Naughty Little Secrets. Mary Wilbon

lay on her back, squarely in the middle of the bed. Her long blonde hair was in disarray around and beneath her. She found her courage, took another deep breath, and then moved her trembling hands down slowly over her hips. There, on top of her, her hands found their objective. She laughed involuntarily when she felt its sponginess. Still flexible, still doable. It was damp from all the previous attempts, but Laura was confident that she could make it fit.

      Beads of sweat formed on her brow and at the nape of her lovely neck. She grabbed hold and started to pull up.

      Nothing.

      She strained and tugged even harder. She arched her back and moaned.

      Still nothing.

      Then slowly…very slowly…it moved.

      “Oh, yes…yes…yes…God…Oh God,” she screamed in abandon.

      She started to pump her hips in a bucking motion. She was just inches, mere seconds from the payoff.

      “Yes! That’s it! Right there! Oh…”

      “Will you please get a grip on that,” said Slick, leaning casually against a post of the canopied bed and smiling down at her. “I wish you could see yourself from here, making a spectacle of yourself like this. All the panting and undulating. Your cheeks flushed. Your breasts heaving in a frenzy. It’s shocking and disturbing.

      “Have you no shame, no modesty? I’m embarrassed for you. I only hope that in time I’ll be able to purge this sordid image of you from my memory.”

      Without moving a muscle, Laura lay there and asked, “Are you done? Or are you just going to stand there mocking me and making snide remarks at my expense?”

      Slick thought this over for several seconds.

      “It’s very tempting, but no, I’m done. No…wait…wait…I think I’ve got one more joke left…Nah, I’ve got nothing. I’m done.”

      Laura, knowing that she had been busted, pulled herself up on her elbows and asked, “How long have you been watching me?”

      “Long enough to capture you writhing around like a fish out of water on videotape. It’s sure to be a hit at the party.”

      “Well, you try getting into this stupid thing,” said Laura in disgust, collapsing back onto the bed. The tail at the end of her formfitting rubber fish suit crashed to the floor. “It’s becoming an aerobic workout. Whose bright idea was it to have a costumed Christmas party, anyway?”

      “Someone said ‘don we now our gay apparel.’ You know our peeps wouldn’t let that go by without turning it into a party. But no one told you to go as a mermaid,” teased Slick. She walked to the closet and stepped inside.

      “It seemed like such a great idea at the time. You know, me being the head of a clam company. I wanted to do something aquatic,” Laura explained, reaching down to retrieve her fin.

      “Very subtle. And you got me this Sherlock Holmes getup because I used to be a detective, right?” asked Slick, emerging from the closet holding her costume.

      “Yes, I was working with themes.”

      “I see. You will never know how relieved I am at this moment that neither one of us is a proctologist.” Slick pretended to shudder at the thought of it.

      Slick removed her costume from its wrapping and smiled to herself. She had to admit it was a clever idea. She put on the Holmes trademark deerstalker cap, then put the big-bowled pipe with the bent briar in her mouth. She got into the shirt, and placed the cufflinks into the sleeves. She draped the herringbone cape around her shoulders.

      Slick walked to the mirror and struck what she thought was an appropriate Sherlock Holmesian pose. She raised one eyebrow and pretended to smoke the pipe.

      “The game is afoot,” she said to her reflection.

      She did a few turns in the mirror, checking herself out. Not too bad. This could work after all, she thought. She was going to enjoy being Holmes.

      She turned back to Laura.

      “Would you like me to help you get into your fish tail?”

      “Oh, no you don’t,” laughed Laura. “The last two times you ‘helped’ me, the damned thing ended up on the floor, around my ankles.”

      “I can’t believe you’re still holding that against me.” Slick winked and rubbed her chin. “My recuperative abilities are amazing. You’ll be happy to know that the feeling is finally starting to return to my face.”

      “You were the one who wanted to play ‘Jaws Meets the Little Mermaid,’” said Laura.

      “Yes, but I distinctly remember that you were the one who wanted to play ‘The Pussy Hiding Adventure,’” said Slick. “This time I promise I’ll be good.”

      Slick offered her hand to Laura. Laura took hold and Slick lifted her gently from the bed. She grabbed the top of the fish suit and pulled Laura to her. Laura slid effortlessly into the costume. They laughed, and as Slick held Laura close, she looked around the room.

      They had shared this room, this bed, this home for ten years. Time had flown. It didn’t seem possible, but Slick loved Laura now more than ever.

      And now they were about to celebrate their tenth Christmas together. Slick said a silent prayer of thanks, kissed Laura softly, and watched her as she wriggled her way into the final fit of the fish tail. She put her feet through the slots at the bottom and walked unsteadily to the bed.

      “I don’t get it,” said Laura as she adjusted herself. “Bette does a mermaid thing in her show and she never seems to have any problem.”

      “She’s in a wheelchair for most of it, baby,” said Slick. “And she’s got the Harlettes helping her. Speaking of Bette, do you think she’ll be at the party tonight?”

      “No,” sighed Laura. “I don’t think so. She’s still a little cranky about her TV series being cancelled.”

      “She’s still upset about that! That was years ago.”

      “I know. But you know Bette. It’s hard for her to get over things. She still hasn’t forgiven Barry Manilow for wanting his own career. She swears he’ll come crawling back to her any day now.”

      “What about Puffy?” Slick asked. “Will he be at the party?”

      “I’m not sure,” said Laura. “But if he does show up, call him ‘P Diddy.’ Don’t call him ‘Puffy.’ He doesn’t use that anymore.”

      “Why not?”

      “Puffy’ made him sound like he was retaining water,” explained Laura.

      “Oh, okay.”

      Slick suddenly became very serious and very still. She stood in the center of the room and slowly looked around. Her eyes searched everywhere, taking in every detail. She absentmindedly gripped her Sherlock Holmes pipe and frowned.

      Laura watched her in her transfixed state and knew she was concentrating deeply on something. She wanted to ask what it was, but decided to wait for it.

      Ten seconds passed.

      Twenty seconds passed.

      “I can’t find my underpants,” Slick finally said in exasperation. “I’ve been looking all over and I can’t find them anywhere.”

      “I was wondering why you were still walking bare-assed around the room. Why don’t you just put on another pair,” asked Laura.

      “Because now it’s personal,” answered Slick. “I used to be the best looking, best detective in the country and now I can’t find my own underpants. It’s humiliating.”

      Laura smiled as she sat on the bed, putting on the top of her costume. “I’ll agree that you were the best detective