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From: Ann Douglas <ann_douglas@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} AnnD"The Night The World Didn't End" FF -  (1/1)
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Date: Sat, 01 Oct 2011 09:10:11 -0400
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		The Night The World Didn't End
			 by Ann Douglas
                     (ann_douglas@hotmail.com)

The following is a work of erotic fiction and includes scenes
of sexual activity.  It includes characters that are copyrighted 
by Lionsgate Television, Weiner Bros and American Movies
Classics.  This story is intended for the non-commercial
enjoyment of fans and should be considered a parody.  No
copyright infringement is intended and no profit will be made
from the distribution of this story.



	Joan Holloway sat alone in her West 12th Street apartment, a half filled
glass of scotch in her hand.  It had not been the thirty-one year old redhead's
first drink of the evening and she was certain it wouldn't be her last.  Only a
small lamp to her left illuminated the room, the semi-darkness around her made
even more encroaching by the absence of either the radio or television.  On
those rare Saturday nights when she was home alone, one of those was usually
on to help her ignore that fact.

	The airways of both, however, had been filled with nothing but stories of
the Russian nuclear missiles in Cuba and the possible American response to
them.  Most of the scenarios outlined by the on-air experts ended with an
outbreak of war between the United States and the Soviet Union.  While New
York was beyond even the most optimistic range estimate of the Cuban missiles,
the commentators were quick to remind their listeners that Russia had other
more powerful missiles, as well as bombers, that could easily reach New York.

	Cuba, however, and even more so, Russia, seemed far away at the
moment and concerns more intimate dominated Joan's thoughts.  For the last
few years, she had been the Office Manager at Sterling and Cooper, one of the
smaller advertising firms in the city.  Responsible mainly for the secretarial pool,
she had managed to carve out a nice little niche for herself.  One that had
provided her with both a position of power, at least as much as any woman was
likely to have in today's business world, and a sense of satisfaction in her job.  A
situation that had changed as of late.

	Looking back as she stared into the darkness, Joan decided she could
trace the beginnings of her loss of prestige to the hiring of Peggy Olsen as the
new secretary for Don Draper, the agency's creative director, some two years
before.  Joan saw Peggy, fresh from Miss Deaver's Secretarial School, as just
another one of those bridge and tunnel girls, making the early morning subway
ride into Manhattan every day, trying to raise their station in life.  She had given
the twenty-two year old her standard speech, included in which was the advice
that if she really wanted to get ahead, then she had to be prepared to be more
than just a secretary to the men in the office.  It was after all, a man's world.
That reality might not be fair, but as President Kennedy had said, little in life
was.

	In the beginning, Peggy had seemed to take her advice to heart,
improving her appearance and even paying a visit to a doctor Joan
recommended.  The doctor, Joan knew, didn't have a problem writing
prescriptions for birth control, even if the young woman seeking it was
unmarried.  In the fast moving world of the 1960s, such a precaution was an
absolute necessity for a modern girl.  Joan doubted any of the men in the office
would be interested in the new girl, but who knew what might happen after a few
drinks, and most of them started drinking well before noon.

	It wasn't until months later that Joan learned she had seriously
underestimated the younger woman.  How had Peggy managed to parlay a few
small copy ad suggestions, and in her opinion, that was all they had been, into a
position as a junior copywriter?  When Freddy Rumsen, the copywriter who had
been instrumental in getting her that promotion, had been fired following a
disastrous sales pitch, how had she practically walked over his grave to take
over both his job and his office?

	One of the reasons Joan had such power at the firm was the fact she
had once had an affair with Roger Sterling, one of the senior partners.  Joan
filled a void in his life, mostly physical, that his wife no longer cared to.  But two
heart attacks had led Roger to vow to stop living life as if he was a twenty-two
year old sailor on perpetual show leave, and the affair came to a sudden half.

	Another source of her loss of authority, Joan knew, was due to Jane
Siegel, the secretary who had replaced Peggy after her promotion. She and
Joan had clashed almost immediately, their confrontation coming to a head the
night Jane had gone along with some of the men in the office during a late night
excursion up to Mr. Cooper's office to see some painting.  The intrusion offended
Joan's sense of propriety.  There was nothing Joan could do about the men, but
upon learning about the late night hijinks, she had immediately told Jane to
clean out her desk and not to bother reporting to work the next day..

	When Joan had come in the next morning, she was shocked to find Jane
sitting at the desk as if nothing had happened.  When she asked the girl what
part of their conversation the day before she didn't understand, the only
response she got was that Mr. Sterling would explain it to her.

	It didn't take long to learn that not only had Roger Sterling unfired her,
but also soon abandoned his vow and began an affair with the much younger
woman.  An affair that suddenly exploded into the open when Sterling
announced his intention to divorce his wife and marry her.

	By that time, Joan herself had become engaged to Dr. Greg Harris and
had her own future set, or so she thought.  She'd known from the beginning that
Greg was sometimes capable of ugly possessive moments, but she never
expected what had occurred on a recent night when he had forced himself on
her, right in Don Draper's office, when she had been working late and he had
come by to pick her up.  Additionally, Greg had also lately become upset by the
knowledge that she was more sexually experienced than he had originally
imagined.  One night when she had taken control of their lovemaking, he had
immediately lost interest in it.  Their engagement was still on, but she wasn't
totally sure she wanted it to be.  Even tonight, with the world possibly ending, he
hadn't called her and she wasn't inclined to call him.  So here she sat, drink in
hand, looking back at her life and forward to an uncertain future.

	The sharp ring of the telephone startled Joan, almost causing her to
jump out of her chair.  She stared at the phone for two more rings, and then
hesitantly picked it up.

	 "Hello?"  she said, wondering if Greg had finally decided to call and
check up on her.

	"Joan?"  a decidedly non-masculine voice asked.

	"Yes,"  Joan replied, still a little hesitant.

	"Joan, it's me, Carol,"  the caller identified herself.

	"Carol, oh God,"  Joan said in surprise.  "I didn't recognize your voice."

	If Joan had to make a short list of the last people she expected to hear
from on a night like this, Carol McCardy, who had both been her college
roommate and had shared this apartment for a time, would've been near the
very top of it.  Their friendship had begun to fray, although neither realized it at
the time, on the night Roger Sterling had his first heart attack.

	Carol had been fired from her job that afternoon and Joan had
suggested that the two of them go out and pick up a few guys to take her mind
off her problems.  Then, as Joan was making a final check of her appearance in
the mirror, Carol confessed that she loved her.  She went so far as to say that
she had loved her for years, ever since college, and had even followed her to
New York to be with her.  That she had waited all these years in the hope that
one day, Joan would look at her and think of her in the same way as she would a
boy.

	Joan had stared at her friend for a few seconds, then calmly suggested
that she'd had a long, hard day and that they should just go out and forget about
it.  Taken aback for a moment that her secret love was acting as if she hadn't
heard a single word of what she'd said, Carol nevertheless had followed Joan's
lead, and turned back the clock a few minutes and agreed to go out.  Later, they
brought two men back to the apartment and she once more cloaked herself in
respectable heterosexuality.

	Even though both of them never spoke of the incident again, it seemed
to always to be there after that, and eventually Carol moved out.  The last Joan
had heard, her former roommate was sharing an apartment in Greenwich Village
with another woman.  While she was never totally sure, Joan was fairly certain
that the relationship between Carol and her new roommate involved more than
simply sharing the rent and utilities.

	"Carol, is something wrong?"  Joan asked, thinking that might be the
reason for the unexpected call.

	"I just wanted to make sure you were okay,"  Carol said.  "You know,
with everything that is going on and all."

	"That's very nice of you,"  Joan replied.  "To care, I mean."

	"Joan, you know I've always cared about you,"  Carol said, the intensity
of her words carrying more weight than they might otherwise imply.

	"I appreciate that,"  Joan answered.  "And are you and your roommate,
I'm afraid I forget her name, all right?"

	"Sonya moved out about four months ago,"  Carol said.  "Things really
just didn't work out."

	"I'm sorry to hear that," Joan replied, surprising herself that she actually
was.  Whatever else Carol was, she had been her friend longer than anyone else
she knew.

	"Thank you,"  Carol said.  "I was just sitting here all alone and began to
think of you.  I didn't even think you would be home but I thought I'd try.  I'm sure
you have company, so I don't want to hold you.  Like I said, I just wanted to
make sure you were okay."

	"It's just me here,"  Joan said,  "unless you want to count Mr. Jack
Daniels."

	"Oh,"  Carol said, surprised; the Joan she remembered wasn't the type
to sit at home and drink alone.

	"Carol?"  Joan said a few long moments later, during which the line
seemed like it had gone dead.

	"Yes, I'm still here,"  she said.

	"Carol, would you like to come over,"  Joan said,  "just so neither of us is
sitting in the dark alone," she quickly added.

	"Are you sure it would be okay?"  Carol asked.

	"Yes, I think it would be quite okay,"  Joan said, suddenly grateful for the
opportunity for some company.

	"Okay, let me just clean up a little and I'll be right over as soon as I can
get a cab."

	"Good, I'll see you then,"  Joan said before hanging up the phone.

			-=-=-=-

	Getting up from the chair, Joan put on a few lights, changing the
atmosphere of the apartment.  She also put away the scotch bottle, draining the
last of her glass before she did.  Even though she had mentioned to Carol that
she'd been drinking, it wouldn't do for her to see the full extent of it.

	A quick trip to the bathroom to take care of personal needs and to clean
up a little followed, then an equally quick change of clothes and Joan was ready
for visitors.  A simple blouse and Capri pants were much more suitable for an
evening at home than the form fitting dress she had worn home from the office.

	While all these preparations had been going on, Joan found herself
wondering why she had impulsively asked Carol to come over.  Was it that she
was simply lonely and wanted anyone's company, or was there something more
there?  She had never really resolved, at least in her own mind, the issue of
Carol turning out to be that kind of girl.  Up until that night, she had never met a
lesbian, much less one who professed to be in love with her.

	Oh, there had been a few girls back in college that there had been
rumors about, but none of them like her roommate.  Carol was pretty, fun to be
with, and popular with the boys.  Not in the way Joan had been, but more than
enough for no one to ever doubt that she wasn't a hundred percent into guys.
	
	Since Carol's admission, Joan had told herself that it really hadn't
bothered her.  She had dealt with it in the same way she dealt with most
unpleasant things in her life - she simply pretended that it had never happened.
Then, after a while, she discovered that she was going out of the way to avoid
situations where she might be in a state of undress around Carol.

	It had been an unconscious reaction, she knew, because Carol had
never given her any reason to act differently.  That realization, however, also
began to cause Joan to wonder whenever she now noticed another woman
staring at her.  Previously, she had always taken those looks as  admiration or
even envy.  Now she found herself considering if any of them were looking at
her in the same way as a man might, and that thought made her feel a little
funny when she considered it.

	Another consideration that had crept into her thoughts during those last
months before Carol had moved out was that if anyone else knew about her
roommate, would they by inference conclude that she shared the same
interests?  The idea of guilt by association eventually had become so strong that
she had wondered if asking Carol to move out might not be a bad idea.
Thankfully, before she could ask that question, Carol had announced her
intention to do so on her own.  With her financial situation far different from
when they had first moved into the apartment, Joan had no need to find a new
roommate to share the rent. 	

		  	-=-=-=-

	Traffic must've been very light, Joan thought, because it was less than
an half hour later that the doorbell rang and she opened the door to see her
former roommate standing there.  Putting on her best 'glad to see you' smile, she
invited Carol inside, offering to take her coat as she did.

	The blonde was wearing a simple blue dress beneath an equally simple
cloth coat, the kind you would wear out to a casual dinner.  As she hung up the
coat, Joan remembered that blue was Carol's favorite color.  In fact, she had
been wearing another blue dress the night she had made her confession.

	"You made great time,"  Joan said as the two of them walked into the
living room,  "the streets must've been deserted."

	She had only meant it as a figure of speech, but Carol quickly confirmed
that it had taken on a frightening reality.

	"I don't think I saw two dozen people all the way up here,"  she said.
"Unless you count the people packed into just about every bar I passed.  That
and the lines of people outside the churches waiting to make a confession.  That
scared me more than anything else.  It's like they thought tomorrow would be too
late."

	Neither woman was Catholic, but both knew the importance of
confession to those who were.

	"Would you like a drink or something?"  Joan said, quickly changing the
subject.

	"No, I'm fine," Carol said, "but have one yourself if you want, don't let
me stop you."

	"Maybe later,"  Joan said, thinking that another drink might not be a
good thing right now, as she was feeling a bit tipsy from her earlier libations.

	The two spent a few minutes catching up, and as they did, Joan realized
that she was really glad her former roommate had decided to call to check up on
her.  Of all her friends, Carol had always been the only one who never judged
her.  It made her feel good just to have her sitting across from her now.

	"I heard you got engaged,"  Carol said.

	"Yes, his name's Greg,"  Joan replied.  "Dr. Greg Harris."

	"A doctor,"  Carol said in congratulations.  "Good for you.  I always knew
you'd win the brass ring in the end."

	"Every girl's dream,"  Joan smiled, then realized it wasn't every girls, at
least not Carol's.

	Carol didn't seem to take offense, since she listened attentively as Joan
rattled off her standard litany of the virtues of Dr. Greg Harris.  Her tone and
expression barely reflected the fact that there was little of it that she still
believed.

	"He sounds wonderful,"  Carol said when her friend was done.  "I'm so
happy for you."

	"He'd be here if he could,"  Joan said in conclusion, in case Carol had
been wondering as to why he wasn't,  "but all the doctors are on call in case
something happens."

	Carol nodded her head in understanding, accepting the lie at face value.

	"And how are things at Sterling Cooper?"  Carol asked.

	Joan started with the most important news, that the company was being
sold to a British concern.  Carol said that wasn't what she meant.  She wanted to
know how things at the advertising agency were going for Joan.

	Automatically, Joan started to give the same kind of sugarcoated answer
she had given when asked about her fianc�, but then paused.  The one thing she
had always been with Joan was honest.  Well, at least about most things.  She
took a breath and then told her about her loss of status at the firm.

	"Oh, that's terrible,"  Carol said when she had finished.  "I do remember
Peggy Olsen, but I don't remember ever meeting this Jane Siegel."

	"I can understand her and Roger,"  Joan added,  "He did always think
with the wrong head."

	Joan was one of the few people in the office who knew the full
circumstances behind Roger Sterling's heart attack.  That it had come after a
somewhat strenuous sexual liaison with one of two twenty year old twins that he
and Draper had picked up at the casting call for Cartwright double sided
aluminum.

	"But what I can't understand,"  she continued, "is why Peggy keeps
getting all the breaks she gets.  What kind of hold does she have on Don Draper
that he keeps going to bat for her?"

	"Could she actually be that talented?"  Carol asked.

	The look on Joan's face said she thought that unlikely.

	"Do you think she and Mr. Draper have something going on between
them?"  she then asked with some hesitation.

It was no secret to Carol that part of Joan's advancement at Sterling Cooper had
been due to her own sexual dalliances with some of the men there.  She had
started with Paul Kinsey, one of the copywriters, and worked her way up to
Roger Sterling, a partner who inherited his position from his father, who helped
found the firm.

	As soon as she'd said it, Carol worried that Joan might think she was
passing a belated judgment on her prior indiscretions, but Joan didn't make the
comparison, possibly due to the amount of alcohol she'd had to drink.  Joan said
that she knew Draper fooled around, but to her knowledge, and she prided
herself on knowing everything that went on at Sterling Cooper, he had never
been involved with anyone who actually worked there.  	Besides, she hardly
thought Peggy was his type.  He was, after all, married to a former model who
still looked like she stepped out of some fashion magazine.

	"Sometimes it's not what a girl looks like as much as what she's willing to
do,"  Carol commented.

	Joan gave her a what do you mean look.

	"Remember Marlene Depaul,"  Carol clarified.

	A light of understanding filled Joan's eyes.  Marlene Depaul had been a
French exchange student at the college that Joan and Carol had gone to.  With
plain looks and an androgynous build that often caused her to be mistaken for a
boy, the nineteen year old had inexplicably been immensely popular among the
most desirable portion of the school's male population.  Joan and her friends just
couldn't understand the attraction.  It wasn't as if they weren't willing to put out,
at least for the select few that met their standards.

	They finally discovered Marlene's secret when one of her "dates" spilled
the beans while drunk at a frat party.  It seemed that unlike most of her more
attractive American counterparts, the French girl was quite willing to perform
fellatio on her dates, something that most women back in the 1950's viewed as a
vile and disgusting act, one only performed by prostitutes and the lowest class of
women.

	That attitude still prevailed for most women who came of age during that
period, even the married ones.  Although it was becoming more acceptable for
some of the younger ladies of today who didn't necessarily need to have a ring
on their finger to have a man in their bed.
Joan herself had made the transition soon after learning Marlene's secret,
reasoning that in those pre-birth control pill days, it was a good way to keep your
boyfriend happy and the stork at bay.

	Still, that didn't explain what was the reason that Don Draper went so far
out of his way to push Peggy along, far ahead of  other girls who had been at
Sterling Cooper far longer.  If they were having a clandestine relationship, Joan
wondered, what could it be that she was doing for him that he couldn't get
someone else?
	"Joan, do you think something will happen?"  Carol asked, changing the
subject to the world outside of Sterling Cooper.

	Joan didn't answer right off.  Thinking about what tomorrow might bring,
or if there was even going to be a tomorrow, was something she had been trying
to avoid.

	"I don't know, Carol,"  she finally said.  "To be honest, I've been sitting
here trying not to think about it."

	"Oh I'm sorry,"  Carol apologized.

	"It's okay,"  Joan smiled, then added,  "Maybe I'll have that drink after
all."

	"I'll have one too,"  Carol said, thinking she could make amends for her
mistake.

	As Joan poured both of them a drink, Carol said they should do
something to take their minds off the news.  She mentioned that she saw on the
way over that "Five Weeks in a Balloon", the comedy with Red Buttons, Barbara
Eden and Fabian, was still playing in the movie theatre around the corner and
that maybe they could go see it.

	"You know what I miss from the old days,"  Joan said, ignoring the
suggestion and recalling more fun times as she handed the blonde her drink.
"How when things weren't going right we'd just go out to a bar somewhere and
before long we'd have some guys wanting to buy us drinks and dinner."

	Carol smiled, realizing that Joan was a bit more inebriated than she'd
thought.

	"Well, we can't do that sort of thing now,"  Carol said as she took a sip of
her scotch, thinking that maybe going out might not have been a good
suggestion after all.

	"Why not?" Joan surprisingly asked.

	"Well, for one thing,"  Carol said, "you're engaged, remember?"

	"Oh yeah,"  Joan said with a small laugh.

	"And for another,"  Carol continued,  "I don't go out with men anymore."

	When the thought first occurred to her a few minutes ago, Joan had
honestly forgotten all about the good doctor.  It was surprising how often she had
been doing that.  She even spent a good deal of time wondering if, after they
were finally married, she would be able to remain totally faithful to Greg.  Once
you took the fact that he was a doctor out of the equation, there was not a lot of
good things that she could say about her intended.

	If she were brutally honest, Greg was not the great lover he thought he
was in bed.  Most times, sex was of the wham bam thank you ma'am variety.
Not wanting to lose their chance at a good thing, few of the women Greg had
been with before had suggested any need for improvement.  When Joan had
done so, he had become quite defensive and withdrawn.  Then, when she went
even a bit further and actually suggested certain activities, not only was he
unappreciative, but he began to openly question how much prior sexual
experience Joan had.  Did he really think that, looking as she looked, and as old
as she was, that she'd been saving herself all this time for him?

	"Joan?"  Carol said, seeing that her friend had become distracted for the
moment.

	"Carol, did you enjoy being with men?"  Joan unexpectedly asked, the
pleasant feeling from the drinks she'd consumed prompting her to ask a question
she'd sometimes wondered about but never had the nerve to ask.

	"Excuse me?"  Carol said.

	"Back when we used to go out together, and met men,"  Joan said, being
more precise in her question, "and sometimes bring them back here.  Did you
enjoy being with them?"

	"Sometimes,"  Carol answered after thinking about.  "I mean there was
never really any emotional connection, but I sometimes enjoyed talking, and
laughing."

	"That's not what I mean and you know it," Joan interrupted.  "When you
had a man in bed with you, did you enjoy it?"

	This time Carol took longer to answer, thinking even more carefully
about the question.

 "I'd have to say that, occasionally, yes, I did enjoy it"  she admitted, "on a
physical level at least.  Not often, but occasionally."

"How is it different,"  Joan asked.  "With a woman I mean?"

"I'm not sure how to answer that,"  Carol replied.  "There are some similarities, of
course, but even when you are doing the same things a man and woman do, it's
just different."

	"Like how?"  Joan pressed.

	"I couldn't even begin to explain,"  Carol said, astonished that, after all
this time, Joan was suddenly interested in the subject.

	"Then let's just make it simple,"  Joan offered.  "How is kissing another
woman different than kissing a man?"

	"I'm not sure I have the words to explain even that,"  Carol replied.  "It's
just different, that's all."

	Joan, obviously not happy with the answer, paused and looked down at
her still half full drink.  She considered finishing it, but then decided against it
and put it down on the end table instead. She didn't want Carol to think that what
she said next had been prompted by having had too much to drink.

	"Well, if you can't explain it to me with words,"  she said, leaning slightly
forward towards Carol,  "then I guess you're just going to have to show me."

	"What?"  Carol said in a surprised tone, sure she had heard it wrong.

	"Show me,"  Joan repeated,  "show me how it's different."

	"Joan, I..."  the blonde in blue started to say, hesitated, then continued,
"Joan, as much as I've dreamed of doing that for the longest time, I can't."

	"Why not?"

	"Because I think you've had too much to drink and I'm just afraid that,
when tomorrow comes, you'll hate me for it,"  Carol said, remembering Joan's
comment on the phone earlier about her only companion.

	"Haven't you been paying attention to the newspapers and the
television?"  Joan asked.  "There might not be a tomorrow to worry about."

	Having been practically glued to the radio these past few days, Carol
could hardly dispute that thought.

	"But what about Greg?"  Carol said, even as she felt her self-control
starting to weaken against long felt desires.

	"Greg isn't here, but you are,"  Joan replied, moving just a bit closer to
her on the couch.

	"Joan, I don't know,"  Carol said, trying to convince herself as much as
the redhead.

	"Carol, didn't you once tell me to think of you as a boy?"  Joan said with
her most enticing smile.

	Carol slightly nodded her head in acknowledgement, surprised that Joan
had remembered that; it had after all been two years ago.

	'Well,"  Joan said as she moved even closer to Carol,  "I never met a
boy who could say no to me."

	Nor, as it turned out, could Carol.

	The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to slow as the two women
rose from their seats and faced each other.  Now it was Carol who closed the
space between them, taking the initiative as she drew Joan to her.  Their lips
gently brushed up against each other, soft flesh against soft flesh.  Carol
reached up and ran her fingers through Joan's thick red hair, then down across
her neck.  The press of Joan's breasts against her own added to the thrill as she
reached forward with her tongue, parting the opposing lips with its tip, even as its
counterpart met it halfway.  They could feel the beating of each other's heart as
their lips parted for only a brief moment, before sliding right into a second, even
more intimate kiss. That in turn was followed by a third and then a fourth.
	"That was different,"  Joan said after the last kiss finally ended,
"different, but quite nice."

	"Oh yes,"  Carol breathlessly agreed, her lips still tingling with the touch
of Joan's.

	"And I can now see what you meant by it being impossible to explain
with words,"  Joan added.

	Carol smiled, gratified that her unvoiced fear that Joan might have
regretted her action had proved unfounded.

	"So, since that went so well,"  Joan said as she took Carol by her hand,
"I guess you might as well show me what else can't be explained with words."

	It took Carol a long breath to realize what Joan had just suggested.
Once she did, however, not another breath passed before she smiled in
acquiescence.  Part of her wondered if she might possibly still be back in her
own apartment, having a most wondrous dream.  If so, she hoped she might
never wake up from it.

		  	-=-=-=-

	Carol's hand in her own, Joan led her out of the living room and down
the hall toward her bedroom.  As they walked, Carol felt a twinge of hesitation.
Not for what they were about to do, of course; it had been her most secret desire
for a third of her life.  It was the thought of climbing into the same bed that Joan
shared with her fianc�, to say nothing of the men that had come before him, that
gave her pause.  To her surprise, and relief, Joan continued past the main
bedroom and brought her instead to the small one at the end of the hall - the one
she herself had used back when they had been roommates.

	Stepping inside, Carol was stunned to find it was nearly exactly as she
had left in on the day she had moved out.  Joan hadn't changed a thing.

	"I really didn't need the extra space,"  Joan said by way of explanation
why the room was still in the same condition,  "and I thought we'd be more
comfortable in here,"  the redhead added as an afterthought.

	"Oh Joan,"  Carol said as the thought as she looked down at the bed
where she had laid countless nights listening to Joan entertain men on the other
side of the thin wall, dreaming of a night when it would be her turn.

	Turning to face Joan, she kissed her again, her outstretched fingers
tracing a line across her breasts as their lips met.  With nimble fingers, she
began to undo the buttons of Joan's blouse, exposing the voluptuous mounds
hidden beneath it.  How many times, she asked herself as the last buttons gave
way, had she stolen a look at Joan as they changed clothes?  More than she
could remember, she answered herself.  This time, however, there was no need
to avert her eyes, lest she be caught looking.  This time she could take all the
time she wanted to admire the beauty she had so desired.

	The buttons undone, Joan slipped out of her blouse, leaving only the
Maidenform bra to cover her ample endowments.  Carol ran her hand, fingers
widely extended, down the deep valley between Joan's breasts, a soft sigh only
a small measure of the excitement she felt.

	Her shoes already discarded, Joan stepped back and pulled down
against her Capris, until they were on the floor aside her top.  Carol noted with
interest the pretty panties beneath, remembering the day the two of them had
been shopping and Joan had purchased them.  Her heart actually skipped a beat
at the thought of the long imagined treasure that rested just beyond that oh so
thin material.

	"Now your turn,"  Joan said as she abruptly stopped and sat herself
down on the small wooden chair against the wall.

	Carol saw the look of curiosity in Joan's eyes and realized that while she
had undoubtedly watched a quite a number of men undress in front of her, she'd
never had the opportunity to watch a woman do so.  At least not in a situation
like this.  Overjoyed to have her eyes on her, and her alone, Carol was
determined to satisfy that interest in the most gratifying way possible.

	Standing only a few feet in front of Joan, Carol turned and, reaching
behind, slowly undid the zipper of her dress, bringing it all the way down to her
waist as it revealed the strap of her bra and the upper edge of her half-slip.  With
her back still to Joan, she slid off her dress top and then shimmied it down her
legs, stepping out of it once it was down to the floor.

	Turning around, so that they were now face to face, Carol undid the thin
straps of her slip and with much the same movements as before worked her way
out of it.  She stood there for a few moments, clad in bra, panties and garter belt,
along with the flesh colored stockings below.  Lifting first one leg, then the other,
she undid the hooks of the belt, sliding each stocking down along her leg, until
they too joined the growing pile on the floor.

	Through it all, Joan watched in fascination as more of her former
roommate became exposed. It was hardly the first time she had seen Carol in
her underwear; you couldn't share an apartment with someone and not have
occasion to do so.  Yet those times have been accidental, chance encounters on
the way in or out of their respective bedrooms.  This time, it was intentional, and
the look of pleasure on Carol's face as she disrobed for her brought an
unexpected but pleasing exhilaration to Joan.

	Carol reached out her hand to Joan and as their fingers interlaced,
pulled her close until their lips once more met.  Each kiss was filled with greater
passion than the last, their tongues sliding in and out of each other's mouths with
abandon.  As their bodies pressed together, Carol reached around and with deft
fingers undid the clasps of Joan's bra.  Her movement was so effortless that
Joan wasn't even aware at first that it had become undone.  Normally, even the
most practiced of men fumbled with it a bit, if only due to the excited anticipation
of being able to take it off at all.

	They separated just far enough for Joan to be able to slide the heavy
upper garment down and off her arms, while Carol took the chance to remove
her own, revealing smaller but still impressive mounds.  Surprisingly, it was Joan
who then reached out with her hands first, placing outstretched palms across the
center of Carol's breasts, squeezing them softly and enjoying the warmth of her
bare flesh.  It was the first time she had ever touched another woman in that
way, although she had felt her own hefty globes many times.

	"Oh, that feels nice,"  Carol moaned softly, the casualness of her words
barely reflecting how much just this simple touch meant to her.

	Joan continued to move her hands across Carol's breasts, finding them
both familiar and different at the same time.  If this was what men felt when they
reached out for her, she now understood at least some of their fascination.
Almost by accident, the tips of her fingers brushed against Carol's excited
nipples, producing a loud gasp from the blonde that was anything but casual.

	Up until that moment, Carol was willing to just wait and let Joan explore
her body, remembering how excited she herself was the first time she had
touched another woman.  Now, however, it was impossible to hold her desires in
check as she reached out and took hold of the redhead's large breasts.

	How many times had she heard some all too forgettable man through
the wall between their bedrooms, marveling at a treasure she could only admire
from afar.  Waves of desire filled her as she held Joan's heavy mounds in the
palm of her hand, wanting so much to kiss them, to taste them, to savor their
bounty.

	Leaning downward, Carol kissed the nipple of Joan's left breast, running
her tongue across the length of her areola before closing her lips around it and
taking it as deep into her mouth as she could. Then, she shifted her attention to
the identical mound to her right and duplicated her action.

	Joan let out a soft moan, delighting in the soft, wet embrace of Carol's
mouth against her flesh.  Long ago she'd lost track of exactly how many men
had been there before Carol, the list having begun early in her teens.  What she
was sure of was that certainly no man had ever made her feel quite this way.
There was a knowingness that a man couldn't match, causing her to wonder
what other actions that familiarity might enhance.

	That consideration also made Joan realize that there was no turning
back, not that she had any intention of doing so.  She'd already done things
she'd never imagined doing, and for her that was saying a lot.  It was a certainty
that, before the dawn, she would do a great deal more.

	Carol continued to kiss Joan's bountiful breasts, working her tongue
down across the deep valley between them.  Then she worked her way back
upward, until she once more found Joan's mouth.  This time the kiss was
hungrier, more primal, her lust for this woman greater than for anyone that had
come before her.  If Joan's comment of earlier was true, that this could be the
last night of her life, then after it she could die complete.  If all they had were
these hours together, then she would make sure that every one of them counted.

			  	-=-=-=-

	This time taking Joan's hand, Carol led her to the bed and eased her
down on it, letting her stretch her tall frame across it before she climbed on it
herself, kneeling on one of the small, empty spaces near the edge.  Bending
down she kissed the redhead, this time a brief soft touch.  Then her left hand
danced past Joan's bust, working its way down across her stomach until it
stopped at the only clothing her lover still had on.  To Carol's delight, the cloth
felt moist with excitement as her fingers pressed against it, physical proof that
Joan was enjoying this as much as she was.

	With slow, deliberate movements, Carol guided her fingers under the
waistband of Joan's panties and resumed their journey to the treasure within.  A
loud gasp spilled from Joan's lips as the blonde's hand made contact, the tips of
her fingers coming to rest on her clitoris.  Ever so gently, Carol began to
manipulate the hard nub, the motions of her hand having an immediate effect on
Joan.

	"Oh, that feels good,"  Joan gasped as ripples of pleasure began to wash
across her body, their intensity growing with each passing moment.

	Joan had discovered masturbation at a quite early age, quickly coming
to the conclusion that no matter what anyone else said, nothing that felt so good
could ever be wrong.  In no time at all, she discovered just where to touch
herself to achieve maximum delights.  There had been men over the years that
gave this most sensitive of spots its due, but they had been few and far between.
Even then, it was the fewest of the few that managed to equal the pleasures that
Joan usually brought to herself.  Yet, in only the space of minutes, Carol had
easily unlocked the secrets of Joan's body.

	"Oh Carol,"  Joan cried out,  "don't stop - whatever you do, don't stop!"

	Carol, of course, had no thought of doing anything of the sort as her
thumb continued to caress Joan's clit, even while she slipped one, then two, and
finally three fingers deep into the equally sensitive canal beneath it.  The look of
bliss on Joan's face was a joy for her to behold, especially since she knew it was
but the tip of the iceberg, as they say.

	These particular panties, Carol remembered, had been as expensive as
they were delicate, meant more to accentuate rather then conceal.  With a
strength born of impatience, she gripped the one firm edge and ripped the
material, causing the rest of the undergarment to come undone.  Then it was just
a matter of sliding what was left out of the way.

	The sight of the lightly trimmed red haired mound that had so occupied
her dreams caused Carol to pause in what she was doing.  Originally she had
intended to continue her hand play a little longer, as Joan was enjoying it so.
That thought now faded, replaced by an overwhelming desire to savor what she
had always imagined as the nectar of the gods.

	Quickly shifting her position on the bed, Carol pushed Joan's legs wider
apart and climbed into the space between them.  Then, she lifted each leg just
high enough for her to fill the void her hand's withdrawal had created with her
head.

	Once Joan realized that Carol's hand had been removed, a momentary
sadness filled her, but it was a feeling that quickly dissipated once she realized
the reason why.  If few men took the time to pay proper attention to her clit, even
fewer even considered what Carol was now so eagerly positioning herself to do.
Of course it almost went without saying that the majority of them  expected her
to perform the same act on them without hesitation.

	As she neared her prize, Carol took a long moment to savor the pleasant
scent of womanhood drifting upward, an aroma more appealing than the most
expensive perfume.  As her face came even with the tightly trimmed hair, she
kissed the center of the mound, slipping her tongue out between her lips just
enough to taste the sweetness of its nectar.  It was all she had imagined it would
be.

	Normally, a particular excitement filled Carol when she was with a new
woman, especially one who had up to then been a Sapphic virgin.  With Joan,
that feeling of exhilaration was easily magnified tenfold.  A second kiss followed
as Carol parted the folds of Joan's sex with outstretched fingers.  It only took a
brief moment to once more expose her clit from beneath its hood, gently
massaging it with, first, the tip of her fingers, then that of her tongue.  That wet
touch was like that of a match to a pool of gasoline, causing Joan to let out a cry
loud enough to wash away the memory of the softer ones that had preceded it.

	Carol's tongue quickly became buried deep within the woman beneath
her as she fell into a well practiced rhythm. A familiar pattern that sent frequent
and increasingly intense ripples of passion flowing outward across Joan's supple
body.

	Back and forth Carol's tongue darted, seeking Joan's most receptive
spots even as she used her hands to lift Joan's legs higher and further apart.
Her body quivering with orgasmic anticipation, Joan reached down and grabbed
her legs, holding them in place to allow Carol to devote her full attention to her
charms.  An attention she made the most of.

	Hands now free, Carol slipped three fingers inside Joan, adding their
motion to the blend of delights.  Quickly they moved, soon matching the pace of
her tongue as she drove Joan closer to the edge.

	"Oh God, Carol, fuck me!"  Joan heard herself cry out, in a way she
rarely would with a man.  "Fuck me with your fingers and your tongue!"

	And that she did, for far longer than Joan thought possible as Carol
seemed to sense just when to slow down, so as not to let her complete an
orgasm that always seemed to be just a few moments away.  Magical was the
only word Joan could think of to describe Carol's tongue and it exhibited more
skill than any man's before it.

	In the end she was practically begging Carol to let her climax, and the
blonde haired woman between her legs was now only all too happy to oblige.
For, in the end, she knew that she could never deny Joan anything that would
make her happy.

	To say her orgasm was explosive would've been the greatest of
understatements, and Joan knew all too well that if the world did go on past the
morrow, it would be one she would always compare to all that came afterwards
to.

	Lifting herself from between Joan's legs, Carol climbed up on the bed
and laid her body across her lover's.  Her head rested against Joan's breasts and
she was content for the moment to just lay there and enjoy the warm glow of her
body against hers.

	"That was really amazing,"  Joan finally said long minutes later, as she
leaned down and kissed Carol softly.

	"I'm glad you enjoyed it,"  Carol said in between what quickly became a
succession of gentle kisses.

	"Did you?"  Joan asked.

	"More than anything in the world,"  Carol beamed.  "I can't imagine how
it could've been better."

	Thirty seconds later, Carol had the answer to that question, when Joan
said that she wanted to try and bring Carol the same delightful joy that she had
just brought her.

			  	-=-=-=-

	Carefully slipping out from Carol's embrace, Joan worked herself down
her friend's body, kissing each part of it as she went, alternating hard and soft
caresses.  She had no experience with what she was about to do, but that had
never stopped her before.  She hoped Carol would forgive any clumsiness on
her part.

	As she reached the apex between her legs, Carol stretched out her legs,
giving Joan an even clearer view of her sex.  For a moment, Joan glanced up at
Carol's face, and never before had she seen such a look of happiness on it.  She
smiled for another moment, and then turned her attention to the task at hand.

	The sight before her was both familiar and quite different, and not just
because of the different hue of the hair that surrounded it.  She reached out with
her hand and ran four fingers across the very damp mound.  The scent of
aroused womanhood flooded her senses, causing a quiet different reaction in her
that that of a man.  From the very first time she and one of the boys in her
school had played doctor in his parents' basement, she had never had to worry
about pleasing a sexual partner.  In most cases, it had been more a matter of
keeping a man from getting too excited too soon. Failure to get him off had
never been a consideration.  Now she was, in a thought that gave her both
amusement and trepidation, in virgin territory.

	But, as anyone who had ever known Joan Holloway knew, she didn't get
where she was in life by being faint of heart.  Once she made up her mind to do
something, there was little that could stood in the way between her and a goal.

	Slipping one and then two fingers experimentally into Carol's depths,
Joan was rewarded with a loud gasp of appreciation from above her.  It was then
she realized that, like it had been with so many men, she could do no wrong.  It
was more important just that she was there.

	With much less uncertainty, Joan kissed the wet mound, running her
tongue up and down its length even as she used her fingers to part the folds of
Venus.  Carol's reaction was instantaneous, her body responding to Joan's touch
with a series of moans and gentle quakes, both increasing once her tongue
replaced her fingers.

	The sweet taste of Carol on her tongue was again familiar and different,
comparing it to her own that she'd had cause to sample at times.  Usually when
it covered certain parts of male anatomy.  Using both what Carol had done to
her, as well as what she herself enjoyed as a guide, Joan began to settle into a
close copy of the rhythm the blonde had demonstrated.  There were more than a
few missteps, but none that Carol seemed to mind in the least.  At least not that
could be told from the continued reactions of her body.

	Carol's road to orgasm was a much steeper climb for Joan than her own
had been, but it was one that she was determined to complete.  Carol might
have been a sprinter, but Joan was quite comfortable in the role of a long
distance runner.  The continued moans of encouragement from the blonde
guided her, adjusting her efforts to those which produced the loudest replies.  	

	"Oh yes, baby,"  Carol unexpectedly called out as Joan hit the perfect
spot and she reached down and used her hands to guide the redhead back to it.
"Right there, you got it."

	And got it she had as her place on Carol's road took an unexpected leap
forward, her body suddenly beginning to convulse as a strong orgasm overtook
her.  It wasn't at the same level as the one Carol had given her, but it was nearly
just as satisfying.

	Carol's body had barely stopped reacting to her climax when she pulled
Joan up to her and kissed her with a passion that reflected all that this night had
meant to her.  The world could end at this moment and she wouldn't care.  In her
mind and heart, there could never be as perfect a moment as this one.   	

			  	-=-=-=-


	The world was indeed there the next morning, as it was the day after and
the day after that.  By the end of the following week, the crisis was over as the
United States and the Soviet Union came to an agreement that removed the
missiles from Cuba.

	Carol and Joan came to their own agreement as well, although one
much less formal.  What had happened between them would not be repeated, or
even spoken of again.  That was just the way it had to be.  But even if they
never talked of it, neither would ever forgot what happened on the night the
world didn't end.

END	             	

 (c) Ann Douglas 2011

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