Girls Only: Pool Party
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MOXIE
By Selena Kitt
High school senior, Moxie, agrees to be moral support for her friend, Patches, who is totally enamored with a college boy, so she says yes to a double date, even though she has to lie to her parents to do it. But Moxie wasn’t counting on lying about her age to get into an x-rated movie, and she definitely wasn’t counting on her date’s Roman hands and Russian fingers, or the fact that the pants she’s borrowed from Patches are several sizes too small. By the end of the night, Moxie finds herself in far more trouble than she bargained for!
Selena Kitt’s *Girls Only*—where the girls get naughty together, but it feels oh, so good!
When her new neighbor, Gina, moves in, shy Nancy gets invited to her pool party, but she isn’t quite ready for all the attention she gets in the bikini that Gina’s loaned her. And she definitely isn’t ready for that drunken, crazy point in the party when everyone abandons their bathing suits altogether! Nancy hides in a cabana until Gina comes to find her and slowly and deliciously convinces her that being naked isn’t such a bad thing after all!
Selena Kitt Single
Short Story—Big Bang!
(approx 8000 words)
Warning: This title contains hot panty-melting girl-on-girl action!
Table of Contents
Pool Party
About Selena Kitt
Bonus Excerpt!
More Books from Selena Kitt
More from Excessica
GIRLS ONLY:
Pool Party
By Selena Kitt
Selena Kitt Singles
Short Story—Big Bang!
Nancy didn’t know what her neighbor had against clothing, but she rarely saw her wearing any. Not that she could blame the woman. Santa Barbara was hot in the summer, and if Nancy looked like the woman next door—a tall, busty, long-legged redhead—she might go around naked all the time too.
They met over their shared fence, a tall, synthetic privacy affair overgrown on Nancy’s side with a thick vine of morning glories. One Saturday afternoon, while Nancy was on her hands and knees, wearing her summer uniform of denim shorts and a tank-tee, up to her elbows in dirt digging in her garden, she heard a voice coming from next door.
“I’m pretty sure it’s old blue jeans.”
Nancy looked up to see her new neighbor’s pretty green eyes framed by straight, blunt-cut copper-colored bangs peeking over the fence line.
“Excuse me?” Nancy brushed a stray strand of dark hair out of her eyes, tilting her gardening hat back and peering up at the woman.
“That song you were singing. Crocodile Rock, right? Elton John?”
Nancy flushed. She hadn’t even realized she was singing.
“It’s not Ovaltines, it’s blue jeans.” The redhead giggled. “‘Dreaming of my Chevy and my old blue jeans…’ not ‘my Ovaltines.’”
“Oh.” Nancy blushed a deeper red. “I had no idea.”
“I’m Gina, by the way. Gina Cole. I don’t think we’ve met.”
Nancy did the polite thing, abandoning her spade and gardening gloves and walking over to the fence to properly introduce herself.
“Nancy. Nancy Weimer. Well, Robbins, once the divorce is final.”
The redhead raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. “Would you like condolences or congratulations?”
Nancy laughed. “A little bit of both, I guess. You know how it is.”
“Oh, no. Not me.” Gina waggled the fingers of her left hand as proof. “Free as a little birdie.”
“Well, Santa Barbara is a great place to be young and single.”
“Yes it is! I can’t say I miss L.A. at all.” Gina cocked her head, contemplating her neighbor’s garden. “You know, your yard would be just perfect with a pool.”
Nancy laughed. “Sorry, inside joke. My husband was a scuba diver. Loved the water. We had a pool. I had it filled in last year and planted this garden.”
“Oh, a victory garden!” Gina exclaimed with a giggle.
“Something like that.”
Gina jerked her head in the direction of the pool behind her. “Well if you ever get hot, feel free to come on over and hop in my pool. Plenty of room!”
“Thanks.” Nancy glanced over her shoulder at where her own pool used to be, where Neil would spend hours doing laps back and forth. “Would you like something from my garden?”
“Organic?” Gina inquired with a frown. “I only eat organic…”
Nancy scoffed, going over and picking a cucumber off one of the trellises. “Of course. These are huge this year.”
“My goodness! They certainly are!” The redhead’s eyes widened as Nancy handed her the long, fat vegetable. “Well, thank you. I can think of lots of good uses for this guy!”
She smiled. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
Nancy noticed, when Gina reached over the fence, her neighbor was bare-shouldered, but the fence was in the way and she couldn’t see any more. It wasn’t until the following week, standing on the balcony outside her bedroom window in a robe, towel-drying her hair and looking down at the fence she’d had installed around her garden boxes—the rabbits had eaten all of her new melons—when Nancy saw Gina stretched out beside her pool on a lounge chair wearing absolutely nothing. Well, that wasn’t quite true—she had on a floppy white hat and a pair of sunglasses, but that was all.
The fence was tall and afforded plenty of privacy, but houses on their street were smashed together in little squares like postage stamps. California land was at a premium and having more of it was very expensive. Nancy could see everyone’s yard on all sides. She stood looking out her window, wondering if the thought had occurred to her new neighbor, who was completely exposed, not only to the elements, but to the eyes of every surrounding neighbor who happened to glance out an upstairs window. Mr. Desoto on the other side of her would certainly be thrilled—the old geezer had flirted with Nancy since she and Neil had moved in as newlyweds. He was probably foaming at the mouth at the sight of their shared neighbor. Thankfully, there were no kids in the neighborhood, at least within sight distance.
What didn’t occur to Nancy, as she gaped at her neighbor’s admittedly gorgeous nude body, was Gina might be able to see her too—not until Gina leaned over, picking up a drink with an umbrella stuck into it and raising it in Nancy’s direction in a salute. Her mouth went instantly dry and her stomach dropped to her toes, having been caught peeping on her neighbor in the raw.
What else could she do but raise a hand in a wave?
The next time they saw each other was one of the few times Nancy saw her neighbor with her clothes on. Gina was wearing a white linen pants suit and heels, with a lemon yellow scarf at her neck and the same floppy white hat, walking two very large but very well-mannered black and white spotted Great Danes past Nancy’s yard. Nancy grew as many plants in her front yard as her back one, using the space to cultivate the useful but still pretty flowered ones like lavender, lemongrass, chives, thyme and even curry.
When Nancy waved, Gina stopped to talk, both dogs heeling and sitting at her commands, their big tongues hanging low as they panted on t
he sidewalk. The women chatted about the dogs (Nancy admitted she was a cat person, owning three of them) and the weather (in Santa Barbara, there hardly was such a thing to discuss, it was always beautiful) and Mr. Desoto (who had, indeed, propositioned his new neighbor) and that, of course, gave Nancy the perfect opportunity to inquire.
“You know, if I can see you sunbathing from my window, Mr. Desoto probably can too?”
Gina rolled her eyes and waved her hand in dismissal. “Let him look. What do I care? I’ve been in Playboy twice. He can drool over me in the September 2000 issue to his heart’s content.”
That’s when her new neighbor revealed her profession as a model, sometimes actress, and one-time Playboy bunny, and Nancy began to understand her lack of modesty.
“Besides, it’s my own backyard,” Gina huffed. “I’ll do what I like. That’s what fences are for.”
Nancy nodded. “Good fences make good neighbors.”
And that’s where they left it.
The next time Nancy saw her new neighbor, Gina was masturbating.
The sight was so shocking, Nancy forgot what she was doing, the fly-swatter in her hand, the one with which she’d been chasing an errant bee around in her room, dropping to the floor. The door wall to her balcony was open, the screen letting in a nice, cool breeze on a warm summer day, and a honeybee from her hive out back had found its way in through a hole in the screen. But when Nancy saw what her neighbor was doing, all thoughts about the wayward insect were forgotten.
Gina was naked on her lounge chair—a sight Nancy had grown used to, in some ways—her body slick with oil, her skin the color of café au lait. A redhead without freckles was unusual enough, but a redhead with such a rich, beautiful tan was stunning. And she was clearly a “real” redhead, because the hair between the woman’s long, slender thighs was a fiery copper color—what there was of it. Below a little triangle at the very top, the woman was completely shaved. Nancy could see that clearly enough, even though Gina’s hand, moving between her legs, partially covered the view.
Nancy told herself to walk away, to go back to reading about sustainable gardening and forget about her neighbor’s slick, glistening, oiled-up flesh show. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She was frozen in place, paralyzed by the arousing sight and sound of the woman’s pleasure. The breeze carried Gina’s little mews and soft cries as her fingers moved faster between her open thighs.
Nancy couldn’t remember how long had it been since she herself had masturbated—since she’d thought about sex at all. With Neil, sex had become such a power struggle, once he was gone, she’d thrown the baby out with the bath water. So to speak. But just the sight of Gina on display, touching herself without reserve—did she know Nancy was watching? That anyone could be watching?—made her clench every muscle she had below the waist.
Don’t. Shouldn’t. Can’t. All the negatives going through her mind made what she was doing—standing in front of the window, legs squeezed tight together, breathing shallow and fast—somehow even more exciting. Nancy couldn’t see her neighbor’s eyes—her sunglasses were on, and her hat cast half her face in shadow—but she could see her mouth, how she drew her lower lip between her teeth as her hand moved faster and faster between her legs.
Nancy found her own hand wandering south, the denim of her jean shorts too tight, tugging between her thighs. She rubbed the seam, working it into her cleft as she watched her neighbor’s gloriously oiled up, tanned, pink-tipped breasts moving with her masterbatory motion, Gina’s fingers weren’t just rubbing anymore, but plunging deep, fucking herself. Her knees were drawn up, her red-painted toes curled, hips moving up and down on the lounge chair.
What was she imagining? Nancy wondered, leaning against the doorframe as she unzipped her cutoffs and slid her hand into the moist crotch of her panties. Oh fuck, she was wet. She hadn’t been wet like this in ages, couldn’t remember the last time she’d been aroused at all, in fact. Aside from a few vague wet dreams here or there that burned away in the heat of the day, her life had become so singular and sterile—home, work, garden. The only mating going on in her life had been crossbreeding her plants.
But she was aroused now. Her pussy sucked her fingers in, hungry and desperate for more. It was hardly enough. Nancy remembered something as she watched her neighbor’s display, her fingers, three of them—no, four, practically her whole hand!—thrusting in and out of her wet hole, and bolted to her dresser. In the bottom drawer were her pantyhose, slips, a few bits of lingerie from Victoria’s Secret to tempt Neil back in the day, and a pink, silicone Rabbit vibrator he had purchased for her one Valentine’s Day.
She’d only ever used it once, and when she turned it on, she was sure nothing would happen, that the batteries would not only be dead, but corroded inside—a bit like she felt—and the moment would be gone, everything spoiled. But instead it buzzed to life, sending an exciting jolt through her as she rushed back to the window to watch her neighbor’s show, afraid she might have missed the fireworks ending.
But no, Gina was still fucking herself, mouth open now, head back, thigh muscles taut with effort. Nancy flushed, hot and ashamed of herself, but she yanked her shorts and panties off and shoved the vibrator up inside her throbbing pussy with complete abandon, not caring anymore. She was too desperate for an orgasm, watching Gina working toward hers. The vibrator hummed, the silicone rabbit hitting her clitoris at just the right angle, making her moan softly, her nipples hardening under her t-shirt.
“Oh fuck!” Gina cried, hips bucking up fast, hard, again and again. Her words were clear, if a little faint. “Ooooo yeah! Fuck yeah! I’m gonna come!”
Oh.
Oh!
Oh!
Nancy fucked herself with the toy, her level of arousal so high she knew it wouldn’t be long before her own orgasm. The hot buzzing between her legs drove her mad with lust and her knees weakened and buckled as she watched her neighbor’s climax, the way Gina drove her hips toward the sky as she came and came, her body shuddering with it.
Nancy came too, so suddenly she cried out with the force of it as her orgasm shook her like a livewire, hot, electric, throbbing jolts of pleasure jerking her limbs and making the muscles of her pussy clamp down on the vibrator again and again. Trembling and breathless, she collapsed onto the floor in front of the door wall, sliding the vibrator out of her still quivering pussy and turning it off.
She didn’t peek to see if Gina had heard her, although some part of her wanted to. Instead she rested, catching her breath, feeling the soft touch of the breeze and the warm caress of the sunshine coming through the door wall, wondering how in the hell she had managed so long without that. When she had finally recovered, she dared to look over at her neighbor’s yard, but the lounge chair was empty. Gina was gone.
Nancy didn’t see her again for a few weeks, when Gina stopped on her way by with the dogs as Nancy knelt in the front yard, pruning. Her neighbor tapped her shoulder—she had been so lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t heard her approach—and when Nancy turned and saw who it was, she was sure she blushed as pink as the buds Gina exclaimed over.
“I’ve never seen such gorgeous roses!”
“These are just ornamental,” Nancy explained, trying to hide her flush under the brim of her had. “I like the wild ones out back more. I gather the rosehips in the fall. They’re so rich in Vitamin C, you can actually treat colds and flu with them. And I make rose oil out of the seeds. It’s a great treatment for wrinkles.”
“Really?” The redhead leaned over the roses to breathe in the scent. “I’d like to try some.”
“You don’t have any wrinkles,” Nancy remarked, and it was true, for the most part. Gina seemed ageless, like a long-legged, fiery goddess.
“You’re sweet.” Gina laughed. “How old would you guess I am?”
“Twenty-eight?” Nancy was twenty-eight.
“Ha. I’m thirty-four.” Gina took off her sunglasses, leaning in so close Nancy could smell her perfume,
something flowery and sweet, a far better scent than roses. “See these wrinkles? Ugh! Thank god for airbrushing!”
Nancy shook her head. “I don’t see anything.”
“You’re really too sweet.” Gina put her sunglasses back on. “Do you have any of that rose oil?”
“Sure.” Nancy had made dozens of bottles of the stuff. “I can bring some over later.”
“That’d be great!” Gina sighed as one of the dogs at her feet whined and pawed at the leg of her pant suit. Nancy had never seen anyone dress as well as her neighbor. She wore linen and heels to walk the dogs, for pete’s sake! Nancy felt like a drudge in her cut-offs and t-shirt. “Well, I’d better get these beasts their daily exercise.”
Nancy looked, but couldn’t find any more rose oil in her medicine cabinet. She’d made so much that first winter she could barely store it all, but after Neil moved out, things got so shuffled around, she couldn’t remember where she might have put it. It wasn’t until the following day, just when she was closing up the flower shop, the day’s last wedding bouquets, funeral flowers and I’m-sorry, get-well or I-love-you roses delivered, that she remembered where she’d put them.
All three cats—two fat orange ones named Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (Butch and Sunny for short, Neil’s idea) and a slim, gold-eyed, black goddess named Isis—met her at the door, threading their way around her feet as she tossed her purse and keys on the sideboard. They followed her into the basement, a damp, dark cave where Neil had kept his drum set, through the furnace room. There was a small refrigerator plugged in back there, and she’d forgotten she put all her oils and some of her seeds in there when Neil moved out.
When she knocked on her neighbor’s front door, there was no answer, although the dogs barked like mad, pawing and scratching and howling at her. Gina’s car was in the driveway, and she wondered if she might be out back, in the pool, where she seemed to spend most of her time. Nancy wandered around the side of the house. It was far larger than her own, three stories instead of just two. Modeling clearly paid better than being a florist.