Jasmine dumped me today. I think.

It was weird. She took me to go see "Fire," which was playing at the Twenty-one, because, as she said, "Indians, lesbians, what's not to like?" It was an okay movie. The two women were sisters-in-law, which was a little weird, and the thing with the husband who wanted his wife to climb into bed with him and tempt him with his body so he could be strong by not having sex with her--that was a little too close to, well, stuff, for me. I got a little weirded out when I figured out that was what was happening, and I grabbed Jasmine's arm and squeezed her hand tight. And there was only one sexy scene--they were kissing on the bed, slowly, real slow, and Jasmine squeezed my hand and leaned over and said, "Nipple!" in this goofy little voice--because that was about all you could see, through all the gauzy mosquito netting--but her breath was warm in my ear, and on my neck, and I turned my head and kissed her. We were both wearing sundresses, only with sweaters, since it was so cool despite the fact that it was June and anyway, the Twenty-one always has its air-conditioning on too high. But I wasn't wearing any underwear, because Jasmine had already pulled it off.

Before we went in to watch the movie, we went up to the girl's bathroom on the second floor by the entrance to the balcony like we always do, and once this grossly fat woman had left and was wheezing back down the steps we both ducked inside at once and Jasmine twisted the deadbolt.

"You're a pervert," I said.

"Yeah, but I'm your pervert," she said. "Look at this." She wasn't wearing any stockings at all, and her long brown legs went all the way up from her sandals to the hem of her short little sundress--which she was lifting, slowly, teasingly. Her grin widened. I expected some racy pair of underwear to be revealed--something sheer, lacy; some outrageously tiny thong. Instead, there was nothing--the hem went up, and kept going up, and my mouth opened as I saw her pubic hair, trimmed neatly into a thin strip above the small, pursed lips of her cunt.

"Jasmine!" I hissed.

"Look," she said. She kept raising her dress. There, on the taut brown skin of her belly, off to one side of the gentle curve between her navel and her black curls, a pair of lips painted, in lipstick or in henna, a red kiss, a pouting pair of lips pressed there.

"Your kiss," she said.

I don't know how she does it. Every time I think she's crossed a line, done something so outlandish, so crazed, I'll die of embarrassment, she turns it around, puts some spin on it, leaves my knees weak, makes me wet. Loosens my limbs. And I don't think about it anymore, I don't think about anything; my head spins and things happen. Like then, when she stood there, the hem of her dress lifted up above her waist, her grin nearly splitting her face, beaming, and she says "Your kiss," and before I know it I'm walking across to her and I'm kneeling before her and I'm kissing the lips that have been painted there. And I could feel the heat coming off her, and I could smell her musk. And the movie was about to begin any minute, and I hate walking into a movie once it's started, even the previews, and lots of times the Twenty-one doesn't even show previews, but her belly was trembling, and she said, "Oh, Leah," and I just about melted. I kissed the henna lips one more time and then I stood, and her hem fell as she grabbed me, her hands sliding around to grab my ass ("Oh, Leah," she says again, and she squeezes, and her fingers slide between the cotton and my skin) and we kiss and kiss until I just can't stand it anymore, the movie's about to begin, so I pull back (her hands slide out of my underwear, though she digs in a little with her fingernails as I pull free, and I feel the sting on my butt, "Oh, Leah," she says, completely different from how she said it before, and I've flopped over into present tense again, dammit, I hate it when I lose track like that) and that's when she grabs--grabbed--my dress and pulled me back, lifting it to slide her fingers around the waistband of my panties. "Jasmine," I said, "we don't have time--"

"Shh," she said, and she yanked, pulling my panties down my thighs, kneeling to jerk them down the rest of the way, so hard and fast she pulled one of my stockings down over my knee so that it half-fell down my calf. There's no arguing with her in one of these moods. Still, as I lifted one foot, then the other, I said, "The movie..."

"Don't worry about it," she said, as she pulled my little white panties free and held them up, grinning. "Bare as me," she said. "Easy access."

"Jasmine!" I gasped, as she unlocked the door with one hand, stuffing my underwear into her little tin purse with the other. But I couldn't help grinning......(cont)