Mitz pulled to a stop in the lane-way and nudged open the door of her Forester with the side of a toe. She stepped down onto the cinder drive and congratulated herself for remembering not to wear heels; she had ruined more than one pair of pumps on previous visits to Jo-Anne’s cottage.

The place was small and not what Mitzy would consider a house, not to live in anyway, but cute all the same with its tin roof and twin oaks draped in Spanish moss bracketing a low slung, sagging porch. The wooded lot was overgrown with cypress, palmetto and saw grass making the cottage all but invisible from the road. Mitz made her way across the rotting boards and hammered on the screen door. “Jo? You in there?”

“Out back,” came the muffled reply. “C’mon through.”

The rusty spring protested loudly, a squeal that would have excited a feral pig and the screen door snapped closed like a trap; a snap that barely missed her ass and caused Mitz to jump. She squinted into the dusky interior and was instantly claustrophobic. Jo-Anne’s cottage was only one main room with a counter and sink along the end wall, and then a bedroom with bath along the opposite side. She could Hoover the whole damned place without unplugging, Mitz thought, if she ever cared to try vacuuming.

Mitz cleared the room in five strides and eyed a second screen door with caution. “You know you left your front door open...” Mitz gawked. “Damn. What’cha doin’ out here without your clothes?”

Jo-Anne Wiley sat naked at a small cafe table in the center of a screened-in porch that overlooked the swamp. She had a laptop open under her hands. “S-shush...” She finished off a sentence and punctuated it with all the flourish of an orchestra conductor. “There ... It’s a short story.”

“I didn’t know you wrote short stories.”

“I don’t. Not normally, but I signed up for this website: LUSH.”

Mitz squinted. “And they asked you to write a short story? In the nude?”

“Not me personally. Everyone who joins can write a story, and everyone gets to read it.”

Mitz looked skeptical. “Okay ... so are they paying you?”

“Well no. I just thought it might help sell a few books.”

Mitz blew out. “Look numb-nuts. Think about it. Why would anyone buy one of your books if you’re just going to give the stories away, for free? Duh-h-h...”

Jo-Anne pulled a blank look. “Huh...” Her thoughts trailed a moment, then: “What’s in the bag?”

Mitz held up the brown luncheon sack she was carrying. “A Red Retro Rocket.”

Jo-Anne screwed her face. “A w-what?”

“Retro Rocket. It’s a vibrating dildo. And it has three speeds: Ignition, Blast Off and Self Destruct.”

“You’re kidding...”

“Of course I’m fucking kidding, dough-head. It’s muffins. You remember to buy coffee this week?”

“Charming.” Jo-Anne sidestepped the question. “And this is the reason you dropped by, to screw with my morning?”

Mitz wasn’t fooled. She raised a brow. “The coffee?”

Jo-Anne’s eyes lowered to the floorboards. “There’s some leftover white wine in the fridge.”

Mitz dropped the paper bag onto the table. “Oh perfect. Stale wine and muffins, at ten in the morning. So what’s the short story about?”

Jo-Anne looked to her computer screen. “It’s a parody. Little Bo-Peep and her Sheep.”

“Now who’s kidding? You, of all people, don’t write nursery rhymes.”

“Well this LUSH web site won’t touch any of my regular stuff– say it’s too edgy. They got these moderators who go over everything I submit and they won’t post any of it. They’re really hard. I’m glad my publisher isn’t so fussy, or I’d be out of work and have to go back to Toronto Life.”

“So enter Little Bo-Peep. You figured you’d put a twist on a children’s story.”

“Yeah. Her and her sheep. But I keep envisioning this fuckin’ wolf sweeping in to pounce on...”

“Whoa.” Mitz held up a traffic-cop’s hand. “Don’t say it. You’ll get yourself blacklisted.”

“Yeah. That’s been happening a lot.”

“You might want to give Stories On Line a try.”

“Stories On Line?” Jo-Anne opened another workspace and made a note.

“Mmm. No spaces and dot-net,” Mitz was looking over Jo-Anne’s shoulder. “Stories On Line is more accommodating than most.”

“I didn’t know you dabbled in the darker haunts of the internet.”

“Let’s just say I like to read in bed sometimes.”

Jo-Anne shrugged. “Well I should really give up on it. Greg called. He’s got some commercial stuff in the works and I’m trying to finish off the final draft of Done With Dolls for Mrs Hadden. And then there’s the Abacos. I’m working to get the boat stocked-up. I figure on sailing over for a couple of weeks to scare the fish– say, why don’t you come along for once?”

“Because I know you. Your two weeks in the Bahamas will end up being two months and I got better things to do than watch you parade around on that silly boat with your boobs hangin’ out.”

“What? You don’t like my boobs?”

“Your breasts are quite wonderful, actually. It’s just they remind me of my own inadequacies.”

Jo-Anne got up from her chair to take her friend’s hand. “But I love your breasts, sweetie. Okay, they’re a little small but oh so perfect. God, your nipples are like stacked dimes. Look, even now they are practically ripping through your blouse, trying to get at me. And I haven’t even asked you to join me in bed, yet.”

“You want to take me to bed? That’s a switch. I’m usually the one forcing you between the bed-sheets.”

“Well you are very persistent. And then cumming all over me– it’s a lot of pressure, yuh know?”

Mitz shrugged. “I’ve offered to return the favor.”

“Thanks. But it’s okay– really.”

“Just my luck. Of all the friggin’ queer women in the world, I have to fall in love with the likes of you. A straight bitch.”

“Ooh, forbidden fruit.” Jo-Anne grinned and, half turning on the ball of a foot, she wiggled her bare bottom. “Betcha can’t eat just one.”

Mitz gave her a withered look. “I’m having an emotional melt-down over here and look what I get: An old potato chip advert.”

Jo-Anne took Mitzy into her arms. “I know ... I know ... but I try my best for you, don’t I?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Mitz ran her fingers through Jo-Anne’s hair and kissed her, running the tip of her tongue along the line of Jo-Anne’s lower lip. “And I guess that’s why I find sex with you so intense. You down there, your tongue on my clit and me knowing all the while, you find the whole sex act with me repugnant. I love the feel, sure, but it’s knowing that you don’t want it that puts me over the top.