooked her bra. She leaned back to take in the breasts she had freed, gliding her fingers across the deep red lines that the bra had created. Then she grabbed them both hard, one in each hand shoving Candice onto an unmade bed. The Toxic Avenger album, Angst, blasted on the other side of the bedroom wall. Presumably, Ryan, Lance, and Christina were all still dancing together in the living room that consisted of nothing more than two beanbag chairs, a stool used as a coffee table, and an air mattress covered by a "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" bedsheet.

Agatha lifted one of Candice’s legs and removed her mirrored shoe, tossing it over her shoulder onto a laundry basket full of clean or dirty clothes. She did the same thing with Candice’s other shoe, this time it landed on a stack of books next to an overloaded bookshelf. On the nightstand were three mostly empty watered down clear Starbucks cups and two books, one by Noam Chomsky and the other was “Less Than Zero” by Bret Easton Ellis.

Agatha pulled hard on Candice’s skinny jeans. Candice lifted herself off the bed, allowing the tight denim to release from her hips. On the other nightstand was a half ajar laptop, hanging off the edge. It was plugged into a charger that led to a six-way outlet tap, that had all kinds of various chargers plugged into it. One led to a wireless Hitachi Massager that laid unapologetically on the floor. Another led to a string of gold and pink Christmas lights which were the room’s lone light source. It wrapped all the way around the ceiling's edge and revealed walls covered with various cutouts from fashion and music magazines.

Once the jeans were no longer an obstacle, Agatha pulled Candice’s panties off and tossed them over her shoulder. She took a moment to stare at the beautiful naked girl in her bed before discarding her kimono and falling onto the mattress next to Candice, her face down by her stomach. Running her hand across Candice’s tattoo, Agatha said, “It’s a sad robot who found a heart laying on the ground?”

“Yeah,” Candice answered.

"That's so fucking adorable. Even the robot wants to find love." Her movements seemed so spontaneous they could have been choreographed. It didn't matter to Agatha what came before and what was to come after. In this moment she was kissing an old tattoo. In the next moment, she could have been kissing anywhere, or not kissing at all. She might pick up a book and start reading philosophy or something by Henry Miller. She might decide that their time was better spent learning French or watching YouTube videos of people falling off skateboards.

“Is it weird that I just want to know what you’re thinking?” Candice asked as Agatha rose up on her knees to lift her slashed shirt over her head. 

She twirled it around before throwing it at Candice. “No, it’s not weird. But you’ll probably be disappointed.”

Agatha stood up on the mattress, forgetting she still had her platforms on and almost fell over. She untied the lacing and kicked them off one at a time, sending them crashing into the wall. “If I’m not thinking about coffee, cigarettes and making my pussy feel good, I’m usually just replaying my favorite songs in my head.” She stood over Candice, naked except for her jean shorts. “Everyone always thinks I’m more complicated than I am.”

She reached out her hand and helped Candice to her feet, and the two danced like they were back in front of the stage. Off balance on the unstable mattress, their hair was a maelstrom of disorder, of reckless indignance. The music coming from the other room was faint, but the music from the show still radiated in their pores. Their legs were weak and joints sore. Their feet were in pain from their cruel footwear. None of it mattered. On this night the momentum had built up. It had reached a point of critical mass. Agatha grabbed Candice hard and pulled her close. “Say something real! It doesn’t matter what it is! Just say it! Quick!”

Candice felt a panic come over her. Say something. Don’t disappoint her. “I want to go to school for film!”

Agatha held Candice on each side of her face and pulled the two together, their lips pressed so tight neither could open their mouths. Finally, after letting go, Agatha asked, “Did you know that? Or did you just figure it out?”

Candice’s hands shook; she felt tears welling up in her eyes. “Oh, honey. It’s OK. Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry.” Candice apologized and took a deep breath. “I think I’ve always known, but I’ve never said it out loud. I’m supposed to enroll in nursing classes next week.”

“That’s so awesome,” Agatha said, hugging Candice. Candice hugged her back. For a split second, they both forgot they were two women naked in a bed about to fuck one another. When their embrace ended, they continued to kiss, falling into the sheets, their mouths opened wide, and then so wide, their tongues living inside one another. Agatha kissed, sucked and bit her way lower, all around Candice’s breasts, raising her skin and disrupting the capillaries under the surface. Blood rushed to wherever it was needed. Candice felt the exquisite irritation and heaved her chest into Agatha. Agatha obliged by sucking harder. The more she consumed the future film student, the deeper an idea took root. Candice now understood. Agatha long ago had committed to the doctrine like she had been born into it like she was a third-generation cult member.

Kissing lower over her stomach, and all around the little robot tattoo, Agatha felt Candice’s hands in her hair. “Thank you,” she whispered, but Agatha ignored her, too busy skimming her lips along Candice's thigh, moving up and then down, getting closer, and then retreating, nibbling, smiling, the two giggled, and then Agatha’s gripped Candice’s thighs hard, raising them over her shoulders; they locked into place with the ferocity of someone hanging from a great height, and maybe that was an apt description, perhaps she had gotten so close to the edge, learned too much of herself, the fear of falling was just another excommunication on a long lists of fears excommunicated in the church of Agatha.

Candice raised her hips into a waiting mouth. A tongue entered her warm wet slit; juices leaked out. She closed her eyes and beat the mattress with a fist. Her other hand weaved through purple, pink and blonde hair.

If she could have, Candice would have ground Agatha’s face into dust. She would have rubbed her clit clear off. Someone should put a stop to this before this goes too far, she thought. But Agatha’s gospel was unfinished. There were still chapters to be written and translated into other languages. There were still disciples to convert and followers to lead. Circling, flicking and grinding, all the different sensations kept adding to a bank of sensations, populating every nerve within both their bodies. Two fingers found their way deep inside Candice, sending her crawling up against the headboard. “Fuck! Oh, fuck!” Agatha was having none of it; she dragged Candice back into her mouth. She pulled her into the broadest part of her tongue, shaking like a paint mixer, her knuckles white from latching onto Candice.

“Oh my God, Something’s happening. What- Oh my God!” For years when Candice came, she always felt like something inside her needed to escape, that if she found the right combinations movements, she could unlock what was hidden. Agatha pulled away and allowed all the warm liquid shooting from Candice’s pussy to splash on her face. Candice watched, her mouth opened wide, trying to speak, trying to apologize… maybe, at least trying to understand what was happening. It didn’t make sense, in the same way waking up with x-ray vision or sonic hearing didn’t make sense. An endless gushing of the deepest part of her drenched the girl she could still see standing in line at the Yeah Yeah Yeahs concert. Agatha, soaked, feeling Candice drip off her skin onto her sheets, dove in and assaulted Candice’s clit once more. “I can’t- I can’t control it. Fuck!”

Another wave of liquid shot out and Agatha jackhammered her head back and forth like a greedy oilman wanting every ounce of crude. Each time Candice thought she was done, that there couldn’t possibly be a single drop left, Agatha proved her wrong. Her juices pooled underneath her, soaking everything. Were their bodies covered in sweat or come? Neither knew. Neither cared. When Agatha stopped and crawled up next to Candice, it felt like they were laying in a waterbed that had sprung a leak. They kissed. They devoured the feast that Candice had provided. Neither could get enough. They licked and tasted around one another’s lips. They felt the sticky sweetness against their bodies, holding each other deep into the morning, not needing to speak, not needing to question what they had experienced.

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