A Beggar's Nap

Sarah wasn't feeling well.

Her stomach ached almost constantly, and she had trouble keeping food inside. It had worsened two months ago and took a great deal of energy out of her. It also made her look like a ghost.

She saw a doctor and a scan had been made.

"Hard to tell" seemed to be the first opinion - and the second opinion was the same. There were infections, maybe the start of an ulcer. She got medicine; they didn't help much.

New scans introduced the possibility of surgery.

The pain was bad, the waiting worse - and the suspicion of something fatal grew to be unbearable. She often went to the club just to kill time and find distraction. But by now she wondered if her illness wasn't aggravated by her visits there.

Maybe they even caused it?

She'd been a "grande dame," back in the days of Sappho's Bar - the most respected of a group that had slowly shaped itself around her. She was different from most in the lesbian club-circuit; she cared for people and was genuinely interested, often helping newbies feel welcome.

She loved to just sip a drink and gossip, sometimes even discussing things that mattered. She went shopping with a few of her friends there; once or twice they went to a concert, or the theatre.

Experience made her picky and her maturity tended to make others choosy about her - so it wasn't often that she had ongoing affairs or even quickies.

Quickies had never been her style anyway.

After her first exciting months at Sappho's, she lost her appetite for one-night stands, finding them rather shallow and even boring. She loved more profound contacts, having to like a girl on more levels than just sex.

That was when she met Eva.

It was a memorable day when she saw her walking into the old club's bar - the copper flames of her hair blazing around her face. How old could she be? Eighteen, twenty? She was scantily dressed in a slinky green top that left her flat belly free, a tiny pleated skirt and sneakers.

The girl blushed deliciously, pink arousal glowing through her almost translucently pale skin. Even her shy voice sounded adorable when she stated her name.

Her hands had been on her hips, pulling her shoulders back - the lovely legs slightly apart, her firm, young titties out. She just stood there, calmly challenging the room, making them guess if her act was genuinely innocent - or exactly that: an act.

One thing Sarah knew at once - she had to have the thing. So, she begged her closer.

At first it was sheer lust of course, but even as soon as the girl climbed into her lap, chatting away, she knew there was much more to her than the promise of a willing body. She was bright, witty, curious and at the same time deliciously insecure - an altogether irresistible mixture. How on earth had the girl found the courage to walk in and expose herself like she did?

And where on earth had she learned how to kiss like that, with those weak, pink, pillow lips?

Sarah claimed the girl's attention all evening, that first night, knowing very well that she would be eaten alive if thrown to the starved she-wolves that visited Sappho's.

She poured her charms on her like the sweetest icing on a cake. Showing her around, she let her meet the others (though never very long) and, on the nights that followed, allowed her a controlled taste of the ripe and sometimes exotic fruits that grew in Sappho's lesbian garden.

The girl lapped it up with boundless energy.

Sarah was well-aware where the main danger lurked. There was this cool, alluring Philippine businesswoman, Clara, who had recently become a member. She smiled a lot and used all the right words, but Sarah knew she was ruthless.

As a child from a rich, feudal family, Clara had grown up in surroundings where power was as common as it had been absent in Sarah's. Money is a magnet, she knew, and she saw many of her minions flock to their new queen.

Of course, she'd lost Eva too, in the end.

It stabbed her heart to watch the sweet thing drift away, falling for the rich woman with starry-eyed adoration - another butterfly pinned to the victorious (and thoroughly fake) chest of a conqueror. Ah, Sarah was bitter by then. The fight for power had left her tired and lonely.

And sick.

About that same time, Sappho's Bar closed, due to crazy lesbian-bashing vandals who tore down the place and ruined its pretty lounge and cozy rooms.

Sarah had been watching out for other places long before that. One of them was Société La Biche where she'd met women who struck her as intelligent, liberal and refreshingly daring.

So, when the curtain fell for Sappho's, most of the girls followed her to the new haven. The invasion shook the place and it took quite a while for the present residents to get used to the rather loud and opinionated newcomers. To be honest, the integration never worked out; many of the original La Biche members left the place.

Apart from Sarah nobody seemed to care. Much later - too late - she admitted that they'd been the barbarians sacking Rome.

But now it had come down to herself to decide - should she leave as well or put up one last fight for her right to the place - and her right to the girl?

She knew she'd fallen hard for her.

Just seeing the girl - her eyes, her smile - made her heart race, sending flames up her chest. She knew that the hole in her soul would stay there for a long, long time if she decided to give up and leave. On the other hand, how could she, old and ill, ever dream of being enough for the insatiate creature?

Sitting at the Société's terrace, quietly sipping her stomach-soothing herbal tea, she considered her possibilities.

She knew Clara's strategy was to dazzle the girl with her wealth, her generosity and all the sweet assets that went with it. Sadly, Sarah supposed Eva might be attracted to them. The girl had a girlfriend and a business she struggled to keep afloat, but that would never be enough, would it?

Sarah could almost taste her desperate need.

Now, what did she herself have to offer? Bright conversation? Real interest? An old woman's wisdom? Wit? Ah, and the tenderness of true love, she mused.

Love.

Shouldn't the real thing outshine the glaring tinsel of what the Philippine woman had to give? She chuckled ironically. How naïve she was. She, self-appointed woman of the world, trusting such romantic notions as true love conquering all.

On the other hand, would the girl even be worth the effort if she'd fall so easily for money, glamour and an opportunity to see the world?

'Worth the effort,' she mused - wasn't that a thought you shouldn't have when you were struck with real, unconditional love? True lovers had no choice; there was no evaluation needed, only blind necessity. If what Sarah felt was truly unselfish love for the girl, shouldn't she want her to be happy with whatever choice she made?

Wouldn't it just be selfish arrogance to decide what should be good for Eva?

But Sarah shook her head, feeling her eyes burn with unshed tears. It just hurt too much to be that selfless. It was too painful knowing someone else might be loved, licked and kissed by this sweet perfect nymph that had so easily bewitched her heart.

Being deep in thought, Sarah at first missed the noises at the entrance to the terrace. It was Clara.

She was in her business suit, straight from the office no doubt - or a long lunch. The tailored jacket and skirt made her look sleek and efficient. Her entourage surrounded her, excited as always. Once they'd been Sarah's friends and lovers, mirroring Clara now in an embarrassing effort to look just as successful.

The group alighted at a table next to Sarah - like a flock of twittering birds. Some of them nodded a greeting; others couldn't even be bothered anymore. It did not escape her attention that Clara's gaze was fixed on her right from the moment she entered.

"Hello Sarah," she said, and suddenly most eyes were turning in her direction.

"Hello Clara," she answered, forcing her voice to be gentle. "I hope all is fine?" Clara smiled in response.

"But of course, dear Sarah," she said. "Things are always fine with me. How could they not?" The group around her went silent at the implicit challenge. They seemed to expect something.

"On the other hand," Clara went on, her smile permanently in place. "How are you? I hear you're not... well?" Sarah flashed a smile in answer.

"Please, don't let me make you feel worried, Clara," she said. "There is no reason. No reason at all."

Right then another person walked onto the terrace. Her copper-red hair was piled up to leave her neck free. She wore a short sky-blue sundress that flashed on and off like a flickering lamp as she crossed the sun-and-shadow pattern cast by the lowered marquises.

Her flip-flops resounded in the sudden silence.

"Ah, Eva, sweetie," Clara said, patting the empty chair next to her. "Sit down with me. I have the impression we may have to talk about you, Sarah and I."

The girl's disquietingly clear green eyes flew from Clara to Sarah, her eyebrows raised in wonder. She looked freshly showered, her hair still damp.

"About me?" she asked, hesitatingly. Then she sat down on the offered chair. Clara at once wrapped her arm around the girl's shoulder and kissed her cheek.

"Yes," she went on. "You see, love, I keep having this silly notion that Sarah is a bit jealous of what we have. I sometimes even think she has this preposterous idea that you ought to belong to her."

Clara started a laugh that was immediately picked up by some of the girls. Eva merely looked stunned - a slow blush creeping up her throat and cheeks.

"I like Sarah a lot," she whispered.

"Of course, you do!" Clara cried out. "We all do, don't we girls? We like Sarah and we worry about her. She's not well and out of a job and faced with a very uncertain future.

"Of course, we feel for her."

There was a rush of murmurings.

Sarah felt greatly embarrassed - the urge to rise and leave was overwhelming. But she couldn't. Even through her exhaustion emerged a flame of rage.

"Eva," she said, drawing the girl's eyes towards her and falling into their emerald depths. Then she heard herself say the most incredible thing. "Eva, honey, whatever anyone may say and whatever you yourself may decide, I want you to know that I love you."

Her vision darkened for a moment and when the light returned, her eyes were fixed on her own hands - the long boney fingers entwined in her lap.

A sigh rushed from the group like an audible shiver. But right through it cut Clara's laugh.

"Love!" she cried out. "Is that all you have to offer? Love, ah, wonderful, but isn't it just a word when it's all there is? You love her, but what do you have to show for it?

"A beggar's empty nap!"

She turned to Eva, hugging her closer.

"Don't fall for it, sweetie," she urged, her voice warm with persuasion. "It's a cheap trick. You're worth so much more, and don't be mistaken: I'm the one who can give you what you truly need. Love? Oh yes, there will be love in heaps. But what is love when your lover's hands are empty?

"I can support you, sweetie. I have what it takes to love and spoil a beautiful woman like you. I can give you the world; the eye of society.

"I'll take you wherever you wish to go - Europe, Asia, any place you ever dreamt of. I'll fill your wardrobe with the latest fashions from Milan and Paris. We'll meet with the rich and famous and they'll call you by your first name.

"You'll be known. You'll be famous. I'll do everything for you, sweetheart... anything."

The terrace had turned very silent.

It is an execution, Sarah thought. Look at them. They're like the Parisian women in times of revolution, gawking at the cruel machine that'll chop off the head of their former queen. They know it's wrong, but the claw of sensation grabs their heart and they can't look away.

Eva was obviously upset, but didn't move a muscle. Her eyes shone with moisture, but she never shrugged the arm off her shoulder - even when the hand lowered to cup her breast over the flimsy cotton.

"Now look at you, Sarah," Clara went on, her voice dripping with sympathy. "Don't you agree that it is a bit, uhm, cheap what you're trying to pull? Please forgive me, but you know you can hardly support yourself, let alone give that famous love of yours any substance for my sweet Eva.

"Be honest, Sarah, isn't that just a bit selfish?"

"Don't," Eva's lips seemed to mimic.

Sarah wondered if the girl meant Clara's words or the hand caressing her tit. It had slid inside the top of her dress by now, but she didn't move to either accept it or get it off her flesh. She just sat and stared, tears leaving the corners of her brilliant eyes.

The sight stunned Sarah.

She felt her stomach churn with pain and repulsion - it might soon make her vomit. She swallowed hard.

"Clara," she then said, her voice a mere groan. "You wouldn't know love if it bit you in your well-pampered ass. So, you want to buy this girl? Go ahead and buy her if she thinks she's for sale. But don't call it love.

"You want to have her and maybe you'll get her. I have nothing to offer like the things you mentioned. Yes, I guess I'm a beggar.

"I beg for her because I love her."

Sarah rose, shaking with weakness.

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she stepped forward and went down on her knee, right in front of Eva. She showed her empty hands, palms upwards as if cupping emptiness.

"This is my love, darling," she whispered. "You can only see it if you love me back. If these are empty hands to you, please don't even look."

Sarah held the panicked eyes of the girl with hers. She shivered, so did her hands. Then she rose again. Looking down on Eva and Clara, she sighed.

"Make her happy, Clara," she said. "If it is what she truly wants, make her happy with what you have to offer."

She leaned in to the woman and her voice rose.

"But if I hear that you make her unhappy, I'll come for you, you pompous, spoilt, power-sick woman, and I'll make you wish you never tried."

Sarah turned away from the awe-struck group, her shoulders sagging. When she almost reached the exit of the terrace, the voice of one of her one-time friends cried out.

"Go! Go away, you, sick old witch! We don't need you here anymore!"

Sarah stopped for a second. Then she walked on, disappearing into the shadowy darkness of the Société's inner sanctum. Stumbling into the restrooms, she leaned her throbbing head against the cool tiles. Trying to gather her wavering powers, she swallowed to suppress the urge to vomit, her knees liquid with weakness.

Maybe Clara was right.

Maybe she was in no condition to offer the girl anything. Maybe it wasn't love that drove her, but egoism.

She might well be as selfish as Clara.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning, she saw Eva's face. It was smudged with tears.

"I'm sorry," the girl said with trembling lips. "Clara was so cruel to you, it made me feel ashamed." She swallowed and her incredible eyes widened as she went on. "She should not have said it. You're the sweetest woman I ever met. She had no cause to humiliate you."

"I'm so sorry," she went on. "Please forgive me for being weak. I am weak, you know. I'm confused. Ever since my first day here they all want things from me, and I can't say no. I just don't seem to be able.

"Please, don't condemn me for wanting it all."

Sarah smiled.

It was impossible for her not to smile. Her shaking hands cupped the girl's porcelain face, thumbs rubbing the tears away.

"It's all right, darling," she whispered. "Clara is right, you know? I'm ill and in no position to burden you with my love. Don't feel embarrassed. It wasn't you who said those ugly words. But please promise me to be happy.

"Whatever decision you make, do it for happiness. You deserve it, you know?"

The girl now wept openly, her shoulders shaking with her sobs.

"It's all so... so unfair," she said. "Please, oh please Sarah, I need to do this. Please let me."

She slid down, out of the woman's grasp, and knelt before her. Her nervous fingers opened Sarah's skirt and pulled it off her hips, taking the white panties with them. Then her face dove into the trimmed bush, her tongue searching for the hidden clit.

Sarah's hands grabbed the girl's head, trying to pull her away, but at the same time she spread her thighs.

"God," she sighed. "Oh, dear God."

For long minutes, there were only wet sounds of the girl's tongue and sucking lips - and the moans of Sarah. They rose in volume and increased in desperate frequency when the tongue kept hitting her clit and two fingers spread her labia.

She started humping into the face, her fingers clawing the rich curly hair. Words rolled out of her mouth, meaning nothing, meaning everything.

She came hard, dizzy with exhaustion.

Her juices gushed onto greedily sucking lips. A sweet, sweet tongue lapped them up. It was the last thing she felt when she sank to the floor, losing her consciousness.

Two tender arms kept her from hitting the tiles.

When she came to, she saw concerned eyes. The cold, wet towel on her brow felt good. She sighed, smiling.

"Thank you," she whispered. "That was - incredible."

She accepted the glass of water and drank. Then she rose on still uncertain legs, adjusting her skirt.

"I have to go now," she said. Eva shook her head.

"You don't need to. Please stay!" Sarah smiled, tiredly.

"I can't stay where she is, honey. Not after this I can't. You do understand, don't you?"

"But I don't want you to go!" the girl insisted.

Sarah held her breath, considering what she would say next, then said it.

"Then why don't you leave with me? I know a wonderful place where you would enjoy all the adventure and excitement you need. It's a wonderful place. I would love having you there and you would never be without the attention of sweet, inventive women.

"Please do it! Leave with me!"

She coughed and once again felt the dizziness overtake her. But her eyes never left the girl's. She ached to hear an answer - The Answer. But the girl said nothing. Her lips moved soundlessly around the vowels that seemed to say she was sorry - so sorry.

Then she left.

***