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Rhonda Fights Gay Marriage and Denise Gets Divorced

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After a series of minor fires in their apartment, Rhonda began to admit to herself that her cupcake baking skills were mediocre at best. This had been something Denise had been saying for a long time. However, as Denise hardly ate anything ever, Rhonda was loathe to let her win this pissing contest. Just on principle of trying, she was a much better baker than Denise. The only thing she didn’t have to show for it was physical, edible proof.

Rhonda decided that the best way to show up Denise was to buy cupcakes and pretend that she had made them. It wasn’t strictly the truth, but neither were Denise’s fake tits, so they were probably even on the lying front. Besides, the very fact that she could pick out cupcakes beautiful and delicious enough to win an argument practically made her a baker by proxy.

With ten dollars in her pocket and a won argument in her heart, Rhonda entered the bakery that had recently opened just down the street. The bubblegum pink walls and overwhelming sweet smell hit her as soon as she entered. She smiled brightly, feeling at home. Denise would never understand the joy of baking, and would never visit this place. Perfect for pretending the stuff she bought from here was homemade.

She made a beeline for the cupcake aisle out of excitement. However, what she saw when she got there was deeply disappointing. Literally everything was overpriced, with the least expensive dozen cupcakes being $30.

Another sin probably couldn’t hurt. Plus, if she just took a few it would be like hardly stealing at all. She looked in both directions for clerks, then opened the box and put a pretty purple cupcake in her purse. Her plan was foiled while trying to close it; she fumbled and the box (along with its contents) clattered to the floor.

“Goddamn it,” she muttered.

A short-haired, petite clerk rushed over to see what all the commotion was about. Rhonda hurriedly tried to arrange the cupcakes in a way that made it look like one wasn’t stolen. She dropped her purse in the process, and bit her lip to keep from swearing as she imagined the frosting mess that was happening inside.

“It fell over all on its own!” she said, then paused as she realized she was talking to a familiar face. “Jaime?”

The clerk’s face brightened in recognition, and pulled Rhonda into a big hug.

“Oh my god, Rhonda! Hi, how are you?”

“I’m awesome. You work here?”

She picked up her purse, and held it close to her body.

“Yeah! This is my bakery. Pretty neat, huh?”

 Rhonda laughed, heart filling with jealousy. “The coolest.”

Jaime smiled a big smile, and put her hands on her hips as she scanned Rhonda’s body up and down. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. What was the last time, high school graduation?”

“Yeah, Denise’s graduation party.”

Jaime laughed. “Right! And you got so plastered that you punched Chris Orlando in the teeth.”

“I mean, he more fell into my fist than anything, and he totally started it. . .” said Rhonda, rubbing the back of her neck self-consciously.

“Still that sense of humor. I tell ya, I’m so glad to be out of there. Remember how we used to joke about running away together? We’d lie about our ages and go be nuns, disavowing it if we ever found husbands. Did you ever sign up with the Church? Or did you find that husband?”

People from high school were always asking about the husband. Rhonda made an umpteenth mental note to look harder for one. Maybe she shouldn’t have talked so much about Jesus finding one for her when she was a teenager.

“I totally did find that husband, I did. Great guy,” she lied.

Jaime touched her hand to her heart. “That’s amazing. I found someone too! Maybe you and your husband could double date with me and my spouse sometime.”

“Oh my god I would love to but I can’t. And you know why I can’t is because he died. Of cancer. Three years ago,” said Rhonda.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Jaime, her face falling.

“Yeah. Sad, sad business. Cried for weeks. Now, what was that again about you being married?” She checked out Jaime’s left hand. “Oh I see, I see the ring right there. Let me see the ring?”

“Are you sure you’re ok with-“ said Jaime. She looked confused.

“Yeah, yeah just show me.”

Jaime lifted her hand to Rhonda, who took it. It was modest, but gorgeous, a singular diamond on a silver band. Rhonda’s chest felt tight. She swallowed hard.

“It’s really nice.”

“Oh, thanks. Last June we finally tied the knot. Well, as much as you can in Philadelphia, anyway,” said Jaime.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, um.” She motioned to another clerk, a pretty, dark-skinned woman with box braids, thick eyeliner, and a pink apron. The woman came over; Jaime put her arm around her waist. “Tammy, this is Rhonda. We went to high school together. Rhonda, this is Tammy. My spouse.”

Rhonda sucked in a slow, painful breath. “You’re married. . .to her. Great.”


Rhonda speed walked to Paddy’s Pub from the bakery, outrage rising in her chest. She burst open the door, windswept and a little out of breath. Charlie was sitting on top of the bar telling a story.

“-Right so here I am and I’m thinking ‘that looks like a nice sweater. I can’t let a seagull have that for its nest. It’s meant for people to wear.”

“I’m gonna stop you there,” said Denise. “You’re telling me your new sweater was stolen under a bridge from a seagull?”

“I boiled it! It’s still good! So he has it in his beak, right, and he’s about to fly away. I pick up this huge rock-“

Rhonda kicked the door a few times to draw attention to herself. “Heyo! GUYS. Guys. I have news. I have huge news.”

“What happened?” said Frankie. “Because Charlie was just getting to the good part of her story. I don’t want to hear anything dumb.”

“It’s not dumb. It’s huge. I went to that bakery this morning with all the pretty cupcakes in the window because I wanted to . . .uh. . . test them out to see if mine were more better than theirs. But they were so expensive so I was gonna just steal some. Anyway, I know you’re probably thinking “where are they if she stole them?” Well I dropped the whole box while I was trying to get them into my purse-“

She pointed at where she had hung it on a chair.

“What in God’s name are you talking about? Is this the big news?” asked Denise.

“No. I ran into Jaime Halliburton from high school. She married a chick and they own the bakery together!”

Nobody’s face contorted into shock, to Rhonda’s deep dismay.

“Oh, cool,” said Dean.

“Yeah that’s really great. Good for her,” said Denise.

“Now about this sweater,” said Dean. “Is it at least completely intact, or did you fight a seagull for a torn sweater?”

“Well it has like two holes but-“

“Can we stop talking about seagulls and sweaters for ten seconds? We have a crisis on our hands!” cried Rhonda.

“What on earth is the crisis, Rhonda?” said Denise. “Jaime married a woman, big deal.”

“It’s a huge deal! That’s a gay marriage!” Rhonda began to pace, anger beginning to boil over.

“I got a question for you – did you not already know she was gay? She used to stare at my breasts constantly,” said Denise.

“She chased after the cheerleaders more than I did,” said Dean.

Charlie hopped off of the bar, and sat down on a barstool, accepting that she no longer had the floor.

“Didn’t you guys used to always talk about running away together or whatever?”

Rhonda’s stomach clenched. How dare Charlie try to pervert that into-

“That is not the same, Charlie. That was – that was innocent and carefree and fun. This is wrong. This is a gay marriage.”

“Who gives a shit if gays want to be miserable like everybody else and get married? Let 'em do it. It's no skin off my ass,” said Frankie.

“Now Frankie, marriage is a wonderful thing. It's between two people who decide they want to spend the rest of their lives together because they love each other. Call me a romantic or whatever, but I think everyone should get that,” said Dean, smiling as if he had just said the coolest thing in the whole world.

“Oh everyone’s all up on their high horse of marriage all of a sudden. Marriage is about procreation. Look at this.” She searched through a drawer and unearthed two scissors and a piece of paper. “Everything has a thing it was meant to do. Look, this scissor was meant to cut this paper.” She cut the paper, then picked up a second scissor, opened it, and jammed it into the first. “What do you get when you try to use the scissors to cut each other? Nothin.”

“Should we tell her, or-“ muttered Frankie. Denise just shook her head, concealing a smile.

“What’s so funny?”

“Why don’t you take that demonstration to a frat bar? You’ll find out real fast,” said Dean, laughing.

“Don’t stop there. Take your powerful scissoring argument to the Supreme Court, Rhonda,” said Denise.

“This is serious, you guys!”

Charlie sighed. “Rhonda, I think you’re just pissed off that Jaime ran away with some chick who wasn’t you.”

“No! This is about the big man upstairs getting boxed out.”

Denise put her face in her hands. “Ah, Jesus.”

“It clearly says in the Bible that gay marriage is wrong. And I’m gonna show you. Where is our Bible?”

Rhonda began rifling through drawers, barely seeing what was inside. She kicked the bar to make her head clear a little bit.

“Where’s our Bible?” said Dean.

Rhonda rounded on him. “Where’s our goddamn bible?”

“We don’t have a bible in here,” said Denise, face still in her hands.

“Why don’t we have a bible?”

Denise threw her hands up in the air. “Oh my God! We never have!”

“It’s a bar!” said Frankie.

Rhonda slammed a drawer shut. “Ok I see what’s happening here. I don’t have enough facts to support my argument.”

“Clearly!” said Denise, but Rhonda was barely listening. She grabbed her purse, and began storming out.

“I’m gonna find a bible, I’m gonna come back, and I’m gonna school you bitches. Because you guys are trying to confuse me. You’re trying to confuse me because that’s what God’s work-“

The door slammed behind her satisfyingly. She would show all of them, and Jaime too.


After spending a long, long time searching through the Bible, Rhonda finally found her evidence. She decided to tell Jaime first, since she was the one who had committed a sin. The sooner Jaime repented, the better. So, with a Bible tucked under her arm, she revisited the bakery. Luckily, it wasn’t busy inside, so Jaime was restocking shelves instead of dealing with other customers.

“Jaime!” called Rhonda. “Come here.”

Jaime dusted powdered sugar onto her apron, and waved hello.

“Rhonda! Fancy seeing you twice in one day.”

“Sure, whatever. Listen, I have something really important to tell you.”

“Jaime, what’s going on?” asked Tammy. She came over, and rested her hand on Jaime’s shoulder.

“Oh, great. This will be easier if you’re both here,” said Rhonda. “I am about to do you both the biggest favor of your life. Ready?” She pulled out her Bible, and flipped to the right page. “Have you not read that he who created them from the beginning made them male and female, and said, ‘Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh’? Word of the Lord.”

“What are you trying to say, Rhonda?” said Jaime.

“I’m saying that in the eyes of the Lord, your marriage is an abomination! If you don’t get a divorce, you’re going to hell.”

Tammy laughed. “People are tripping all the time. Can I see that?”

“Sure. But good luck flipping through it. It’s long as shit.”

“I like this passage. Deuteronomy 7:2, on race relations. ‘You shall utterly destroy them. You shall make no covenant with them and show no favor to them.’”

“That’s not what I’m talking about though, that’s not my thing,“ said Rhonda. She hadn’t seen that part when she was flipping through the Bible.

“So you’re saying instead of treating me like a human being, you’d like to shun me and maybe murder me. Since it’s, you know, an order from God to do that to people of different races.”

“No. . .I won’t be destroying anyone because that is from a different time,” said Rhonda, hurriedly grabbing her book back from Tammy’s hands.

“What time is your part from, Rhonda?” said Jaime mockingly.                                                                                  

Rhonda sighed. “Look, as lesbians there are certain things you need to know about the afterlife.”

“’As lesbians’ oh my God, as if you’re not the biggest, gayest lesbian I’ve ever met,” said Jaime, rolling her eyes.

“What? No! No. Where did you get that- I’m not!”

“Does your husband die of cancer every time you bring him up, or do you have a few different versions of that story?”


“It’s a bad lie, Rhonda. You can do better.”

Rhonda’s head felt all mixed up inside. “I thought when you turned thirty, you would give me a call if you hadn’t married a dude yet. I never got that call,” she said in a small voice.

“So instead of just saying that, you come in here and tell me that my marriage is an abomination?”

“Man my guess is that you’ve been confused for a very long time,” said Tammy.

Tammy was wrong, so, so wrong. But Rhonda understood now that she wasn’t going to get anywhere. They were stuck in their ways, and they would never change.

Rhonda would just have to go to heaven without Jaime.


The apartment smelled like a dude in the worst way when Rhonda arrived back home.

“Denise?” she called.

Denise came out of the bedroom, an enormous, wide smile on her face. It was a little creepy.

“Yes my dear?”

“Who the hell did you bring home? He smells like a dead fish stuffed with old Funyuns.”

Denise’s face fell a little bit. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s horrible. He needs to leave.”

“Yeah about that. . .the guy who’s here can’t leave. He’s my husband now. It’s Mark Ponderosa. You remember Mark Ponderosa?” said Denise.

“I remember that he smelled terrible. You married him?”

The two of them sat down together as Rhonda tried to process the information.

“I did, and he’s here. He’s in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. The smell is temporary; he’s had a long year or his dad died and he got super depressed or whatever. That’s not the point. I’m having feelings again. Like some kind of a fourteen year old kid! You remember feelings, right?”

“Uh. . .yeah. I have feelings every single day of my life,” said Rhonda, confused. “Are you saying you don’t have feelings?”

Denise blinked hard, thinking about the question for a moment. “. . .I’m saying I built a cold, calculated, heartless shell around myself. One that could only be cracked by marriage. And that’s what Mark did, babe. He cracked that shell. In a good way, if I’m being unclear. Which brings me to my next point – I need you to move out. Like now, like right away.”

Rhonda felt like she had been punched in the face. She stood up furiously. “What? Why do I have to move out? It’s my apartment too!”

Denise rose as well, and put her arm around her shoulder. They walked together towards the door. “Actually, Rhonda, it’s not your apartment because you never signed the lease if you recall, because your credit was so bad.”

“Oh. Well what am I gonna do with all my stuff?”

“I did some inventory and it turns out that you don’t own anything in this apartment,” said Denise.

“That can’t be true!” said Rhonda.

“It’s shockingly true. Every single thing in this apartment is mine. For example, those sparkly earrings you’re wearing. They lost a sequin, so I threw them in the trash. You fished them out of the trash, glued a sequin back on it, and then claimed them as yours. Also I didn’t want to rush you on this, but I did have to drop you from my cell phone’s family plan.”

Rhonda was outside the door now, hardly knowing how she even got there.

“Can I say something?” she asked.

“Sure,” said Denise. She slammed the door in Rhonda’s face, leaving her alone in the hallway with only the clothes on her back and her thoughts as companions.


“Can you believe he wants me to stay at home and be his trophy wife? Me? Meanwhile he works from home so who’s he gonna show me off to? His boss on Skype? Rhonda, are you listening?”

“Uh huh,” said Rhonda in a dull voice. She was in her bra and bathing in the sink; it was difficult to get invested in Denise’s problem when it had left her homeless. “Look, why don’t you just get a divorce if you hate him so much?”

“No! No, this marriage is fine. It’s working,” said Denise. “I think I just need to change him a little for this to work. . .better.”

“That doesn’t sound like something that’s working,” said Rhonda. She pulled her flowery dress on over her head, and rustled the water out of her hair. It sprayed Denise in the face a little bit, and she winced.

“Could you have aimed that somewhere else?”

“Sorry,” lied Rhonda.

“No you’re not, you bitch,” said Denise, smiling wickedly. “So about my bachelorette party. . .”

“What about it?”

“Well I just think it’s a good way to show Mark that I can’t be tied down.”

“Denise, that’s the whole point of marriage,” said Rhonda. She pulled out a little mirror from under the bar, rustled around in her purse for eyeliner, and began putting it on.

“That eyeliner is so dark on you.”

“Well sorry, but I didn’t have time to pick out my best eyeliner when I was kicked out of my home.” She pressed it into her eye harder to get a darker line out of spite, but then poked herself in the eye, smearing it. “Ow! Goddamn it. . .”

Denise rustled around in her purse, and pulled out a tissue. “Here.”

Rhonda scowled at her, but took the tissue anyway.

“So we’ve agreed that you’re going to throw me my bachelorette party?”

“No, we didn’t.”

Denise leaned over and twirled a strand of Rhonda’s hair with her finger. “Come on, babe. Let’s have a girl’s night out on the town.”

Rhonda’s face grew hot. “Fine! Fine, whatever.”

Denise patted Rhonda’s face. “That’s my girl.”


The male strip club was dark and seedy. It was an even mixture of gay men and other girls having bachelorette parties; Rhonda could practically smell the sin in the air.

The sin smelled like jizz and stale beer.

Denise was texting Mark over and over and it was so goddamn annoying. Rhonda was glad that Charlie and Frankie had tagged along to share the annoyance.

“. . .so do you think I should add a heart after this text message or-“

“Oh my god I don’t care,” said Charlie. “You gotta put that phone down, dude. Didn’t you come here to get away from being tied down?”

“She needs a lap dance,” said Frankie. “That will get her mind off of all that junk.”

Denise pocketed her phone. She smiled weakly. “Ah shit, you’re right. Rhonda, cough up so I can get one of those guys.”

Rhonda begrudgingly pulled out ten dollars and handed it to Denise. She didn’t much like the idea of having one of the men so close, but getting Denise to shut up about Mark was worth it.

“Hey whore, get over here!” said Frankie, pointing to a particularly beefy man in bright red underpants.

“Get a second one, Frankie. I wanna make it rain,” said Charlie.

“Do you have enough money on you to make it rain?” said Frankie.

“Well I mean, no, but you’re my wife. That means you fund it.”

“You keep taking and taking from this checkbook! Still you haven’t told me what’s in this for me.”

“Look, I’ll show you,” said Charlie. She waved over another stripper. “Is there a discount for a couples lap dance?”

“Gotta show you’re a couple first,” said the man.

Charlie pulled out a certificate from under her shirt. “Married for two days to this girl.”

“Aw that’s sweet. There’s a five dollar discount.”

Denise wrinkled her nose. “I don’t wanna watch Frankie get a lap dance.” She turned to the stripper with red underpants. “You can go. Me and Rhonda are gonna go do shots instead.”


Eight shots and an hour later, both Rhonda and Denise were almost brownout drunk. Rhonda could hardly remember why she was angry at Denise – especially when she was dancing so close. Her arms were wrapped around Rhonda’s neck, and she was swaying her hips, pressing their chests together. Her tight, sequined dress sparkled underneath the flashing lights, and it reminded Rhonda of parties they went to when they were in high school, of the outfits Denise wore more often back then.

“Who are you showing off for?” mumbled Rhonda. There weren’t any guys around who seemed interested in what Denise was selling by rubbing up against Rhonda like this.

“My dear, I’m showing off for you.” She smiled and ground against Rhonda’s pelvis. Rhonda laughed; the very idea was so ridiculous.

“That’s stupid as shit. Really, who?” She ground back, teasing.

Denise’s face darkened. “One of the strippers. I’m hoping he’ll give me a dance for free if I turn him on.”

She kissed Rhonda’s neck gently. Rhonda moaned.

“That’s such a good idea.”

“I know,” whispered Denise into her ear. Then her lips were on Rhonda’s, so familiar, so soft.

“It’s a good thing girl stuff doesn’t count or this would be cheating,” said Rhonda. She giggled.

“So good,” said Denise. She brushed her hand over Rhonda’s breast and pushed her up against the wall. Her palm snuck underneath Rhonda’s dress to grind against her pelvis, sending waves of pleasure through her body. Rhonda shivered.

“Do-do you think we got his attention yet?”

Denise looked into her eyes, squinting through the alcohol, intense and unfathomable. She blinked hard as though gears were turning in her brain – and then a smile, too large, appeared on her face.

“No. I don’t think it’s gonna happen. Come on, babe, let’s go drink some more.”


Rhonda and Denise didn’t get back to the apartment until 3AM. They burst through the door, mouths full of giggles, kissing each other’s faces sloppily. They were only interrupted when Rhonda stepped backwards and knocked over an enormous model train. It exuded an ear-splitting whistle, which startled Rhonda further. She fell down and felt something crush underneath her.

“What the hell?” she cried.

Denise’s hand was covering her face.

“It’s Mark’s shit. It’s all Mark’s shit.”

As if on cue, Mark came out of Denise’s bedroom. When he saw what Rhonda had destroyed, he wailed.

“What have you done?”

He ran over to his train and cradled it as if it were a child.

“I don’t understand,” said Rhonda. She got to her feet, pain shooting through her legs and back.

“Mark. . .is obsessed with trains and Legos and oh my god such boring shit. He has so much of it, way too much.”

“Denise, don’t talk to me that way. I’m your husband! Show me some respect.”

“Maybe I should just go to my room,” said Rhonda.

“Stay out of there!” said Mark. He put the train down gently and stood up. “That is my design studio. I don’t want you to destroy anything else.”

“Fine,” slurred Rhonda, feeling dizzy. “I’ll just go to Denise’s room. We sleep together all the time.”

“Oh that’s becoming very clear,” said Mark. “Is that where you got all that lipstick all over you? From my wife? Have you been screwing my wife?”

Rhonda didn’t know how to respond. Denise, however, did.

“Divorce!” she shouted.

“What?” said Mark, confused.

“I will divorce you, Mark.”

“You’re drunk,” said Mark. “Why don’t we sleep this off and talk about it in the morning?”

“I’m not drunk!” said Denise. She hiccupped. “Ok, I’m a little drunk. I’m very drunk but my mind is sober. And my mind is telling me the following: I don’t love you, Mark. I never loved you. You’re annoying and you’re strange. You’re not worth my time. I mean, look at me and then look at yourself. Ugh.”

“I don’t know what to say,” said Mark in a small voice.

“Don’t say anything. ‘Cause every time you open your mouth it’s like ugh your breath is so bad. You have a dead tooth, and you don’t ever brush your teeth. Do you even shower? I’ve never seen you shower. Are you Mark Ponderosa, or did a sweaty imposter steal your body when I married you?”

“I want you and your girlfriend out of my apartment now!” said Mark.

Rhonda and Denise burst out laughing.

“You’re my girlfriend-“

“I’m your girlfriend!”

“No, I’m not gonna leave our apartment. Or should I say, my apartment, because it’s my apartment,” said Denise. She poured herself some vodka from the liquor cabinet.

“Oh yeah? How about I call the cops and I tell them you stabbed me so you could run away with your girlfriend?”

Denise narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Mark put on an oven mitt and then grabbed the sharpest knife out of the rack. He put it to his neck.

“Oh shit Denise, I think he means business. I’ve seen that on Law and Order. It’s so there’s no fingerprints.”

Mark pressed the knife into his skin more firmly.

“Ah shit you’re right. He’s serious.”

“He’s so serious.”

“You’re nuts, Mark!” shouted Denise as the two girls fled the room.


Later, when they were camping out at the bar, Rhonda called the Lawyer in the bathroom. She told her story in sobs from the beginning – how Jaime was married and then Denise was married, her homelessness that became their homelessness.

Denise’s impending divorce.

The Lawyer said he would help, and he sounded genuine. Rhonda said she didn’t care what he had to do, but he needed to get things back to normal as soon as possible.

Then maybe she threatened to punch him if he didn’t fix it. Just for insurance.


The divorce was awkward and awful and left Denise 90K in debt, but at least the proceedings were over quickly. Mark packed up his terrible shit and left, slamming the door behind him. Finally, Rhonda had her home back.

Denise didn’t apologize, wasn’t really the type, but instead said, “I kept all your stuff under my bed. I don’t know why I said you didn’t have anything. Got really caught up in the moment, I suppose.”

Rhonda couldn’t bring herself to be angry anymore. She had screwed over Denise a hundred times for stupid shit, and knew she would probably do it again.

“I get caught up in the moment sometimes too. Thanks for not throwing my shit out like you did when you thought I died.”

“Well, I wasn’t trying to spite you this time. I just wanted to . . . make room. Have space to grow up. You and me, we’re supposed to be married by now.”

Denise didn’t clarify about who the both of them were supposed to be married to, and Rhonda understood. She had known Denise for twenty years, had been kissing her for nearly that long, and still she felt like it was better left in the air, joked about, and brushed off as if it were nothing. Breaking that silence felt dangerous, was dangerous. Beyond it, Rhonda could see nothing but a long, godless stretch of uncharted road.

She didn’t want answers. She just wanted Denise to stay.

Rhonda looped her thumbs playfully into the belt loops of Denise’s tight jeans.

“Who gives a shit about what other people think we’re supposed to do? They’re all assholes.”

Denise laughed. “Pretending you don’t care what other people think about you. That’s precious, Rhonda. Did you steal that piece of advice from Good Housekeeping?”

“Whatever, Miss Boob Job. Like you read Good Housekeeping. I don’t know what you were thinking when you got married. You don’t know the first thing about being somebody’s wife.”

Denise touched their foreheads together. “You’re right. Being married was intolerable. I’m never trying that ever again. I was meant to sow my oats wild and free until the day I die.”

“You’re such a whore, Denise.” Her face was so close; Rhonda’s heart was racing.

“It’s true. The Devil just wants me as company,” said Denise. She slid her hand underneath Rhonda’s hair, cupping her neck from the back.

“More room for me in heaven,” said Rhonda, and Denise kissed her as if she was starving, as if she needed Rhonda like she needed air or water. She maneuvered the both of them over to the couch, then pushed Rhonda down onto it.

“Strip,” she ordered. “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you naked. I’m going to show you why your powerful scissoring argument would never hold up in court.”

Even though it didn’t really count, it was the best sex that Rhonda ever had.