Sauce

Be more specific," the first girl said, and the second girl said, "It felt, I dunno, good or whatever, intense."

"Specific," her friend said. "Like details."

"It was like everything loosened up," the second one said. She was blonde and tan and full of breath.

"Everything?" her friend said.

"Especially my cunny."

"Oh my," her friend said. She was a chubby little brunette.

"My, my."

"But that was only at the very end. At the beginning, when it first started, it was just the opposite, like all my muscles tightened up." the blonde said. "Like tense."

"Now wait," her friend said. "Just wait——"

"Like when you stretch, that feeling you get in your arms when you stretch——"

"Where is he?" the brunette said. "Where's Scott? What's he doing?"

This is when I decided to duck behind the oven. It was hot back there, and it smelled of burnt cheese, but I wasn't complaining.

"He's still down there. I told you, I kept him down." The blonde giggled. I imagined her hair bouncing around. That was how she looked when she giggled.

"What's he doing?" the brunette asked.

"Nothing really different." The blonde fell silent and they let the moment gather emphasis. "Except...."

The brunette gasped. "Except what?"

"I got him to slow down and spread out. You know, spread me out. It was like he was finally getting to the good spot. I mean, he got to it before. But never so it was, like, right there."

"He opened you up? He opened up your cunny?"

"Yeah." The blonde giggled (continued on page 146)Sauce(continued from page 113) again. "I helped him out a little."

"You did not."

"I did too." It was a beautiful thing to listen to the two of them. The blonde sounded positively drunk. "He wasn't getting to it," she said. "Not enough. Not consistently."

"So you helped?" the brunette snickered. You could tell she was jealous she hadn't thought of it first. "You gave him a hand."

"Right."

"A real handy woman. Didn't it get crowded down there, with all those hands?"

"No. I just showed him, that's all. He had his fingers inside me—you know how they jab around inside?—but I got his fingers out. I moved so they kept sliding out and he finally figured it out."

"Then he took over?"

"Yeah. Right."

The brunette chortled. Honestly. She chortled. "You horny toad," she said. "You horny, horny toad."

But the blonde was quiet, a serious sort of quiet. "He picked up on it," she said. "The love button, love. Yes, that's right. They're trainable, you know."

The dough was down on the slab in front of me, a lump of white, but I didn't so much as knead. Just pressed down my palms, one by one, gently, until it was thin enough for the sauce. More than anything, I needed for them not to hear me.

"Ok," the brunette said, "so he's down there working it. And that's all it took?"

"There were some other things," the blonde said.

"Things?" the brunette, God bless her, said. "What things?"

"Ok," the blonde said. Her voice dipped all low and husky. I had to lean forward, against the edge of the stainless steel counter. "The first thing, I put my hand on the back of his head, kept it there. For, like, extra control." She laughed, almost bitterly. "I knew I was close, and I wasn't going to let him fuck it up."

"No ma'am!" The brunette made a sound like a whip cracking and laughed, and the blonde joined in. There was a silence and then just the sound of the fan faintly rattling, stirring the garlicky air out into the alley.

The brunette made a prompting noise, a musical little hum.

"Ok, so also, Scott's got his other hand, his fingers, lower down. You know, touching lower down."

"No."

"Why not? He has two hands," the blonde said. "He's allowed to use both hands." She was still whispering, and it sounded even better like that, naughty and deliberate. "It wasn't like he was suffering. He was taking care of himself just fine."

The brunette hummed her little hum again.

"See, the way Scott was, I could feel him, like his hard-on, pressing against me. And the way I was, the way our bodies were, it was pressing into my knee."

"Your knee?"

"Yeah." The blonde exhaled through her nose. There was nothing happening on College Avenue. Not even the glum high schoolers were out there, choking down their clove cigarettes and spitting.

"It wasn't the front of my knee," the blonde said. "It was the back. You know, that part back there, that part that's real sensitive." The blonde giggled, extravagantly now. "Well, you know how it gets," she said.

"No, tell me."

"It gets sweaty," the blonde said. "Sweaty and slippery."

"And?"

"And he felt that, you know. Scott felt that and his cock was right there, in that groove, and he just sort of began moving back and forth."

"Like humping? Like humping your knee?"

"No, it wasn't like that." The blonde sighed. "It was like, I don't know, it felt good. I could feel his cock moving against that spot, like sliding across it. He was so hard."

I had the ladle in my hand now. It was time for the sauce. I knew I had to get their pie in the oven. Soon they'd be wondering where their pie was.

"I could feel him moving back and forth, and at the same time he was down there between my legs, and I could feel that too, one hand opening me up so he could get to that one spot, and the other massaging lower down. I was so wet. I don't even remember how long this went on. Probably not even that long," the blonde said. "All I know is that I kept getting more and more excited, so excited I couldn't keep still, and I could feel him there, sliding against me, and kissing me and rubbing. I felt everything. I felt him start to come, felt that, how that feels, you know."

Outside, an ambulance yipped past. Someone was being rescued, hauled away from trouble and restored to life. I set the ladle down.

The blonde took a final tiny breath and I breathed in, too, the same moist air. "That's when it happened," she said. "It was like everything tightened up, every single muscle, and I had my hand on the back of his head and kept pushing. I pushed until I felt him buck against my hand. And even after that I kept pushing. He must have thought I was crazy. But I wasn't going to let him stop, because I was right in the middle of it then. And that's when everything loosened up. I swear, everything. I could feel my hips going up and down, up and down, like unpeeling from the bone. I just got—I don't know—creamy. And his fingers, Scott's fingers, they kept rubbing. Not my cunny, the other place, and because everything was so wet, so loose, they sort of, they slipped inside. One or two fingers. I don't remember."

At some unknown expense of will, the brunette held herself to a quiet gasp.

"I don't remember everything. I just remember that my legs started shaking. It felt good, like, right at the center, and I kept his head there, around down there, and his tongue and his fingers. It was, like, the pressure or whatever, I don't know. I didn't know something could feel that way. I could see my legs shaking around, but I couldn't feel them."

"Yeah," the brunette said. She giggled a bit, then sighed her sigh of envy. "That sounds about right."

"Yeah." The blonde fell silent. "Yeah."

There were just the three of us in the restaurant. Like I said, it was late, just a late weekday. The pie didn't take long to bake. The oven was still hot. And when I brought it to them, it was like they had just gone back to being a couple of sorority girls, scrubbed clean, appropriately bundled into their blouses.

I felt the urge, as I set the pizza down, to say something. To say, "Thank you, thank you." Or "Excellent work!" Or "Dear God, I love you both."

They didn't look up at me. But then I heard the blonde, heard what she said as she took the Up of the first slice into her mouth. "This sauce," she said. "I love how they do it." And the brunette, following suit, her tongue darting to a spot at the corner of her mouth, agreed.

The brunette chortled. Honestly. She chortled. "You horny toad," she said. "You horny, horny toad."