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Luck

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“But how did you survive?” Ariel wondered, leaning close to Rapunzel as the girl concluded her tale.

“Luck,” Rapunzel admitted modestly.

“She saved herself,” Eugene tossed in from the opposite end of the room. Rapunzel laughed and toasted him.

“He had something to do with it,” she noted wryly.

“Maybe!” he threw in.

“Would you please tell me more?” Begged the red-haired princess.

“If you’ll tell me more of yours,” Rapunzel requested.

They convened in the red-haired princesses’ private dressing room to trade even more stories. “And then you had to rescue the prince?”

Ariel nodded. “Eric has a talent for finding trouble.” She shook her head, then asked, “did you like the dinner?”

Rapunzel nodded eagerly, “Oh, the ballroom was so beautiful and the dresses were so nice!”

Ariel smiled. “I worry, sometimes. Eric’s mother was so good at her job, and father’s staff was so much larger than the one I have. When I was a princess, I didn’t have any experience in managing a house, even though…”

“Even though you were a mermaid?” asked Rapunzel . She didn’t act as if this were a repulsive fact, just an amazing one.

Ariel chuckled. “Do you find it strange?”

Rapunzel blushed and shook her head. “Oh no! I think it’s so interesting!” Rapunzel smiled. “I used to wish that I could run away to the sea.”

“Were you lonely?”

“oh no – I had Pascal. And now I

“But you do?”

“I do get lonely, sometimes,” Rapunzel admitted. “And miss Mo-Gothel.”

“I miss my father,” Ariel admitted. “But he’s not as wicked as your mother. He’s just…stuck in his ways.” And Ariel could see her own, brattish behavior from a distance and could wince.

“But we have our husbands.”

“Yes.”

A long silence dragged out between them.

Ariel nearly threw herself into Rapunzel’s arms.

The two princesses kissed in a savoring way, slowly, gently, both thinking how odd it was to be together, drawing up each other’s nightdress to rub their soft, furry mounts against each other, breasts rubbing up and down, nipples stabbing into one another and chests bumping and grinding. The orgasms were lightening quick, and just as quickly forgotten – when morning arrived, they were separated, flush-cheeked, by their equally abashed-seeming men.

But the girls continued to tell tales under tables for many years, until they were very old and very grey.