Chapter 5
Next chapter good for me lol. As always, thanks to everyone for their support. This story got a pretty good boost from the last chapter, so let's hope that happens again.
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"This may sound random, but I love going to the beach. There's something relaxing about watching the tide roll in and out, breathing in the ocean air, feeling the breeze, and soaking up the summer sun. It made for a perfect day whenever I had the rare chance to do nothing at all. My favorite places were still the labs and motor garages I owned, where I could happily spend weeks or even months, but the beach came in a close second. Though I won't lie—the women in bikinis may have had something to do with my fondness for it." There Are No Lines – by Isabel Cadval
-1963-
-Blossom Roads POV-
I want to make one thing clear: I'm not a prude, and I'm not the jealous type either. I'd read Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and William S. Burroughs's Naked Lunch, so I understood that society's so-called norms were really just tools of control—ways to keep people obedient to the Establishment. It wanted compliant workers and breeders who never questioned anything and only made it richer.
That was especially true for women. From the moment we were born, we were taught to obey men—to be subservient to the very men who kept the Establishment running. We were told our purpose was to be pretty, stay quiet, follow orders, bear children, keep house, and never imagine we deserved more. Those were the lessons parents everywhere tried to teach their daughters. Mine were no different. They bought me dolls and a playhouse to shape me into what I was supposedly meant to become: a homemaker, and nothing else.
I hated them for that, even more than for kicking me out for being gay. I could accept the latter; after all, I knew they were little more than sheep. It didn't matter whether they truly believed in the Bible as they claimed or not. Sheep needed to follow. If they didn't, what would they do with their lives? Having a gay daughter and accepting her wouldn't allow them to lead the life they wanted, so they cast me out. It was as simple as that, and in a way, I understood.
That being said, I did think Isabel sometimes took things a bit too far with her behavior and how she dressed. Don't get me wrong — I didn't want a follower as a girlfriend, nor did I want to control her. Goddess, that was the last thing I wanted. What I loved most about her was her independent spirit, though it could be hard to discern at times if she was being independent or just an airhead. It was just challenging to deal with her sometimes.
The world she inhabited was vastly different from the one most people knew. Her actions were often puzzling, and it was difficult to decipher her thoughts. For instance, as we relax on the beach, I'm wearing what many would consider a rather daring bikini for the day.
I had even received compliments from my friends in college when we went to the beach together. They were all impressed by my daring choice to wear something that exposed so much skin. The bikini I wore was a vibrant mix of flowers and tie-dye—an outrageous combination of colors for the day. The cut was high on the hips, and the top covered less of my breasts than was typical. My absolute refusal to wear makeup, which I saw as just another constraint placed on women, contributed to my image as a rebellious figure defying societal norms. At least that's how my friends and I saw it, and I was even fined by the cops for my audacity.
It was a moment I was very proud of. At least that was till Isabel took it to another level. I thought as I glanced over at my girlfriend, who was lounging in a beach chair, reading a book in a tiny—so small she might as well have been naked—black bikini she had made herself. The top barely covered her small B-cup breasts, showcasing plenty of side-boob despite their size, and was held in place by a thin gold chain, undoubtedly made of real gold. Her bottoms were just as daring, completely exposing her lush hips, with only that same thin gold chain holding the fabric that perfectly conformed to her womanhood.
Isabel's bikini crossed the line from daring to scandalous, but she didn't stop there. I should have known better than to expect anything less from her. When she arrived at the beach, her makeup was done to perfection. Her full lips were painted a bold red, and her carefully applied eyelashes and eyeshadow highlighted her striking amber eyes. The nerdy mechanic I once knew, with oil-stained overalls and messy hair, had transformed into a goddess of pure allure—the kind of woman who could stop traffic just by walking by.
It was overwhelming, even for my rebellious nature. The moment I saw her, all I wanted to do was cover her up so that others wouldn't see her like this. It didn't matter how amazing she looked; I felt it wasn't right. The only reason I didn't grab a towel to throw over her was simple: she had put on that bikini for me. The only reason Isabel stood there, looking like a complete vixen, was to please me.
That was the thing about my girlfriend. She might come off as cold and uncaring toward others—mostly because she was, in fact, cold and uncaring toward most people. However, she had a genuine love for making those close to her happy. So while she usually wouldn't care about such things, she had noticed that she had left a poor impression on my friends the last time they met. This was her way of apologizing to me. After all, I had shared what had happened at the beach, where my friends had been impressed by my boldness.
I shouldn't have told her, and that was my mistake; it should have been clear to me that Isabel would set out to replicate that effect by showcasing her own boldness, hoping to impress my friends. It was sweet in a way, but the only problem was that the bikini she was wearing was just too much. Instead of impressing them, she ended up giving every guy within sight a boner and leaving every girl questioning their own sexuality.
"You're staring," I hear my oh-so-loving girlfriend say in a smug voice.
I playfully toss some sand at her and respond, "Don't sound so smug. I'm just wondering when the cops will show up to give you a ticket or remove you from the beach."
She looks at me, and even with her sunglasses on, I can tell she is confused. "Why would they do that?" she asks.
I cover my head with one hand, wondering if she is just fucking with me or if she genuinely doesn't understand that what she's wearing is frowned upon. After a brief moment, I accept that this is Isabel, and it's quite likely she's being serious. The real question is whether I should explain things to her or not. Ultimately, I decide against it. Sure, I could try to explain, but she wouldn't care enough to pay attention to me or might dismiss everything I said out of hand.
"It's nothing, never mind," I tell her.
Isabel looks at me for a few moments longer, her confusion evident as she removes her glass. Finally, she says, "You are so weird, love."
I give her a flat look and respond, "Pot meet kettle."
This makes Isabel laugh before she returns to her astrophysics book. To her, it's light reading, but for everyone else, it's advanced material—the kind of thing that only doctoral students tackle in their final years before writing their theses.
"Isabel, can I ask you something?" I inquire, glancing at the book.
"Sure, babe, what is it?" she answers, not taking her eyes off the pages as she slowly flips to the next one. Isabel has long since committed everything in this book to memory, but she finds it relaxing to revisit the material at a slower pace rather than her typical speed-reading.
"What do you think about this whole plan to land a man on the moon before the end of the decade?" I ask her a question that has been on my mind for quite some time.
Part of me is impressed by the decision to go to the moon, but another part questions its purpose. Honestly, it doesn't seem like there's a point, and I start to feel like I might be the only one who sees it that way.
"Waste of time," Isabel replies bluntly.
It was the tone she used whenever she was bored with something. Clearly, this was a subject she had either discussed with someone before or contemplated on her own, only to dismiss it as unimportant or pointless.
"So you don't think it's possible?" I asked, surprised. I had done some reading, and it seemed plausible, if not difficult to achieve.
Putting her book down and removing her glasses, Isabel takes on a thoughtful look. responding, "It's not that it's impossible, love. It's entirely possible and, in fact, easily achievable with today's technology. It may take a few more years—maybe four or five—but President Kennedy's goal of putting a man on the moon will indeed become a reality."
"Okay, if that is the case, then why call it a waste of time?" I asked, feeling confused. After all, if what she said was true, it would be a tremendous accomplishment—one of mankind's greatest feats, if not the greatest.
Again, she paused to decide how to answer my question and finally responded, "Because it is. No matter how you look at it, there's no point in going. Sure, the U.S. will be able to say, 'Look, we got to the moon first,' in front of the Russians, but what does that actually achieve? What do we gain? A few technical innovations that won't enter the public domain for at least a few decades, if not more, and potentially billions of taxpayers' dollars spent on what amounts to nothing more than a dick-measuring contest. It's pointless." She said this in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Well, when you put it that way," I replied, trailing off as I considered her viewpoint. You could always trust Isabel to get to the heart of the matter. If there was so little to gain from it, why not let the Russians have it? In the grand scheme of things, would it really matter who got there first? Not really.
Still, I had to ask, "What about the Russians?"
"What about them?" Isabel responded.
"Well, your grandfather is strongly against communism and has made it clear that he dislikes Russia. Don't you share some of those same feelings?" I asked.
Isabel looks at me with a puzzled look and says, "Not really. If those idiots with their pipe dream want to spend all that money on something so pointless, I say we let them. They won't survive past the century anyway."
Ah, yes, now I remember that Ruth had a low opinion of Russia, and it wasn't just because they were the enemy of the U.S. No, she genuinely believed that communism was a foolish idea that didn't address mankind's natural greed, as capitalism did. While certain aspects of communism could be beneficial, ultimately, they would either have to adopt capitalist practices or fall apart. Or at least that is how Isabel saw things.
I shake my head and respond, "Yeah, that sounds about right coming from you, love."
Then, I lean back to relax, letting the sun warm me. While I didn't have Isabel's ability to tan due to my fair skin, I still enjoyed soaking up a bit of sunshine.
"Still, you reminded me of something," I hear Isabel say.
"Hmmm, what's that?" I ask her.
"While it may be a waste of time, this whole going-to-the-moon thing is a great opportunity for me to make some money if I time things right," Isabel says, as if she just realized it.
I don't even bother to ask how and simply give her a flat look. "Aww, how did I end up with such a capitalist?" I say in mock disgust.
That is, until Isabel stands up, clearly ignoring me, and announces, "I feel like having sex."
In one swift motion, she takes off her top, exposing her stunningly beautiful B-cup breasts for all to see. I don't know what shocks me more: the fact that she just removed her top without any warning or regard for who might be watching, or how incredibly beautiful she is. Maybe it's a bit of both. But by the time my mind catches up with what is happening, she is already making her way topless to a rocky outcropping, giving me a playful look that says, "Come and get me."
"Oh, that bitch," I mutter, quickly grabbing her top and chasing after her, planning to give her a piece of my mind once I catch up.
-Isabel's POV-
"Mmmmmm," I hear my girlfriend moan softly as I push her up against a large rock. My hands glide up and down her body, and despite her soft protests, she seems to enjoy it.
If there were a higher power, I would thank it for giving my girlfriend such a sweet-sounding voice. There are very few things I love more than science in this world. In fact, I can think of only two: my Pawpaw, who will always be my number one, and this—hearing my girlfriend moan beneath me.
Kissing my way down Blossom's lips towards her chin and neck, I smile as she breathlessly says, "Is...Isabel, stop mmmm... no, we... Uhhhh, not... not there."
She begs as I find the weak spot on her neck, making her mew in pleasure. Mewing that gets even louder as my knee finds her pussy and I press into it lightly at first, but then steadily harder as I make her grind on it. Forcing her to cover her mouth with one hand while she used the other to hold on to me as she tried to keep from screaming in pleasure.
"Oooooh, you... You evil bitch. We need to stop right now before someone sees us." Blossom insists between her gasps.
I smile into her neck before moving my lips from her neck to right next to her ear and say, "Says the woman who is currently grinding her pussy on my knee without me moving it."
"Ahhhhh, and mmmmm, who… whose fucking fault is that? Hahhh." She cried out, a hint of anger in her voice, but she didn't try to push me away. In fact, she held on to me tighter, digging her nails into my back painfully and pulling me close as if she were afraid I would actually stop. It was silly because I wasn't going to stop until my girlfriend couldn't walk straight.
Leaning back as I push up her top and cup one of her loving breasts, I say, "Why yours, of course."
"Mineahhhhh?" She starts to say before she cries in pleasure as I start to suck on her hardened nipple.
This forces her to cover her mouth with her hand to prevent anyone from hearing her. We were fortunate that no one had followed us or noticed me walking around topless as it is. Not that I would mind if anyone did see us, but Blossom definitely would not be pleased to be caught having sex with me in public.
"How…. Aaaaah, How is this m…. mineeeeeee." Blossom starts to question, but cuts it short when I bite lightly on her nipple. Which made her scream loudly into her hand. As she shakes in orgasm. Coating my leg in her juices.
Releasing her nipple from my teeth, I look at her with lust-filled eyes. Her eyes are themselves unfocused after cumming, and I smile and say, "Like you didn't know what was going to happen by wearing that swimsuit in front of me or all that sex talk."
And just like that, a lightbulb comes on in Blossoms' mind. Oh sure, her girlfriend's bikini was far more sexual and outrageous than her own, but that isn't how Isabel saw things. No, in Isabel's own world, what she wore didn't matter; it was Blossom who started things by showing off in front of Isabel, then teasing her with what she called sex talk. Though how questions about academic and political matters count as sex talk, Blossom would never understand.
"Oh fuckkkkkk meeeeeee," Blossom moans out lustfully, knowing she was trapped.
"Oh, I plan to love," I tease, and this time I start moving my knee before attacking her tits again with my mouth and hands. All the while, wondering how long she could hold in her voice, but only out of scientific curiosity, of course.