Story and Art Forum

And now for the most important part of Lesbian courtship. After considering each other partners, and sensibly working on the finances it is time. Time to hire a U-Haul.

This is a good question but I'm afraid I don't know. Dad cllected his Tena at Morrisons because that was the only choice at the store... but simply grabbed the item for his son because of the picture on the front of the packaging that seemed appropriate. Sorry I can'\t be more specific, even though I was for dad, but the choice was enormous for nappies from babies to youths... he bought youths. Hope that helps ? Hugs and thanks for taking an interest and commenting.😄

Nothing at the moment. The closest thing I can say is that I'm crunching the numbers and deciding whether or not I "need" a case of Pixel Pals. (I'm currently leaning towards yes, but I'm more concerned about storage. I got a raise recently; I wasn't entirely counting on it being on this last check, so..........)

I had a buddy of mine record his trips to Colorado and back with one that he'd post on Facebook. I don't remember if he had sound on it, but if I did that, I'd do it just to document the trip, and with my out-loud commentary, it could be interesting. Though if I were to post it, it probably wouldn't get a whole lot of views. I ought to suggest that to my sister and her husband if they aren't already doing it.

135. The Other Woman Nina was through the door before Isadora could reach her sleeve. The stranger stepped aside to let her pass with a small flourish of one hand, like a maître d’ showing a regular to her favourite table. Then she turned the full weight of her attention on Isadora, and Isadora found that she had stopped walking. Up close, the details didn’t get any easier to take in. The dress was a wrap of deep red, very nearly the same shade as the car blocking the driveway. It had clearly been chosen by someone who knew exactly how far a wrap dress could be persuaded to open without technically coming undone. There was a small gold cross at her throat, exactly as Mrs Stanwick had said. On her, it looked less like a declaration of faith and more like a dare. “Well, what’s this?” the woman asked, taking the plushie from Isadora’s unresisting hand. “You’ve brought me a new friend, I see. And a fuzzy ferret as well. You should get inside, I can’t wait to play with all of you.” Isadora’s fingers tightened a second too late, and then she was standing there with a death grip on thin air, unsure what to do with her hands. She didn’t know if it was best to snatch Dookie back, or wait to see how the strange woman treated him. She didn’t have to think about it for long, because a second later she heard the steady click of sensible shoes on the driveway, and turned to see Mrs Stanwick approaching. “Hey, Peggy,” Isadora forced herself to smile, doing her best to reduce the number of innocent bystanders in the house. After so long playing this role, the right words came along almost instinctively sometimes. “Looks like we got an unexpected visitor today. Thanks for letting me know someone was here, we’ll have to catch up later and I can tell you all about it.” “Are you sure, dear?” Mrs Stanwick still seemed concerned. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to have a little word with–” “He’s not home yet,” Isadora answered, allowing herself to sound a little impatient. That was better than defensive; it gave the impression that nothing was wrong. “I’m just going to offer Lola some coffee while we wait for him to get back from work. Sorry, but…” “Okay, I’ll see you later then. Just let me know if you need any help.” “Lola?” The stranger seemed a little amused, but didn’t say anything until Mrs Stanwick had followed the path back to her own front door. “First name that came to mind,” Isadora said, and shrugged. “Anyway, I think it’s about time you told me what you’re here for. Or should we wait for my husband to return?” “It’s probably best if I talk to him,” Lola said. Isadora decided she was going to keep on using that name in her head, just like she’d picked out names for the staff at the Pink Room. “Dashie called me about something a few days ago, asked me to check something. And it came back positive.” ‘Dashie’ hit Isadora harder than she’d expected. This woman, Lola or whoever she was, knew Brock’s real name. The big question was whether she was using that name to get under Isadora’s skin, or perhaps she didn’t know much about his current legend. Isadora realised she had carefully avoided referring to Brock by name at all, some habits from training coming back quickly, but now she didn’t know how to interpret the results. “Something medical?” she asked quickly, putting her concerns to the back of her mind for now. She didn’t need to be off-balance in this conversation, she needed to learn the details she needed without revealing anything that Lola didn’t already know. Using simple questions was probably a good start; things that wouldn’t mean anything unless she already knew the answer. And picking a name to address the woman by instead of worrying about who she really was. Just like in the Pink Room. “A virus?” “Technically it’s a fungus,” Lola answered so casually, finally closing the front door behind them. “But it can act like a viral infection in some ways.” “Who’s got an infection?” Nina cut in, standing in the doorway to the lounge. “You mean Bernard…” “Nothing like that,” Isadora cut in quickly. “It’s just something we need to talk about when he gets home.” “I’m sure Dashie can already guess a lot of what I found,” Lola answered. “He needs to be here for the serious conversation. But he barely told me anything about you, querida. Come in, and we can get to know each other before the coffee gets cold.” The lounge looked just like it had that morning, aside from a cafetière and four mugs sitting on the coffee table, steam rising gently above them. Nina was already sitting on the sofa, and Lola quickly moved to sit beside her, facing Brock’s chair. She poured three cups of coffee, setting them down along the edge of the coffee table so that it would be awkward if Isadora didn’t join them on the sofa. That was another thing Isadora had learned in basic training: using social cues to control a situation without making it obvious. Even after all the lectures and practice sessions, she hadn’t really understood it until she watched Brock doing it for real. Lola was just as confident, just as effortless. That was another hint about her background; she wasn’t a soldier like Roman, and she wasn’t just a criminal. But whether she turned out to be friend or foe remained to be seen. “Closer, querida,” Lola said, patting the cushion beside her without looking at it. Her eyes stayed on Isadora’s face. “I don’t bite. Not on a first visit.” Isadora sat. It was the obvious move, and she recognised that it was the obvious move, which was almost the same thing as choosing it. “Are you going to introduce me to your little friend, bella?” Lola asked, taking the first sip of her own coffee. Her accent was distinctive, with the lilting vowels of someone who had grown up in Naples. That probably didn’t mean anything; her previous comment could have come from Montréal, and at the door she’d put on a convincing reproduction of the palatal stops common in Paulistano accents. She was darting all over the world, with accents marked enough to sound exotic but soft enough that someone who didn’t come from any of those places might never notice her voice kept changing. “I’m Nina,” Nina squeaked, her earlier confidence evaporating quickly. She twisted the hem of her skirt between her fingers, just to give her hands something to do. “You’re Lola?” The first response was a brief smile, flashing up so fast that Isadora wasn’t sure she’d seen it. “That’s a beautiful name,” Lola said, giving away nothing about herself. “Elegantly understated. Nina…?” “Nina Valens,” Nina answered, and turned her eyes back to her own hands. “Nina Solomon soon. I hope. I’m Stella’s neighbour. Her best friend.” “Of course you are,” Lola said. Her smile seemed genuine enough, even as her accent passed through Panama on its world tour and then moved back to Naples. “She needs a friend. Everybody could use a good friend, and I can see how much you two care about each other.” She leaned forward and set Dookie in Nina’s lap, turning him so that he gazed up at her like a pet in need of attention. “And you’re very brave, coming in here for her,” she added, more quietly. “I like that.” Nina shifted on the sofa as if ready to spring up at any moment. She was still tense, still reminding herself that she was here to fight for her friend, but something in the newcomer’s mood didn’t quite fit the fight she had come for. Isadora watched the dynamic shift as Nina’s fingers found the ferret’s ears. It was exactly the right move: a distraction from the secrets still hanging in the air. “So,” Isadora said, second-guessing every word, and even the inflection she put on each syllable. This was the first time she had talked to someone who would actually notice whether she’d learned anything in basic training. She still had no hints about Lola’s allegiance, but two minutes in the same room were enough to tell her the other woman was good. Maybe on a level with Brock. So, a rival or a replacement, and she didn’t know which she would fight hardest against. “So,” Lola agreed, and immediately both of the littles were on the edge of their seats, knowing that whatever she said next had to be important. But no more words followed. “So,” Nina broke first. “You mentioned a disease. Has Bernard caught something from you? Is that what this is about?” Lola just laughed, a musical sound that filled the room. It was the kind of laugh that made someone seem instantly open and personable, which was probably the point. It was hard not to like her. “I don’t have any diseases, chérie. You can ask anyone. It’s just cells in a laboratory, no immediate concern.” “One of Bernard’s suppliers,” Isadora added. “They needed some materials tested. I think I heard him mention it.” In her own mind, she turned Lola’s words over: not just what they appeared to say, but every other way they could be read. At the same time, she was preparing a reaction in case this visitor said something she couldn’t pass off as part of Bernard Klein’s job. And there was the planning she didn’t want to think about as well: what she could say if Nina let slip something about them both being littles. The way Lola had handled Dookie was far gentler than any of their friends would have managed, and it would be easy to assume she understood this lifestyle. But Isadora was following every word to make sure she didn’t assume anything that hadn’t been said, and she could see that Lola was simply following unconscious cues, doing whatever made Nina feel safe. It was a bluff without words, watching their eyes to see what they expected. “And who’s Dashie?” Nina asked. “You used that name before.” “Oh, it’s just a nickname,” Lola said with a bright smile. “Because whatever we try, he always has to finish first.” “That sounds like Bernard,” Isadora allowed herself a little nod. She knew she was being tested now; Lola was pushing her buttons, trying to keep her off balance. So she responded in kind, wondering whether she would learn anything from what the other woman did next. “Have you done a lot of work for him, then?” “It barely seems like work,” Lola purred, her accent somewhere around Lisbon this time. “It’s so invigorating, when I get to spend time with my Dashie.” She looked at Isadora properly then, slowly, from her shoes upwards, in a way that should have felt rude and somehow didn’t. “But perhaps it could be just as stimulating to show two young women the thrills of that life.” Isadora’s first instinct was to look at Nina, to judge how her friend was taking this and what she might be assuming. But before she had finished that thought, she was analysing her own responses as well. There was the rebel in the back of her mind who wanted to see how far Lola would push this. There were a dozen inner voices reminding her not to let this woman learn anything Brock hadn’t already shared, not to mention anything about littlespace, and to work out how she could intervene if either of the others seemed about to reveal one of her biggest secrets. But the most prominent thought was the realisation that she was treating the whole conversation like a chess game: weighing risk against reward for everything she might say, and making plans for every trap that might be waiting for her. Was this how Brock felt all the time? “So how are you adapting?” Lola was asking. Isadora realised that, in the middle of all that introspection, she had lost track of the conversation for a moment. She needed to keep her focus better than that. “Me?” she asked, as the other woman held out a mug of coffee to her. When Isadora took it, Lola didn’t let go straight away. Her fingertips rested over Isadora’s for a heartbeat longer than it took to pass a cup of coffee; long enough to be noticed, short enough to deny. “There’s not much that’s changed.” Her mind was racing again, as she tried to work out what Lola could be insinuating. Was it a hint that she already knew about the Pink Room? “Evergreen Estates,” Lola answered. She shrugged, and her knee came to rest against Isadora’s as she settled back, as naturally as if the sofa had simply tipped them together. “Bernard. Married life. You’re a smart woman, but it must still take time to get used to new things.” “I don’t think Stella would struggle with a new house,” Nina answered for her. “And I think they’ve been together forever, long before they came here.” “Really? Dashie never mentioned a wife before this year. And I thought he told me everything.” Isadora recognised the move for what it was. An invitation to be defensive, or jealous, or flustered; any of those would tell Lola something. So she took none of them. “Maybe he wanted to keep me to himself,” she ventured, wondering just how far she could push this side of Stella’s personality. It wasn’t something she would have thought of until recently, but now she was experimenting with how flexible her legend could become. Was she really flirting with the enigmatic Lola? Or was she just playing a game she’d never really studied the rules of? It was hard to be sure. Lola’s laugh was delighted, and genuine this time; Isadora was almost sure of it. “Oh, she plays,” she said, to nobody in particular. Then she leaned in, close enough that Isadora caught her perfume, something warm and expensive. “I’d keep you to myself too.” Beside them, Nina made a small scandalised noise into her coffee. Whatever she had been opening her mouth to say was cut short as the front door opened again. With the rustle of a coat and the precise rhythm of boots on the doormat, Isadora knew Brock was home before she saw him. The big question now was how Nina would expect her to greet him, after the conversation they’d been having. “Welcome home, Dashie darling,” Lola called out, her voice almost a song. “Priscilla!” Brock greeted her with a beaming smile as he came into the lounge. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I do hope Stella has made you feel at home.” He crossed to his chair and sat down, and the confusion in Nina’s eyes was immediate. “But she called you…” “Oh, she likes to tease sometimes,” Brock answered before Priscilla could get a word out. Isadora caught the briefest flicker of frustration in the other woman’s eyes, and then a renewed sense of focus. She looked like a skilled duellist facing an opponent she genuinely respected; she couldn’t just play around any longer. Her eyes were cataloguing everyone’s responses as Brock continued: “The first time we met, she was trying to hide that she hadn’t caught my name, until she called me Denzel. Now it’s a running joke, pretending she still can’t remember.” There had to be something hidden there, something below the surface, but Isadora couldn’t make out what it was. Then probably-Priscilla met her gaze for an instant, and her eyes flicked down to a cup of steaming coffee on the table, just before Brock’s hand picked it up. She must have poured it right before he arrived and positioned it exactly where he could reach it from his chair, and Isadora hadn’t noticed the movement. She still had a lot to learn. “So, how are you girls getting on?” Brock asked. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot in common.” Isadora’s mind was rushing through possibilities. Did Brock mean that Priscilla was a little too? That seemed unlikely. But as she watched the body language and the cautious dynamic between these two, she could read the edge of the subtext. Priscilla doesn’t know about the ageplay thing. Brock is testing how much she’s managed to learn from us in a couple of minutes. He knows she’s good, and he’s testing just how good; or teasing her that there’s something he thinks she won’t have deduced. The thoughts lined up neatly one by one, and they all fit with what she had seen of Brock’s attitude. It was wild speculation, but Isadora decided she would stick with that theory until someone gave her a better one. “We were just getting acquainted,” Priscilla said, before either of the girls could answer. Her accent had wandered back to Lisbon. “Stella was telling me how much she enjoys married life. And Nina here has been defending your honour, Dashie. Very fiercely.” “Has she?” Brock looked at Nina with something like real warmth. “Thank you. It’s not an easy job.” “It’s a full-time job,” Priscilla agreed. “I tried it for a weekend once. I’ve never been so exhausted. Do you remember, Dashie?” “I do seem to recall you kicked me once. In the Trossachs.” “Only a little, caro. And I do think you deserved it. You shot first.” Nina’s eyes went very round. Isadora waited for the moment she would have to explain that one, but Nina just looked from one of them to the other, and then, unexpectedly, giggled. She covered her mouth at once, as if the sound had escaped without permission. “You two are terrible,” she said. “Oh, he’s much worse than me,” Priscilla said, and turned the full warmth of her smile on Nina. “But you’re right to keep an eye on him. Someone should.” Isadora sipped her coffee and tried to follow the game. That was what it was; she could see that much now. Every line had at least two meanings, sometimes three, and both of them were playing to an audience of two while talking only to each other. Brock deflected and Priscilla probed. Priscilla teased and Brock let her, which was its own kind of answer. Isadora could spot perhaps one move in three, usually a beat after it had been played. It was like watching grandmasters play speed chess. She could recognise that the moves were brilliant, but only because they had already won something before she worked out what it was. She noticed something else, too. When Priscilla spoke to the girls, her voice kept travelling: Naples, Montréal, somewhere warmer that Isadora couldn’t place. When she spoke to Brock, it had an extra layer; the double accent of an Ethiopian lady pretending to be from South America. Isadora couldn’t tell whether that was her real voice, or just the one she kept for him. Or, perhaps, a subtle test of how much Isadora was noticing. “More coffee, cara?” Brock asked, holding up the cafetière. “Grazie.” Priscilla held out her mug without looking, and he filled it without looking either. Nina watched this exchange with her lips slightly parted. She had come in here ready for a fight, and Isadora could see her trying to locate it again and failing. Whatever was happening between Bernard and this woman, it clearly wasn’t the furtive affair Mrs Stanwick had implied. It was too open for that, too pleased with itself. Nina’s cheeks were pink, but she wasn’t edging towards the door. If anything, she had relaxed back into the sofa cushions, Dookie tucked in her lap, like someone watching a film she wasn’t sure she was old enough for. “You’re blushing, bella,” Priscilla observed. “I’m not,” Nina said, blushing harder. “It’s very sweet. Don’t stop on my account.” Priscilla leaned towards her, just slightly. “Stella doesn’t blush nearly as much. I’ve been trying.” “She does when Bernard–” Nina began, and stopped. Then she seemed to decide the sentence was safe enough and finished it anyway, though not, Isadora suspected, the way she had first intended: “When Bernard’s being soppy. Which is a lot.” “Is he?” Priscilla looked at Brock with enormous interest. “Soppy? You?” “You shouldn’t underestimate my depth,” Brock said. “I think you might be out of it,” Priscilla said. But she was smiling, and Isadora had the impression that the little joke had cost her something, as if Brock had just taken a pawn she had been planning to sacrifice later. There was a buzz from Nina’s pocket. She fumbled her phone out of her pocket, glanced at the screen, and her whole posture changed. Her shoulders rose and her chin lowered, as the delight in her face started giving way to something softer and more anxious. “It’s Victor,” she said. “He’s wondering where I am. I said I’d be dropping Stella off, so I should be home by now.” “Men don’t deserve your obedience,” Priscilla said. “Stay. I’m sure we could have a lot of fun here. Maybe Bernard would rather be the one watching, for a change.” “I have to–” Nina started, and Isadora found herself torn between the two sets of lies, rather than improvising to keep the conversation light. Priscilla couldn’t know about the conditioning that had sanctified Daddy’s approval as the most important thing, and Isadora searched for a way to ease her friend’s discomfort without telling Priscilla too much. “You’d better not keep him waiting,” Brock said gently. “And thank you for bringing Stella home. I mean that.” Nina stood up, set Dookie carefully on the cushion beside Isadora, and then didn’t move towards the door. Instead she turned to face Brock’s chair, her hands balled at her sides the way they had been on the walk up the driveway. Isadora recognised the posture a second too late to do anything about it. “Bernard,” Nina said. “Stella’s got something she wants to talk to you about. Something important. And she won’t say it properly, because she never does. She’ll make it sound like it doesn’t matter, and it really does.” “Nina–” Isadora started. “So when she tells you,” Nina went on, raising her voice just enough to roll over the interruption, “you have to actually listen. Not just pat her on the head and say whatever makes her stop talking. Properly listen. Okay? And if she can’t say it, call me back so I can give her the nudge she needs. Show me that you deserve what you’ve made her…” The room was very quiet. Isadora felt the heat climbing her neck and couldn’t do a thing about it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Priscilla go perfectly still, the way a cat goes still when something interesting moves in the long grass. Maybe she had guessed something about the relationship between the two girls and their husbands now; but Isadora was sure there had been no clues about the details. Brock set his coffee down. For a moment he simply looked at Nina, and Isadora couldn’t read his expression at all. “I’ll listen,” he said. “I promise, I’ll do my best to give her what she craves.” Nina searched his face for a second longer, as if she knew what a promise from a grown-up was worth and wanted to see this one in writing. Then she nodded once, sharply, and fished in her pocket for the Kleins’ car keys. “I left it on the grass by Peggy’s,” she said, holding them out to Isadora. “Sorry. I can walk home from here.” Isadora walked her to the door, hoping for an opportunity to tell her that her own preferences were on the back burner now. On the step, Nina squeezed her hand. “Call me later,” she said. “I want to know everything.” She paused, and her blush came back. “She’s actually kind of… I don’t know. I thought I’d hate her.” “Me too,” Isadora said. Then Nina was walking down the drive, past the red car, small and determined and pink to the tips of her ears. Isadora watched until she rounded the corner. Then she closed the door and stood in the hallway for a moment with the car keys in her hand, noticing the change in the low voices from the lounge. The laughter had already gone out of them before she reentered the room. “Now, how about you tell me who you really are?” she said, hoping she could earn their respect. “Priscilla, is it?” “Just one guess among many,” Priscilla answered quickly. “He doesn’t want to admit it, but Dashie doesn’t know my real name either.” “He’s not so good with names,” Isadora felt sure this time that confidence was the objective. “Nobody’s perfect.” “So. You two want to hear what I found?” the woman asked; and Isadora decided that it would be easiest to go back to thinking of her as Lola. “Or do you need a moment alone to discuss the issues Nina was so eager to ensure were brought to light?” “It’s only an issue for our legends,” Isadora rushed the words to her mouth so she could show she was in control before Brock said anything; and she turned her attention back to her partner, trying to wrap up the personal business as quickly as possible. “We were setting up another double date, after last time went so well. But I should tell Brock that he doesn’t need to be so protective this time. You don’t need to stop Victor, unless you want me all to yourself.” Such an easy sentence, after all the internal debate. And she probably wouldn’t have had the courage to come out with it, if she hadn’t been so eager to show their new friend that it didn’t bother her. And as much as she wanted to think that was a sign she was improving, she still couldn’t guess whether that had been the point all along. “Whatever makes you happy, darling,” Brock answered with a smile that was pure Bernard Klein. “So, Doris, you’ve got news for me. And the fact that you’re here tells me it’s positive. Biological?” “An engineered fungus,” Lola answered, and the accent slipped to something generic and neutral, not reminiscent of any real country. It wasn’t the time for games anymore. “Are we secure here, or should we retire to your inner sanctum?”