Page 47 of My Darling Clementine

“A bubbly wine from France.” Clem filled their glasses, both watching the golden bubbles rise from its depths. “You make toasts on special occasions with champagne; it’s not for every day.” Clem held up her glass and gestured for Kizzy to do the same. “To my brave, beautiful, and clever wife.” She raised her glass and drained it.

When Kizzy took a tentative sip, Clem tipped up the bottom of her glass, encouraging a larger taste. “It’s delicious.” She licked her lips. “This is sweet, not bitter like the sacramental wine.” She twitched her nose. “And it tickles.”

“Like this?” asked Clem, stepping close to rub their noses together.

Kizzy chuckled. “I think so,” she teased, “let me check.” She downed her champagne, stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around her neck, and pressed her nose against Clem’s. “Yes,” she sighed, “just like this.”

She leaned in so her breasts rubbed against the cock-eyed vest. “Oh,” she said with a playful pout, “my clothes are so much softer than yours, see?” She took one of Clem’s hands and placed it on her breast over the robe.

Kizzy managed not to gasp when Clem squeezed, pinching her nipple through soft silk, but her stuttered command, “T-t-take them off,” came out weak, and lost all power when she moaned.

“Yes, I will.” Clem took her second breast in hand, now palming both. “As soon as…” she kissed Kizzy, soft lips grazing until they pressed; her tongue sweeping in as strong fingers teased her taut nipples. Pulling back to gaze at her, eyes smoldering, Clem finished, “As soon as we have another drink.” She pinched both nipples, then turned and refilled their glasses, saying with a mischievous grin, “Champagne is best when cold.”

She held Kizzy’s gaze, sipped her wine, and held it in her mouth. Without swallowing, Clem reached past the silk robe, slipped her nightgown strap over her shoulder, then bent and took her nipple with wet lips, tongue coating it with wine.

“Ah.” Kizzy wrapped her fingers in Clem’s hair, holding her to her breast. Her head fell back as she moaned low in her throat. The cool wine, swirling tongue, and hot mouth consumed her.

“You’re more intoxicating than the wine.” The warm praise brought Kizzy back as Clem led her to the bed, helped her sit, and handed her a filled glass. “Your job is to sit here and watch me take off my clothes. With every piece I remove, you drink.”

“Wait, wait.” She counted using her fingers. “Shoes, socks, pants, shirt, vest, underclothes, wrappings…you’re trying to get me drunk!”

“No more than me. Let’s see, I’ll take three drinks for the clothes you’ve already removed, and I’ll start with my shoes and socks off, so by the time I get to my wrappings and sausage, we’ll both be down to two swallows. How’s that sound?”

“Slippery, but I don’t see a fault in your logic,” Kizzy conceded. “You take three drinks now, remove your shoes and socks, and then I’ll take a drink for each of the next three things you remove. By then you’ll have only two left, like me.”

“By then, we’ll both be feeling the effects of the wine,” said Clem, laughing. “We might want to save our last two drinks, depending.”

She winked at Kizzy and raised her glass. “Cheers to your wedding dress, it looked beautiful on you.” Clem took a healthy drink, swallowed, and smiled. “And long-live your hooped petticoat, although I doubt you’ll need it much where we’re going.”

Kizzy grinned at her bridegroom. “To quote Mrs. Blair, ‘You never know.’ She seemed to think I might need it.” She noticed the plane of Clem’s cheek, her square chin, and firm jaw. What a handsome woman.

Clem took her third drink, and color bloomed in her cheeks. Her eyes twinkled. “Here’s to those naughty bloomers, please wear them for me again soon.” She put down her glass. “There,” she said, kicking off her shoes, then hopped, wobbling a little, from one foot to the other to remove her socks. “It’s your turn.”

“At last,” said Kizzy with spunk, readjusting her gown and robe to cover her bare breast. “It’s about time. I want to see some skin.” She leaned back against the headboard, pillow behind her, drink in hand.

Unbuttoning her vest, Clem chuckled and said, “You sound like some rowdy in a bar.” She shrugged out of the heavy brocade.

“I read it in a penny novel,” Kizzy admitted. “Father’s head blew off when he caught me with it.” She laughed, then snorted, shaking her head to clear the memory.

“You owe me a drink, wife,” said Clem. She threw her vest on top of the pile of already discarded clothing and walked to the side of the bed. “Let me see you swallow.”

“You doubt my word, husband?” With an arched eyebrow, Kizzy drank a calculated fifth of her wine. “There. Next, your pants,” she commanded.

Clem stayed where she was near the bed, unbuckled her belt, and slid it free. With a flick of her fingers, the top button came loose. She backed up one step and undid the next. Backing up again, she released the third. Clem stood six feet away before she hooked her thumbs into the sides and shoved her trousers down to her knees. Again, she hopped from one foot to the other to free her legs, then dropped the pants on the pile. She stood halfway across the room with her shirttails hanging over three layers of drawers. Her johnson made a bulge in the center.

“Now your shirt,” urged Kizzy, eager for more.

“Not so fast,” teased Clem. “I haven’t seen you swallow.”

She drank, motioning for the show to continue as she downed it.

“All right, all right, have a little patience.” Clem unfastened her cufflinks and collar, setting them aside. “Top down, or down up?” she asked, enjoying the light in Kizzy’s dancing blue eyes.

“Top down this time, I think.” She took her third drink, watching as the eight buttons on the shirt came undone, staring at each inch of muscled belly exposed, and when the shirt slid away from her new spouse’s brawny arms and shoulders, her breath caught. “Clem,” she said with open admiration after swallowing, “you’re so… beautiful isn’t the right word… and handsome isn’t either. You’re beauty-some.” She looked up at her face. “I know you’re a woman, but your body is muscled, hard, and firm… and you look good!”

“You’re a little tiddly, woman,” said Clem, ambling close to the bed. “But thank you for the compliment. No one else has ever seen me this way. Being built like this makes it easier to pass, I must admit.” She perched on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but her linen binder and underwear, preening under Kizzy’s careful scrutiny. “I’ve always played sports, and physical activity, digging, chopping, panning, sluicing, they all build muscle.” She flexed her arm. “To tell you the truth, sometimes when I’m working hard, I feel as strong as a man. Silly, I know.”

“Feelings aren’t silly,” said Kizzy, wine making her wise. “They aren’t right, or wrong, or good, or bad. They’re just thoughts connected to our experiences. You feel the way you do because of who you are, and what you’ve done.” She reached over and patted Clem’s arm. “You live as a man, dress, work, talk, and joke with men. It makes sense you think of yourself as a man.” She gestured at the bulge. “Does that make you feel more like a man?”