Passionfruit 16, Cola 20: Joy Maserati's Rules For Sex (And Life)
Title: Joy Maserati's Rules For Sex (And Life)
Main Story: In The Heart, Polyfaceted, and Second Genesis
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Passionfruit 16 (Sing, and the hills will answer - Ella Wheeler Wilcox), cola 20 (it does a body good), My Treat (sex = problem solving forever), malt (Joy and John Wilson's date; 605 words), chopped nuts (several different AUs), brownie, milkshake (Torey and John Wilson belong to the Polyfaceted crew, Chloe and Kurt to Nikki, and are used with their kind permission).
Word Count: 5012
Rating: R, verging on NC-17 at times, for explicit sex and a lot of swearing.
Summary: Joy likes life.
Notes: LAST COLA. Frickin finally, jeez. At least four of these totally disregard anything that you might call a timeline. Also, number 3 is a secret AU. Find the hidden Jane Austen reference and get a cookie.
WARNING for underage sexual activity.
1) Listen to yourself. You'll never find someone more responsive to your needs than you.
Joy slammed the front door behind her, and slammed her bedroom door for good measure, too. It wasn't like anyone was home to object.
Fucking Mondays, God. It was like they had it out for her. Tuesdays were boring, Wednesdays were tough but she could power through, Thursdays were almost Fridays and Fridays were... well, Fridays. The weekend didn't even need elaboration.
But fucking Mondays.
Probably didn't help that it was the one day of the week that she didn't have a dance class.
She always got home wound tight like a spring, muscles taut, fists clenched, so much energy bouncing around inside her that she could hardly hold herself together. Neither of her parents were home-- Dad at bridge, Mom at work-- so she could slam doors all she wanted, go up to her room and sulk. Or...
Or she could take a shower.
Course decided, Joy stripped off her shirt, dropped it on the floor, and headed for the bathroom, unbuttoning her jeans as she went.
She turned the shower on and stepped inside without waiting for it to warm up. Her nipples pebbled immediately under the cold spray, her skin tightening with goosebumps. Joy turned her back to the spray and cupped her breasts, feeling the weight of them in her hands.
She was gorgeous. She knew she was. Mama always said 'know your assets,' and this was one of hers; she was beautiful and sexy, and she reveled in it.
"You're beautiful," she whispered to herself, and slipped a hand between her legs.
The shitty day slipped into memory as the spray warmed and her fingers worked, finding all the spots that made her feel good, steam rising around her. She let go of her breast to brace herself against the wall toward the end, leaned her forehead on the tile and moaned out her climax, the shower spray hot on her back.
When she finally got out of the shower an hour later, toweling her hair, she thought maybe she was ready to deal with the rest of the week.
--
2) Experience is never a bad thing. Learn from the people who have it.
Her target was at the bar, talking to the bartender and laughing and looking very handsome indeed. Just as promised. Joy squared her shoulders, moved in beside him, and asked, "Are you Jack Chandler?"
The man turned and met her eyes with a dazzling smile. That was promising. "I am," he said. "Who's asking?"
"Joy Maserati," she said, and gave him her very own dazzling smile back. "You dated my friend Sonya Busacca for a while."
To her amusement, a panicked look flashed across Jack's face momentarily. He covered it well, though. "Sonya? Yeah, I remember her. How's she doing?"
"Pretty good," Joy said, laughing. "Don't look so afraid. She recommended you."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Recommended me for what?"
"I'm a virgin," Joy said, bluntly, "and I'm tired of it. Sonya said you're really good in bed. How about it?"
He looked stunned for a moment, then began to grin. "So let me get this straight. You want me to have sex with you."
"And teach me some tricks," she said, nodding. "Look, I'm not totally naive, I've done fingering and such, I've just never had sex with someone else. I want somebody who knows what he's doing for my first time. Sonya said you're it."
Jack's grin now covered half his face. "No strings?"
"No strings," Joy said. "Though you have to use a condom. And I'd like to stay friends afterwards, but of course that's not necessary."
"Oh, such onerous restrictions." He turned back to the bar, picked up his beer, downed the rest of it, wiped his mouth, and said, "You're on, honey. Lead the way."
One hour and one orgasm later, with his cock driving into her and his mouth hot on her breasts, Joy had to admit that Sonya had not been exaggerating.
When she came for the second time, his thumb rough on her clit and his teeth against her neck, she had to wonder if Sonya hadn't actually been underplaying it a bit.
--
3) If someone comes up and starts talking to you, talk back! You might make a new friend.
This time it was Joy leaning on the bar, talking and giggling with the bartender about nothing in particular. She was in a good mood-- she'd just gotten off work with a nice bundle of tips for an afternoon shift, and for once she wasn't injured or in pain, just basking in the heavy, exhausted glow of a good day's work.
Amanda caught her eye right away. She sauntered up to the bar, wearing a business suit and heels. She leaned on crossed arms, pushing her breasts up under her white silk blouse. She spoke to the bartender in a rough, husky voice. And when she noticed Joy looking at her with frank appreciation, she smiled, slid off her barstool, and sauntered over.
"Hello, darling," she said, in that rich, smoky voice. "Buy you a drink?"
Joy wasn't particularly in the mood for alcohol and declined the drink, but she went home with Amanda anyway.
She'd never had sex with another woman before, though she'd known she was bisexual since high school. It was just... all the girls she dated in high school were too shy to go beyond heavy petting. After she graduated and got a job in the real world, the only interested women she knew were coworkers, and Joy had a standing policy not to sleep with coworkers. She wasn't unfamiliar with the way it worked, she was just-- new.
Amanda was understanding.
Soft hands, pushing her shirt up, sliding over her bra to cup her breasts and tease her nipples. Soft skin sliding against hers, hip to hip, breast to breast. Amanda's mouth was so much softer than a man's, her kisses gentler and more insistent, her body so curved and delicate.
She eased Joy back onto the bed and coaxed her legs apart and her mouth on Joy was soft and insistent, her tongue hot and smooth, her fingers clever and quick. It was all Joy could do not to tangle her hand in Amanda's hair-- she had no energy left, and no desire, to keep from gasping and moaning and coming hard.
Amanda sat up, her hair tousled, her mouth slick and wet and smug. "You're amazing," she murmured, sliding a hand up Joy's belly to pinch her nipple gently. "And you say you've never done this before."
Joy reached up, and pulled her down for a kiss, the taste of herself on Amanda's lips and tongue incredibly erotic. "I haven't even gotten started," she breathed.
--
4) Your friends are always there for you. Don't hesitate to call on them when you need them.
Joy never remembered afterwards how she'd met John Wilson. Whenever she thought about it, she only remembered the two of them sitting in a coffee shop, her with a latte and him with a mocha, talking about everything from their respective jobs to sex.
It wasn't often that she hit it off with someone so well, which was why she remembered the conversation and not its beginning. It was like she'd recognized a kindred spirit. And it was not the last time they met for coffee-- it got so he called her first whenever he knew he was coming to New York.
It was sort of surprising how long it took them to wind up fucking each other, honestly. But then again, maybe not. Joy liked to know her partners (Jack Chandler and Amanda notwithstanding, and anyway Jack at least came with references), and John... well, she wasn't sure about John and references, but he definitely liked his partners willing.
She knew exactly how it started, though. And she was willing as hell.
John was in New York for some kind of conference, and she met him for coffee like they usually did. They ordered their usual drinks, but the coffee shop was crowded and his hotel room close, so they grabbed them to go and wandered back to his place.
They shot the shit for a while, his job, hers, his friends, hers. The conversation got around to sex (surprise, surprise), and for once Joy had a lot to complain about-- she'd been dumped not long ago, and she was starting to get desperate.
"John," she said, plaintively. "I am so fucking horny."
John snorted into his mocha. "Tell me about it."
It didn't matter whether he meant that rhetorically or not, because Joy was going to tell him about it anyway. She set her latte down on the table and looked him in the eye. "Sweetie. Baby. Honey. I haven't gotten laid in six months. The asshole at work who offers me "a ride on his love snake" is starting to look appealing. Hell, Larry King is starting to look appealing. I need help."
"You do need help," John said, and put his mocha down. "Good thing I'm a professional."
Joy stopped, and blinked at him. "Are you offering to sleep with me?"
He put on his best noble expression and said, "Only for your own good. We can't have you jumping Larry King, can we?"
She arched an eyebrow at him, and grinned. Well, why not? He was hot, he was nice, and if even half the things he'd told her were true, he was a god in bed. "Oh, I see, for my own good. So self-sacrificing and noble you are."
"I try," he said. "Come over here and let me touch you already."
"I'm not sure if I should let you put your hands all over me," she said, and got up, sauntering over to his chair. "Strange men and all that."
"Relax," he said, grinning in return, and slid his hands up her back, lingering appreciatively on her ass. "I'm a doctor."
"Oh," she said, and swung a leg over his lap, straddling him. "In that case, doctor, how about a breast exam?"
It wasn't like they'd ever be lovers in the fullest sense of the word, she thought afterwards, in the happy exhaustion of a woman who'd just had two fantastic orgasms in the past hour and a half. They were too much alike for that. But he was fun, and funny, and great in bed.
She hoped they stayed friends forever.
--
5) Never come between an established couple. Unless, of course, they specifically invite you to do so.
Joy had never really understood how she got so fucking lucky. A chain reaction of coincidences-- she thought Kurt was hot, so she bought him at the fireman's auction and brought him to work to give her coworkers a little treat. She'd never thought to see him again, but a week later, there he was at her club, even hotter with his wife squirming on his lap. That his wife was the pop star who had been turning Joy on since she started releasing CDs was just un-fucking-believable. That they'd then asked her to come home with them...
Well, that she still couldn't believe.
The car ride from the club to their apartment was a blur of hands and mouths and hot breath, her clothes rough and binding on her skin. The rest of the evening was a haze of moans and whimpers and screams, the three of them tangled together, skin on skin, Chloe's eyes wide with orgasm, the hard line of Kurt's jaw as he tried not to come, the sweet-sour taste of sweat and sex in the back of her mouth.
She'd thought, when she lay breathless and panting between them, that she had better savor this moment, because she'd never get another one.
And yet here she was again, pressed between them in their bed, trembling on the edge of orgasm, skin hot and slick on skin. Chloe had her arm around Joy's waist and her tongue on Joy's ear and her fingers on Joy's clit; Kurt had his mouth on Joy's collarbone and his hand on her breast and his cock hard inside her. The whole world was spinning and she was so close, so close and so, so incredibly fucking lucky.
"Come on, baby," Kurt panted in her ear. "Come for us. Come on."
"Come on, baby," Chloe added, dropping her voice into Cherry's lower register. "Come for us. We want to see you come."
Joy couldn't help it. She didn't want to help it. She could fall in love with both of them, so very, very easily.
She called both their names when she came.
--
6) Never sleep with your boss, no matter how good he is in bed. No matter how much you want to.
Torey was really hot, which was where the trouble started.
She was in some bar in Brooklyn, just sight-seeing; she liked watching people, bar-hopping, seeing the city she lived in. The bar was great, but a little too expensive for her, and she was about to leave when she spotted him, sitting at a table and smirking in the direction of the pool tables. He was hot, and he looked lonely, so Joy went over to try and pick him up.
He was amenable to being picked up. Rather more amenable than she expected, but she was not complaining.
Torey was really hot, for starters, and he was also, as Joy found out in short order, really fucking excellent in bed. This was a man who knew what he was doing, who enjoyed women's bodies, and liked to watch them enjoying his. Big hands and a big cock-- slightly too big for comfort, if Joy was going to be totally honest-- but he didn’t get arrogant about it and he did make sure she was doing okay, and after the first couple thrusts Joy wasn’t paying too much attention to anything but the pleasure shaking through her in waves.
So of course she went into work the next day in the very best of moods. And of course she bragged about Torey when Sierra asked her why she was so perky that day. No such thing as too much information when it came to really good sex, at least not between Joy and Sierra, and she was too happy reliving the previous night to notice that Sierra was looking more and more evilly amused.
Until Sierra dropped the bombshell.
"Kitty, you know you're fucking the boss, right?"
Joy froze in the middle of unhooking her bra. "Are you shitting me."
"'Fraid not." Sierra looked innocent but there was definitely some evil glee in her voice. Bitch. "This club is owned by Corlioni Enterprises. Salvatore Corlioni runs Corlioni Enterprises. Ergo, you are fucking the boss."
Fucking hell.
Joy sat down hard on a stool in front of the makeup mirror, and glared at Sierra. "You are such a fucking cockblock."
Sierra shrugged, and turned her attention to her eyeshadow. "Sorry, honey, just wanted to keep you from making a mistake. Again, I guess."
Oh, but what a fabulous mistake it had been.
--
7) Always finish what you start. If you can't... at least have a good story to make up for it.
Fred's finger was on her clit, he was hard and hot inside her, and she was trembling on the edge of orgasm when he called her "Annie," and stopped.
Joy considered her options, and thumped him over the head. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Or not doing?"
He'd gone scarlet, his whole expression and demeanor horribly embarrassed. "Joy... I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I..."
Well, there went the mood, and her impending orgasm with it. Joy sighed, and shoved him gently off her. "You're sorry for what?" she asked, consciously softening her tone. Not like she couldn't get herself off later. Besides, Fred seemed like a sweet kid. She felt kind of bad for him.
"I know it's you," he said, getting control over himself. "I know you're... I wasn't pretending you were anybody else. I didn't mean to call you Annie. I'm so fucking sorry, Joy."
She propped herself up on her elbows, a little confused. "Fred. Breathe. It's okay, I'm not mad."
He looked up at her with hope dawning on his face, so much like a puppy that her heart absolutely melted. "Really?"
"Really," she said. "Well, okay, I'm a little mad because I was about to come when you stopped, but I'm not mad you called me somebody else's name."
It was his turn to look confused. "I... okay, but why not? I mean..." He flushed again. Joy was pretty sure that he wasn't very good at talking to girls, let alone naked girls. She sighed.
"Sweetie," she said, as patiently as she could manage, "we're not dating. You don't love me and I don't love you." He looked a little crushed at that, and she ruffled a hand through his hair. "I like you, don't get me wrong, but I don't love you. I hope you didn't think I did."
She tried to be completely honest with her partners, after all. And she knew she'd told him she had a boyfriend.
"No," he said, and she relaxed a little. "I mean, you said you were dating that other guy. You're sure he's okay with this?"
"Aaron's asexual," Joy said, as succinctly as she could because she was more than a little tired of explaining this. "We have an open relationship. He knows I have sex with other people, and he doesn't care."
"Oh." Fred still looked a little confused by that, but he evidently decided to ignore it and move on, for which Joy gave him points. "But, no, I didn't think you were in love with me."
"Good," she said, and ruffled his hair again. "Word to the wise, though. Anyone you're sleeping with who's not a one-night stand might get pissed, and she'd have reason to be. Or he, I suppose. Are you bi?"
He went bright red again. "Um. No. No, I'm not. I'll, uh, I'll try to stop doing that. I didn't mean to do it this time, God."
Joy smiled, and resisted the urge to pinch his cheeks. He was just so cute. Couldn't be much more than twenty-two, new to the city and so sweetly naïve. From the moment she saw him in the bar she'd had the urge to take him home and feed him cookies, and then feed him something else entirely. Adorable. She loved adorable men.
Exhibit A, Aaron.
Her elbows were getting a bit sore, so she scooted upwards and planted her back against the headboard, stretching her legs out over her rumpled sheets. Fred clearly needed some advice, and if they weren't going to finish what they started, she might as well help him out.
"So!" she said, brightly. "Tell me about this Annie."
--
8) What a woman does with her own goddamn body is her own goddamn business. Judgmental assholes.
"Fucking men," Joy snarled, and slammed the door.
"Oh, boy." Lindy, curled on the couch, put her book down, pulled her hair away from her face, and stretched. "Bad day at work?"
"Like you would not believe." She dropped her coat on the floor, kicked off her flats as her calves and feet protested, and began working on the buttons of her sweater. "What the fuck is it about men? Why do they believe that women will be just thrilled to lie down for them? Yes sir, thank you sir, shall I spread my legs a little wider, sir?"
Lindy rolled over and put her chin on the arm of the couch, watching Joy with mild eyes. "In fairness," she said, "you are a stripper."
Joy rolled her eyes. "Strippers aren't fucking prostitutes. Hell, most sex workers aren't prostitutes. I sleep with whoever the hell I want to and right now that's not men." She shrugged her sweater off, and fumbled in the pocket of her jeans, reminded. "Oh, but that's not even the best part! Look at this!"
Lindy took the crumpled paper and held it to the light, squinting-- she must have mislaid her glasses again. Joy made a mental note to check the chairs before sitting down, and began to unbutton her shirt.
"It's a dollar bill, I don't... oh," Lindy said, and put it down. "I take it somebody tipped you with this?"
"The fucking asshole in the fucking money seat, yeah." Joy gritted her teeth, then consciously relaxed her jaw. "Assholes. Did it ever occur to them that I make my living this way? They don't like it, too fucking bad, they shouldn't come to a fucking titty bar."
"My friend Melissa got one of these when she was waitressing," Lindy said, reflectively. "Same writing and everything. 'Some things are worth more than money, repent and you shall be saved.'"
Joy sighed, shrugged out of her shirt, and dropped it on top of her sweater. "You know, I could almost understand giving one to a waitress? It's still a shitty-ass thing to do and it still makes them terrible people, but... Lindy, I was wearing a g-string. He tried to grab my ass on the way past. And he still somehow thought it was okay to give me a fake dollar bill as a tip." She unzipped her jeans and skinned out of them, stood in the warm air in her bra and panties, and made herself calm down.
"Well, like you said, it makes him a terrible person," Lindy said, sympathetically. "How can I make your day better, love?"
What a good question to ask. Joy smiled. "I figured, once I quit fuming, that the best revenge is living well. So, while he goes home to his right hand, I'm going to fuck my girlfriend through the mattress. Several times."
Lindy assumed her best put-upon expression, and got up off the couch. "Well, if you insist, I suppose I can deal with that."
And really, Joy thought, as she pressed Lindy back against the bed and lifted her girlfriend's leg over her shoulder, what better revenge could there possibly be?
--
9) Try to stay on good terms with your exes, unless they're flaming assholes. You never know when you might need them.
Aaron lived way the fuck out on Long Island now, in a place so obscure that the cab driver didn't even recognize the name. Fortunately Joy had the foresight to print out directions-- she handed them over the front seat and sat back against the rough-weave cushion, miserably.
It was just... today had sucked. Majorly. Beyond what she could have imagined. She was feeling insecure and unsteady, and she knew one person who was really good at secure and steady... assuming he was home.
Assuming also that he was awake. Joy knew that Aaron had to get up really stupid early for his job, and it was already after ten. Maybe she should just turn around and go back to her awful apartment, cry a lot and eat some ice cream and feel like a fat pig because heaven knew her ex might as well be right. She almost leaned forward and told the cabbie to forget it, but just as she began the movement, he stopped the cab and said, "Okay, lady, here you go. Forty-three bucks, please."
Highway robbery, but she paid it, got out, and stood hugging herself on the building's lawn as the cabbie drove off, looking up at the apartment she knew was Aaron's. Somewhat to her surprise, the light was still on-- at least she wouldn't be waking him up.
Well, she'd come all this way. She might as well take those last ten yards. She crossed to the door, buzzed his apartment, and waited.
She stood in the night air for a moment longer than she really wanted to. Maybe he wasn't home. Maybe he'd left the light on when he went to bed. Maybe-- then the door buzzed open.
Aaron was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, looking sleepy and rumpled. "Joy," he said, sounding really surprised. "Hey, what's the matter? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said, and it was the truth. Physically, anyway.
"Okay," he said, and relaxed a little. "Can I ask what you're doing here? It's kind of late."
Joy managed a little smile. "Not for me, but, yeah, I know, I'm sorry. Can we talk about it inside?"
"Oh, sure." He stepped back, held his apartment door open for her like the gentleman he was, then detoured into the kitchen as she took her coat off. "You want a cup of tea or something?"
"No," she said, and took a deep breath, then plunged into it. "I need you to tell me I'm pretty, please?"
Aaron came to the door of the kitchen just to blink at her. "Uh. You're pretty?"
Joy shook her head. "No, I mean... really mean it. I just... look, I just got dumped and my ex was really cruel about it and he told me I'm way too fat and ugly for him and I just..." She lost the words, and ended up just shaking her head.
"Let me get this straight," Aaron said. "You came all the way out here because somebody told you that you're fat?"
Joy crossed her arms across her chest. Put like that it did sound a little bit stupid. "Yeah," she said, and hated herself a little bit for sounding pathetic. "Maybe. I dunno. It was stupid."
She started to turn away, dreading the long subway ride back to her rattrap apartment, but Aaron put a hand on her shoulder and turned her back to face him. "It's not stupid," he said. "Not if you came all the way out here."
To her horror, tears started to escape. "It's just so stupid," she said, trying to force them back. "For fuck's sake, I strip for a living. People pay me because I'm hot. But... I really liked this guy and then he tells me I'm not good enough, I'm fat and ugly and I look at myself and I see..." She stopped trying not to cry; it wasn't working anyway. "I'm sorry, I just I feel so bad."
Aaron reached out and pulled her against his chest. "It's okay, honey," he said, quietly, and stroked her hair. "It's okay. And I do think you're gorgeous. I know you're gorgeous. Your ex doesn’t know what he had, honey."
All of which she knew, really, when she thought about it.
But it was so nice to hear somebody else say it.
---
10) Love is the best thing that can ever happen to you. Hold on to it.
Joy woke up slowly.
She nearly panicked when she saw the strange ceiling above her, crinkled white paint shining in the morning sun, unspotted by water damage or smoke. Then her brain kicked in-- oh yes, she wasn't in New York anymore, she was in Seattle. She'd moved. This was her new bedroom.
She'd been too tired the night before to see much of it-- she sat up now and surveyed it. White ceiling, pale blue walls smoothly painted, windows on the east wall covered by white Venetian blinds, slanted open to let the morning sun stripe across the blue carpeted floor. Nice, she decided, but impersonal-- nothing on the walls, no trinkets on the white furniture or clothes left lying out. She'd fix that.
But not just yet. It was Sunday morning, she was warm and comfortable and just getting used to her new home. For now, she thought she'd wallow a bit.
Michael was asleep beside her, his eyelashes shadowing his cheeks, his mouth half open. He was so beautiful that way, naked in the slanting morning sunlight, sprawled atop the covers. She wondered if she would ever manage to tell him that, and if he'd believe her if she did.
She trailed her fingers down his chest, pausing for a moment just to feel the rise and fall of his breath, then further down, to tangle in the curls at the apex of his legs. She wouldn't go further-- they hadn't talked about that particular method of waking people up yet-- but that didn't mean she couldn't encourage him to wake up in less straightforward ways.
His chest was sort of fluffy, softly dusted with hair-- Joy amused herself by petting it until his breath hitched, then transferred her affections to his ear. Michael stirred and murmured under her hands, and finally opened his eyes, slowly.
"Hi," she said, and kissed him.
"Hi," he said, smiling. "Nice way to wake up."
Joy dimpled at him. "I thought so." She trailed her fingers down his stomach again, enjoying the way his muscles shivered. "Looks like you're not the only one who woke up."
"Yeah, well, that's what happens." He reached up and threaded his fingers through her hair. "I'm really glad you moved in with me, Joy."
She leaned down and kissed him again, moving her mouth over his, stroking his tongue with hers. When they parted, she said softly, "So am I."
Michael slipped an arm around her waist, caressing her hip. "Got plans for this morning? Job-hunting or anything."
"No," she said. "It's Sunday. I was sort of intending to sleep in."
"Oh." He reached up with his free hand and traced the shape of her mouth. "Could I interest you in other bed-related activities?"
Joy smiled. "I might be persuaded."
Michael pulled her down beside him, arched over her, and kissed her, warm and firm.
"I love you," he said later, his fingers between her legs and his arm around her shoulders.
Joy looked up into his eyes, bright blue and crinkled at the corners, and smiled so hard her mouth hurt. "I love you, too."
Main Story: In The Heart, Polyfaceted, and Second Genesis
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Passionfruit 16 (Sing, and the hills will answer - Ella Wheeler Wilcox), cola 20 (it does a body good), My Treat (sex = problem solving forever), malt (Joy and John Wilson's date; 605 words), chopped nuts (several different AUs), brownie, milkshake (Torey and John Wilson belong to the Polyfaceted crew, Chloe and Kurt to Nikki, and are used with their kind permission).
Word Count: 5012
Rating: R, verging on NC-17 at times, for explicit sex and a lot of swearing.
Summary: Joy likes life.
Notes: LAST COLA. Frickin finally, jeez. At least four of these totally disregard anything that you might call a timeline. Also, number 3 is a secret AU. Find the hidden Jane Austen reference and get a cookie.
WARNING for underage sexual activity.
1) Listen to yourself. You'll never find someone more responsive to your needs than you.
Joy slammed the front door behind her, and slammed her bedroom door for good measure, too. It wasn't like anyone was home to object.
Fucking Mondays, God. It was like they had it out for her. Tuesdays were boring, Wednesdays were tough but she could power through, Thursdays were almost Fridays and Fridays were... well, Fridays. The weekend didn't even need elaboration.
But fucking Mondays.
Probably didn't help that it was the one day of the week that she didn't have a dance class.
She always got home wound tight like a spring, muscles taut, fists clenched, so much energy bouncing around inside her that she could hardly hold herself together. Neither of her parents were home-- Dad at bridge, Mom at work-- so she could slam doors all she wanted, go up to her room and sulk. Or...
Or she could take a shower.
Course decided, Joy stripped off her shirt, dropped it on the floor, and headed for the bathroom, unbuttoning her jeans as she went.
She turned the shower on and stepped inside without waiting for it to warm up. Her nipples pebbled immediately under the cold spray, her skin tightening with goosebumps. Joy turned her back to the spray and cupped her breasts, feeling the weight of them in her hands.
She was gorgeous. She knew she was. Mama always said 'know your assets,' and this was one of hers; she was beautiful and sexy, and she reveled in it.
"You're beautiful," she whispered to herself, and slipped a hand between her legs.
The shitty day slipped into memory as the spray warmed and her fingers worked, finding all the spots that made her feel good, steam rising around her. She let go of her breast to brace herself against the wall toward the end, leaned her forehead on the tile and moaned out her climax, the shower spray hot on her back.
When she finally got out of the shower an hour later, toweling her hair, she thought maybe she was ready to deal with the rest of the week.
--
2) Experience is never a bad thing. Learn from the people who have it.
Her target was at the bar, talking to the bartender and laughing and looking very handsome indeed. Just as promised. Joy squared her shoulders, moved in beside him, and asked, "Are you Jack Chandler?"
The man turned and met her eyes with a dazzling smile. That was promising. "I am," he said. "Who's asking?"
"Joy Maserati," she said, and gave him her very own dazzling smile back. "You dated my friend Sonya Busacca for a while."
To her amusement, a panicked look flashed across Jack's face momentarily. He covered it well, though. "Sonya? Yeah, I remember her. How's she doing?"
"Pretty good," Joy said, laughing. "Don't look so afraid. She recommended you."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Recommended me for what?"
"I'm a virgin," Joy said, bluntly, "and I'm tired of it. Sonya said you're really good in bed. How about it?"
He looked stunned for a moment, then began to grin. "So let me get this straight. You want me to have sex with you."
"And teach me some tricks," she said, nodding. "Look, I'm not totally naive, I've done fingering and such, I've just never had sex with someone else. I want somebody who knows what he's doing for my first time. Sonya said you're it."
Jack's grin now covered half his face. "No strings?"
"No strings," Joy said. "Though you have to use a condom. And I'd like to stay friends afterwards, but of course that's not necessary."
"Oh, such onerous restrictions." He turned back to the bar, picked up his beer, downed the rest of it, wiped his mouth, and said, "You're on, honey. Lead the way."
One hour and one orgasm later, with his cock driving into her and his mouth hot on her breasts, Joy had to admit that Sonya had not been exaggerating.
When she came for the second time, his thumb rough on her clit and his teeth against her neck, she had to wonder if Sonya hadn't actually been underplaying it a bit.
--
3) If someone comes up and starts talking to you, talk back! You might make a new friend.
This time it was Joy leaning on the bar, talking and giggling with the bartender about nothing in particular. She was in a good mood-- she'd just gotten off work with a nice bundle of tips for an afternoon shift, and for once she wasn't injured or in pain, just basking in the heavy, exhausted glow of a good day's work.
Amanda caught her eye right away. She sauntered up to the bar, wearing a business suit and heels. She leaned on crossed arms, pushing her breasts up under her white silk blouse. She spoke to the bartender in a rough, husky voice. And when she noticed Joy looking at her with frank appreciation, she smiled, slid off her barstool, and sauntered over.
"Hello, darling," she said, in that rich, smoky voice. "Buy you a drink?"
Joy wasn't particularly in the mood for alcohol and declined the drink, but she went home with Amanda anyway.
She'd never had sex with another woman before, though she'd known she was bisexual since high school. It was just... all the girls she dated in high school were too shy to go beyond heavy petting. After she graduated and got a job in the real world, the only interested women she knew were coworkers, and Joy had a standing policy not to sleep with coworkers. She wasn't unfamiliar with the way it worked, she was just-- new.
Amanda was understanding.
Soft hands, pushing her shirt up, sliding over her bra to cup her breasts and tease her nipples. Soft skin sliding against hers, hip to hip, breast to breast. Amanda's mouth was so much softer than a man's, her kisses gentler and more insistent, her body so curved and delicate.
She eased Joy back onto the bed and coaxed her legs apart and her mouth on Joy was soft and insistent, her tongue hot and smooth, her fingers clever and quick. It was all Joy could do not to tangle her hand in Amanda's hair-- she had no energy left, and no desire, to keep from gasping and moaning and coming hard.
Amanda sat up, her hair tousled, her mouth slick and wet and smug. "You're amazing," she murmured, sliding a hand up Joy's belly to pinch her nipple gently. "And you say you've never done this before."
Joy reached up, and pulled her down for a kiss, the taste of herself on Amanda's lips and tongue incredibly erotic. "I haven't even gotten started," she breathed.
--
4) Your friends are always there for you. Don't hesitate to call on them when you need them.
Joy never remembered afterwards how she'd met John Wilson. Whenever she thought about it, she only remembered the two of them sitting in a coffee shop, her with a latte and him with a mocha, talking about everything from their respective jobs to sex.
It wasn't often that she hit it off with someone so well, which was why she remembered the conversation and not its beginning. It was like she'd recognized a kindred spirit. And it was not the last time they met for coffee-- it got so he called her first whenever he knew he was coming to New York.
It was sort of surprising how long it took them to wind up fucking each other, honestly. But then again, maybe not. Joy liked to know her partners (Jack Chandler and Amanda notwithstanding, and anyway Jack at least came with references), and John... well, she wasn't sure about John and references, but he definitely liked his partners willing.
She knew exactly how it started, though. And she was willing as hell.
John was in New York for some kind of conference, and she met him for coffee like they usually did. They ordered their usual drinks, but the coffee shop was crowded and his hotel room close, so they grabbed them to go and wandered back to his place.
They shot the shit for a while, his job, hers, his friends, hers. The conversation got around to sex (surprise, surprise), and for once Joy had a lot to complain about-- she'd been dumped not long ago, and she was starting to get desperate.
"John," she said, plaintively. "I am so fucking horny."
John snorted into his mocha. "Tell me about it."
It didn't matter whether he meant that rhetorically or not, because Joy was going to tell him about it anyway. She set her latte down on the table and looked him in the eye. "Sweetie. Baby. Honey. I haven't gotten laid in six months. The asshole at work who offers me "a ride on his love snake" is starting to look appealing. Hell, Larry King is starting to look appealing. I need help."
"You do need help," John said, and put his mocha down. "Good thing I'm a professional."
Joy stopped, and blinked at him. "Are you offering to sleep with me?"
He put on his best noble expression and said, "Only for your own good. We can't have you jumping Larry King, can we?"
She arched an eyebrow at him, and grinned. Well, why not? He was hot, he was nice, and if even half the things he'd told her were true, he was a god in bed. "Oh, I see, for my own good. So self-sacrificing and noble you are."
"I try," he said. "Come over here and let me touch you already."
"I'm not sure if I should let you put your hands all over me," she said, and got up, sauntering over to his chair. "Strange men and all that."
"Relax," he said, grinning in return, and slid his hands up her back, lingering appreciatively on her ass. "I'm a doctor."
"Oh," she said, and swung a leg over his lap, straddling him. "In that case, doctor, how about a breast exam?"
It wasn't like they'd ever be lovers in the fullest sense of the word, she thought afterwards, in the happy exhaustion of a woman who'd just had two fantastic orgasms in the past hour and a half. They were too much alike for that. But he was fun, and funny, and great in bed.
She hoped they stayed friends forever.
--
5) Never come between an established couple. Unless, of course, they specifically invite you to do so.
Joy had never really understood how she got so fucking lucky. A chain reaction of coincidences-- she thought Kurt was hot, so she bought him at the fireman's auction and brought him to work to give her coworkers a little treat. She'd never thought to see him again, but a week later, there he was at her club, even hotter with his wife squirming on his lap. That his wife was the pop star who had been turning Joy on since she started releasing CDs was just un-fucking-believable. That they'd then asked her to come home with them...
Well, that she still couldn't believe.
The car ride from the club to their apartment was a blur of hands and mouths and hot breath, her clothes rough and binding on her skin. The rest of the evening was a haze of moans and whimpers and screams, the three of them tangled together, skin on skin, Chloe's eyes wide with orgasm, the hard line of Kurt's jaw as he tried not to come, the sweet-sour taste of sweat and sex in the back of her mouth.
She'd thought, when she lay breathless and panting between them, that she had better savor this moment, because she'd never get another one.
And yet here she was again, pressed between them in their bed, trembling on the edge of orgasm, skin hot and slick on skin. Chloe had her arm around Joy's waist and her tongue on Joy's ear and her fingers on Joy's clit; Kurt had his mouth on Joy's collarbone and his hand on her breast and his cock hard inside her. The whole world was spinning and she was so close, so close and so, so incredibly fucking lucky.
"Come on, baby," Kurt panted in her ear. "Come for us. Come on."
"Come on, baby," Chloe added, dropping her voice into Cherry's lower register. "Come for us. We want to see you come."
Joy couldn't help it. She didn't want to help it. She could fall in love with both of them, so very, very easily.
She called both their names when she came.
--
6) Never sleep with your boss, no matter how good he is in bed. No matter how much you want to.
Torey was really hot, which was where the trouble started.
She was in some bar in Brooklyn, just sight-seeing; she liked watching people, bar-hopping, seeing the city she lived in. The bar was great, but a little too expensive for her, and she was about to leave when she spotted him, sitting at a table and smirking in the direction of the pool tables. He was hot, and he looked lonely, so Joy went over to try and pick him up.
He was amenable to being picked up. Rather more amenable than she expected, but she was not complaining.
Torey was really hot, for starters, and he was also, as Joy found out in short order, really fucking excellent in bed. This was a man who knew what he was doing, who enjoyed women's bodies, and liked to watch them enjoying his. Big hands and a big cock-- slightly too big for comfort, if Joy was going to be totally honest-- but he didn’t get arrogant about it and he did make sure she was doing okay, and after the first couple thrusts Joy wasn’t paying too much attention to anything but the pleasure shaking through her in waves.
So of course she went into work the next day in the very best of moods. And of course she bragged about Torey when Sierra asked her why she was so perky that day. No such thing as too much information when it came to really good sex, at least not between Joy and Sierra, and she was too happy reliving the previous night to notice that Sierra was looking more and more evilly amused.
Until Sierra dropped the bombshell.
"Kitty, you know you're fucking the boss, right?"
Joy froze in the middle of unhooking her bra. "Are you shitting me."
"'Fraid not." Sierra looked innocent but there was definitely some evil glee in her voice. Bitch. "This club is owned by Corlioni Enterprises. Salvatore Corlioni runs Corlioni Enterprises. Ergo, you are fucking the boss."
Fucking hell.
Joy sat down hard on a stool in front of the makeup mirror, and glared at Sierra. "You are such a fucking cockblock."
Sierra shrugged, and turned her attention to her eyeshadow. "Sorry, honey, just wanted to keep you from making a mistake. Again, I guess."
Oh, but what a fabulous mistake it had been.
--
7) Always finish what you start. If you can't... at least have a good story to make up for it.
Fred's finger was on her clit, he was hard and hot inside her, and she was trembling on the edge of orgasm when he called her "Annie," and stopped.
Joy considered her options, and thumped him over the head. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Or not doing?"
He'd gone scarlet, his whole expression and demeanor horribly embarrassed. "Joy... I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I..."
Well, there went the mood, and her impending orgasm with it. Joy sighed, and shoved him gently off her. "You're sorry for what?" she asked, consciously softening her tone. Not like she couldn't get herself off later. Besides, Fred seemed like a sweet kid. She felt kind of bad for him.
"I know it's you," he said, getting control over himself. "I know you're... I wasn't pretending you were anybody else. I didn't mean to call you Annie. I'm so fucking sorry, Joy."
She propped herself up on her elbows, a little confused. "Fred. Breathe. It's okay, I'm not mad."
He looked up at her with hope dawning on his face, so much like a puppy that her heart absolutely melted. "Really?"
"Really," she said. "Well, okay, I'm a little mad because I was about to come when you stopped, but I'm not mad you called me somebody else's name."
It was his turn to look confused. "I... okay, but why not? I mean..." He flushed again. Joy was pretty sure that he wasn't very good at talking to girls, let alone naked girls. She sighed.
"Sweetie," she said, as patiently as she could manage, "we're not dating. You don't love me and I don't love you." He looked a little crushed at that, and she ruffled a hand through his hair. "I like you, don't get me wrong, but I don't love you. I hope you didn't think I did."
She tried to be completely honest with her partners, after all. And she knew she'd told him she had a boyfriend.
"No," he said, and she relaxed a little. "I mean, you said you were dating that other guy. You're sure he's okay with this?"
"Aaron's asexual," Joy said, as succinctly as she could because she was more than a little tired of explaining this. "We have an open relationship. He knows I have sex with other people, and he doesn't care."
"Oh." Fred still looked a little confused by that, but he evidently decided to ignore it and move on, for which Joy gave him points. "But, no, I didn't think you were in love with me."
"Good," she said, and ruffled his hair again. "Word to the wise, though. Anyone you're sleeping with who's not a one-night stand might get pissed, and she'd have reason to be. Or he, I suppose. Are you bi?"
He went bright red again. "Um. No. No, I'm not. I'll, uh, I'll try to stop doing that. I didn't mean to do it this time, God."
Joy smiled, and resisted the urge to pinch his cheeks. He was just so cute. Couldn't be much more than twenty-two, new to the city and so sweetly naïve. From the moment she saw him in the bar she'd had the urge to take him home and feed him cookies, and then feed him something else entirely. Adorable. She loved adorable men.
Exhibit A, Aaron.
Her elbows were getting a bit sore, so she scooted upwards and planted her back against the headboard, stretching her legs out over her rumpled sheets. Fred clearly needed some advice, and if they weren't going to finish what they started, she might as well help him out.
"So!" she said, brightly. "Tell me about this Annie."
--
8) What a woman does with her own goddamn body is her own goddamn business. Judgmental assholes.
"Fucking men," Joy snarled, and slammed the door.
"Oh, boy." Lindy, curled on the couch, put her book down, pulled her hair away from her face, and stretched. "Bad day at work?"
"Like you would not believe." She dropped her coat on the floor, kicked off her flats as her calves and feet protested, and began working on the buttons of her sweater. "What the fuck is it about men? Why do they believe that women will be just thrilled to lie down for them? Yes sir, thank you sir, shall I spread my legs a little wider, sir?"
Lindy rolled over and put her chin on the arm of the couch, watching Joy with mild eyes. "In fairness," she said, "you are a stripper."
Joy rolled her eyes. "Strippers aren't fucking prostitutes. Hell, most sex workers aren't prostitutes. I sleep with whoever the hell I want to and right now that's not men." She shrugged her sweater off, and fumbled in the pocket of her jeans, reminded. "Oh, but that's not even the best part! Look at this!"
Lindy took the crumpled paper and held it to the light, squinting-- she must have mislaid her glasses again. Joy made a mental note to check the chairs before sitting down, and began to unbutton her shirt.
"It's a dollar bill, I don't... oh," Lindy said, and put it down. "I take it somebody tipped you with this?"
"The fucking asshole in the fucking money seat, yeah." Joy gritted her teeth, then consciously relaxed her jaw. "Assholes. Did it ever occur to them that I make my living this way? They don't like it, too fucking bad, they shouldn't come to a fucking titty bar."
"My friend Melissa got one of these when she was waitressing," Lindy said, reflectively. "Same writing and everything. 'Some things are worth more than money, repent and you shall be saved.'"
Joy sighed, shrugged out of her shirt, and dropped it on top of her sweater. "You know, I could almost understand giving one to a waitress? It's still a shitty-ass thing to do and it still makes them terrible people, but... Lindy, I was wearing a g-string. He tried to grab my ass on the way past. And he still somehow thought it was okay to give me a fake dollar bill as a tip." She unzipped her jeans and skinned out of them, stood in the warm air in her bra and panties, and made herself calm down.
"Well, like you said, it makes him a terrible person," Lindy said, sympathetically. "How can I make your day better, love?"
What a good question to ask. Joy smiled. "I figured, once I quit fuming, that the best revenge is living well. So, while he goes home to his right hand, I'm going to fuck my girlfriend through the mattress. Several times."
Lindy assumed her best put-upon expression, and got up off the couch. "Well, if you insist, I suppose I can deal with that."
And really, Joy thought, as she pressed Lindy back against the bed and lifted her girlfriend's leg over her shoulder, what better revenge could there possibly be?
--
9) Try to stay on good terms with your exes, unless they're flaming assholes. You never know when you might need them.
Aaron lived way the fuck out on Long Island now, in a place so obscure that the cab driver didn't even recognize the name. Fortunately Joy had the foresight to print out directions-- she handed them over the front seat and sat back against the rough-weave cushion, miserably.
It was just... today had sucked. Majorly. Beyond what she could have imagined. She was feeling insecure and unsteady, and she knew one person who was really good at secure and steady... assuming he was home.
Assuming also that he was awake. Joy knew that Aaron had to get up really stupid early for his job, and it was already after ten. Maybe she should just turn around and go back to her awful apartment, cry a lot and eat some ice cream and feel like a fat pig because heaven knew her ex might as well be right. She almost leaned forward and told the cabbie to forget it, but just as she began the movement, he stopped the cab and said, "Okay, lady, here you go. Forty-three bucks, please."
Highway robbery, but she paid it, got out, and stood hugging herself on the building's lawn as the cabbie drove off, looking up at the apartment she knew was Aaron's. Somewhat to her surprise, the light was still on-- at least she wouldn't be waking him up.
Well, she'd come all this way. She might as well take those last ten yards. She crossed to the door, buzzed his apartment, and waited.
She stood in the night air for a moment longer than she really wanted to. Maybe he wasn't home. Maybe he'd left the light on when he went to bed. Maybe-- then the door buzzed open.
Aaron was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, looking sleepy and rumpled. "Joy," he said, sounding really surprised. "Hey, what's the matter? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said, and it was the truth. Physically, anyway.
"Okay," he said, and relaxed a little. "Can I ask what you're doing here? It's kind of late."
Joy managed a little smile. "Not for me, but, yeah, I know, I'm sorry. Can we talk about it inside?"
"Oh, sure." He stepped back, held his apartment door open for her like the gentleman he was, then detoured into the kitchen as she took her coat off. "You want a cup of tea or something?"
"No," she said, and took a deep breath, then plunged into it. "I need you to tell me I'm pretty, please?"
Aaron came to the door of the kitchen just to blink at her. "Uh. You're pretty?"
Joy shook her head. "No, I mean... really mean it. I just... look, I just got dumped and my ex was really cruel about it and he told me I'm way too fat and ugly for him and I just..." She lost the words, and ended up just shaking her head.
"Let me get this straight," Aaron said. "You came all the way out here because somebody told you that you're fat?"
Joy crossed her arms across her chest. Put like that it did sound a little bit stupid. "Yeah," she said, and hated herself a little bit for sounding pathetic. "Maybe. I dunno. It was stupid."
She started to turn away, dreading the long subway ride back to her rattrap apartment, but Aaron put a hand on her shoulder and turned her back to face him. "It's not stupid," he said. "Not if you came all the way out here."
To her horror, tears started to escape. "It's just so stupid," she said, trying to force them back. "For fuck's sake, I strip for a living. People pay me because I'm hot. But... I really liked this guy and then he tells me I'm not good enough, I'm fat and ugly and I look at myself and I see..." She stopped trying not to cry; it wasn't working anyway. "I'm sorry, I just I feel so bad."
Aaron reached out and pulled her against his chest. "It's okay, honey," he said, quietly, and stroked her hair. "It's okay. And I do think you're gorgeous. I know you're gorgeous. Your ex doesn’t know what he had, honey."
All of which she knew, really, when she thought about it.
But it was so nice to hear somebody else say it.
---
10) Love is the best thing that can ever happen to you. Hold on to it.
Joy woke up slowly.
She nearly panicked when she saw the strange ceiling above her, crinkled white paint shining in the morning sun, unspotted by water damage or smoke. Then her brain kicked in-- oh yes, she wasn't in New York anymore, she was in Seattle. She'd moved. This was her new bedroom.
She'd been too tired the night before to see much of it-- she sat up now and surveyed it. White ceiling, pale blue walls smoothly painted, windows on the east wall covered by white Venetian blinds, slanted open to let the morning sun stripe across the blue carpeted floor. Nice, she decided, but impersonal-- nothing on the walls, no trinkets on the white furniture or clothes left lying out. She'd fix that.
But not just yet. It was Sunday morning, she was warm and comfortable and just getting used to her new home. For now, she thought she'd wallow a bit.
Michael was asleep beside her, his eyelashes shadowing his cheeks, his mouth half open. He was so beautiful that way, naked in the slanting morning sunlight, sprawled atop the covers. She wondered if she would ever manage to tell him that, and if he'd believe her if she did.
She trailed her fingers down his chest, pausing for a moment just to feel the rise and fall of his breath, then further down, to tangle in the curls at the apex of his legs. She wouldn't go further-- they hadn't talked about that particular method of waking people up yet-- but that didn't mean she couldn't encourage him to wake up in less straightforward ways.
His chest was sort of fluffy, softly dusted with hair-- Joy amused herself by petting it until his breath hitched, then transferred her affections to his ear. Michael stirred and murmured under her hands, and finally opened his eyes, slowly.
"Hi," she said, and kissed him.
"Hi," he said, smiling. "Nice way to wake up."
Joy dimpled at him. "I thought so." She trailed her fingers down his stomach again, enjoying the way his muscles shivered. "Looks like you're not the only one who woke up."
"Yeah, well, that's what happens." He reached up and threaded his fingers through her hair. "I'm really glad you moved in with me, Joy."
She leaned down and kissed him again, moving her mouth over his, stroking his tongue with hers. When they parted, she said softly, "So am I."
Michael slipped an arm around her waist, caressing her hip. "Got plans for this morning? Job-hunting or anything."
"No," she said. "It's Sunday. I was sort of intending to sleep in."
"Oh." He reached up with his free hand and traced the shape of her mouth. "Could I interest you in other bed-related activities?"
Joy smiled. "I might be persuaded."
Michael pulled her down beside him, arched over her, and kissed her, warm and firm.
"I love you," he said later, his fingers between her legs and his arm around her shoulders.
Joy looked up into his eyes, bright blue and crinkled at the corners, and smiled so hard her mouth hurt. "I love you, too."