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Deeper into the rabbit hole.
And when Audrey finally did arrive, ringing the buzzer five stories below, Donna's voice cracked as she stammered into the intercom, "Audrey, is that you?"
"Sure is! Can I come up?" Audrey sounded quite comfortable with the adventure. Perhaps it was simply the naive innocence and confidence of youth. But a small stumble, something only the most perceptive observer might have noticed belied the strong voice, the clear voice, the young voice that had spoken into the intercom. Audrey, too, had a heart (and legs) that trembled. She rode the elevator, an old, creaky thing with an iron gate that rattled, and felt that she was either about to ascend to heaven, or die in the depths of hell from disappointment, so great were her expectations.
Neither of them should have feared failure. Neither of them could have dreamed bigger than the reality that would eventually unfold. All the false hopes and dreams that die in the final encounter, all of the lies and deceptions that find their way into the chatrooms (and the relationships that sometimes result from such encounters) had found their way there from the keyboards of others entirely unlike them. Every word they had "spoken." Every lust they had revealed. Every orgasm that rolled through their bodies, leaving them shaking and grinning had been real. And true. How could it change, how could it not be even better when fingers no longer tapped messages on hard, cold, plastic keys; when fingers finally tapped, touched, teased the warm soft flesh of another, another they already knew almost as well as they knew themselves?
When their eyes met in the doorway, the truth of all that had gone before was confirmed. Donna took Audrey in her arms. Held her tight, and with tears in her eyes silently kissed her warm, sweet mouth. Letting go of the handle of her luggage, Audrey reached for Donna, held on to her, felt her warmth, the give of her very real flesh. Without a word, fulfilling a promise they'd made, a moment they'd carefully planned, Donna gathered the fabric of Audrey's skirt in one hand, lifted it, found her pantyless, and slowly masturbated the soft, hairless cunt she had heard described a thousand times. Touched it with the fingers of a hand that had pretended to be there, the hand Audrey had imagined there when her own fingers had lingered there, masturbating in her bed alone or at her desk with the monitor whispering excited words of encouragement. Finally, there was no need to imagine. She came quickly. Her body heaving, her moans soft, like the mews of a kitten. She'd been so ready for that moment.
And after they had embraced a bit longer, Donna brought her fingers to her mouth, to kiss, to touch with her tongue the taste that was Audrey's, and for the first time the scent of Audrey's sex filled her, filled all of her, and she had cried.
The cabby noticed Audrey's tears, but said nothing. He was not at all certain what had just happened. The young one had just done herself in the back seat of his hack, before god and everybody. The older one had simply hung on and watched. Now she was crying Christsake. "Fuck," he thought, "I wouldn't be crying if that was my fucking girlfriend! Jesus. I'd be doing a fucking happy dance!"
"Donna?" Audrey asked, "I'm sorry; did I make you sad?" "No my sweet girl. Happy. So wonderfully happy."
Audrey smiled, and snuggled deeper into Donna's embrace.