Does The Butch Come With The Recipe? Read online

  Does the Butch Come With the Recipe?

  (Prequel to The Ties That Bind)

  By

  Cheri Crystal

  Mix summer league softball, raising funds to take the team to the playoffs, a control-freak butch, and a lusty femme, and you have the ingredients for all sorts of tasty treats. Cyndy Kaplan is a butch with baggage. She’s the team’s captain who is used to getting her own way in all aspects of her life. Along comes a lusty femme in a tantalizing package, and Cyndy’s strength is tested. Tristan Rizzo is too hot to handle and yet too alluring to ignore. When the game is love, the stakes are high between a resistant butch and a persistent femme.

  THIS AND ALL MY STORIES ARE DEDICATED TO JO

  For being my constant source of inspiration,

  For always making me smile,

  For all her love, devotion, encouragement and support

  And for being the best wife in all the world, no, make that in all the

  Universe.

  I LOVE YOU X

  DOES THE BUTCH COME WITH THE RECIPE?

  © 2012 By Cheri Crystal. All rights reserved.

  THIS ELECTRONIC ORIGINAL SHORT STORY CONTAINS EROTIC CONTENT AND ADULT THEMES. READERS MUST BE OVER 18 TO PURCHASE.

  PUBLISH DATE: NOVEMBER 2012

  THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUISINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

  SCANNING, UPLOADING AND/OR DISTRIBUTION OF THIS BOOK VIA THE INTERNET, PRINT, AUDIO RECORDINGS OR ANY OTHER MEANS WITHOUT THE PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR/PUBLISHER IS ILLEGAL AND WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW.

  FIND CHERI CRYSTAL ON THE WEB AT www.chericrystal.com and on facebook.com/chericrystal

  Summer league softball. Tristan Rizzo in hot pants up to her pupik. Lots of beer, pizza, and one game away from the play-offs. What more could a dyke want?

  Once upon a time that was all Cyndy Kaplan wanted, but something had changed, and she’d be damned if she knew what. Restless, she shifted from side to side, poised on the mound eager to throw her next pitch. In the distance, partially obstructed from view, a car peeled out of the parking lot. The only reason she’d noticed at all was because Tristan appeared through a cloud of smoke carrying three pizza pies in the crook of an outstretched arm while supporting a large oil-slicked bag under her chin. The aroma of garlic, pepperoni, and parmesan wafted past Cyndy’s nose, but she intended to ignore the rumblings in her stomach. And elsewhere. Without fail, Lucy Travers, dubbed ‘Lucky’ for her record-breaking bedroom scores, moved right in for the kill.

  “Here, little lady, let me help you with that.”

  “What’s with the food? Practice isn’t over yet,” Cyndy scolded, but her gaze fell upon Tristan’s cleavage the moment Lucky rescued the boxes.

  “Aw, Kap, come on. We’ve been at it for hours,” shouted Angie Benson, who’d downed half a box of Crispy Creams before sauntering to the outfield. Any slower and she’d need a bus ticket to home plate. “We need sustenance.”

  “It’ll get cold.” Tristan flashed a dazzling smile to beat all tooth whitening ads.

  “All right. Fifteen minutes.”

  They all scurried over to Tristan as Cyndy watched her lay out paper plates and napkins on a nearby picnic bench. She dragged over the ice chest filled with drinks and joined her team. With one cleated foot propped on the seat, Cyndy leaned on her bent knee, determined to get a grip on her limited patience. She cleared her throat for emphasis. “Listen up!” She waited until she had every set of eyes cast her way. With a perfectly proportioned figure, athletic limbs, and a strong handsome face, she was short of stature, but taller than average in personality. She could command a room the size of Giants Stadium. “We’ll need some serious funds if we’re going to take the whole team to Fort Lauderdale for the playoffs. Any ideas, ladies?”

  A low rumbling among the teammates signified their devotion and respect for their fearless leader. From the time she could walk, Cyndy stood out in a crowd. She was one kickass, take-charge Aries and nothing was beyond her reach. If she had a tender side, one would have to dig deep through forty years of layers to find it.

  The sky darkened without warning, leaving little time to seek shelter in their cars. It would be hot and stuffy in the dugout, but at least they’d be off the wet, windy field. Within minutes, an electric storm raged around the women huddled over their lunch.

  “Dugout! Now!”

  Once gathered with food and drink in hand, Cyndy seized the opportunity to brainstorm. She stood expectantly and downed a can of iced tea while her teammates found seats. “Fundraising ideas. Anyone?”

  Tristan Rizzo waved her softball cap in the air, releasing lustrous brunette curls that bounced around the hollow of her neck, just above her ample breasts before looping around the back just below her shoulders. Her radiant hair spoke volumes, but her formidable ass attracted a second glance. Cyndy wouldn’t mind a piece of that, but it was out of the question. Despite what little willpower she had left, she found herself sneaking a peek up Tristan’s leg cuffs. Just to be sure, she looked again, but didn’t get so much as a glimpse of underwear. Walking past a bakery window filled with pastries during an obligatory twenty-four hour fast was easier than diverting her concentration away from Tristan’s fitted v-neck titty-shirt. Her cleavage was tough enough to miss, but spying the faint outline of areolas through jersey over white lace made Cyndy drool. Tristan was all woman despite a rare juvenile display like a kid waiting to be called on in class.

  “You need a pass to the little girls’ room, Tris?” She chuckled at her own joke and everyone joined in.

  The unflustered femme exuded the sex appeal of a Playboy centerfold. Tristan appeared fragile, but looks lied. She played a tough game with everything she had, and the benefits, besides her exquisite female form in motion, distracted her opponents into lowering their guard. It was hard to stay focused in her company. Cyndy forced her mind back to the discussion. “Go on, Tristan, enlighten us.”

  “I know. How about we sell candy bars?”

  “We’re a softball team. Not a bunch of cheerleaders.” She hadn’t meant to sound gruff, but next to pitching softballs, teasing Tristan was her favorite sport. “Any other ideas?”

  “Car wash?” said the outfielder.

  “Charge admission?” Lucky’s deep voice reverberated in the dugout.

  “Against the rules,” Cyndy said.

  Tristan hunched a bit, but stood when Cyndy was about to call on someone else, as if she was their teacher. The fact that the team was made up of grown women, some of whom worked in business, didn’t mean they wanted the responsibility and administrative duties that Cyndy took on for the team. “Tristan, say it, Sweetie, before you burst.”

  “How about we put together a cookbook?” Her wide grin exposed even, white teeth and her green eyes shimmered when a flash of light illuminated her face. Cyndy didn’t know many women with smoother skin and naturally thicker eyelashes who didn’t use a tube of face paint.

  The others laughed out loud, which irritated Cyndy to no end. She patted the air with her palms until everyone settled down. “Who is going to buy our cookbooks? The PTA?” More guffaws.

  “If we sell a copy to everyone in the league…there are five hundred women in our division alone, and that’s not counting family, friends, coworkers…” Tristan glanced up in thought, her index finger pointing in a way that Cyndy would have welcomed near her warm, moist crotch. Tristan was undeterred by the grumblings of the group. “At say, twenty dollars a pop, that’s a thou right
there.” She gathered her curls in a makeshift ponytail and then let it fall. If she tossed her head to and fro, she could pose for a Pantene shampoo commercial. “Let me finish, please.”

  “Okay. Quiet down, people,” Cyndy ordered. “Go on.” She stifled a smile because Tristan deserved credit for not letting anyone intimidate her. Fortitude was one quality that Cyndy admired most about Tristan and something that puzzled her a great deal too. Contrary to popular belief, Tristan, the team’s sweetheart, probably didn’t need as much protection as she got. A clap of thunder brought Cyndy back to the brainstorming and she caught the tail end of Tristan’s idea.

  “We make it a Butch Cookbook, with recipes for hungry women in a hurry,” Tristan added.

  “Let’s have a show of hands.”

  A low-flying jet overhead couldn’t drown out the unanimous vote that decided the next fundraiser.

  The storm lifted and steam rose off wet grass in the bright sunshine. As long as the players avoided puddles, they were able to remain relatively dry as they walked to their cars.

  It was a done deal. They were going to put together a cookbook. The titles ranged from “The Way to a Woman’s Heart,” to “The Morning After Buffet,” Cyndy set up the committee, but let Tris run it. The group met weekly in alternating homes for discussions over beer, chips and dip. ESPN often provided background entertainment. Cyndy found herself looking forward to it as much as winning games.

  When it was Tristan’s turn to host, Cyndy got her first opportunity to visit inside her house. A bit too country and frilly for her taste, but suited Tristan with its welcoming upstate, down-home charm.

  Tristan answered the door. Her legs were bare, and in flat sandals, she was three inches taller than Cyndy’s five-foot-two inch frame. The low-cut, empire-waist, lilac sundress was a knockout on her and the daisies danced with each movement. “Make yourself comfortable in the living room. Lucky and Sylvia are already here. Excuse me while I take the cheese puffs out of the oven.”

  Cyndy joined the women and settled in a high-backed chair, not unlike a throne. When Tristan came out of the kitchen holding a tray of munchies, her mouth watered from more than the delicious aroma.

  “Would someone mind taking out two cases of beer from the fridge?”

  Lucky and Cyndy shot up at precisely the same moment. Cyndy stared her down until Lucky backed off.

  She tightened her grip on the beverages when she caught the sway of Tristan’s ass as she sashayed into the living room. Lucky and Sylvia pounced on her like starving poster children. She blocked them. “One at a time, ladies. Please.”

  As Tristan bent down to put the tray on the coffee table, the swell of her breasts spilled out of her dress. It irked Cyndy that she gave a hoot about other women getting a preview. Tristan was not her girlfriend. One moment the woman exuded sex appeal and vulnerability, and the next she could be on top of her game commanding respect. What was up with the roiling in the pit of her stomach anytime someone paid attention to Tristan?

  Lucky stuffed a handful of nachos, layered with melted cheddar, guacamole, sour cream and salsa into her mouth and then chased it with a hefty slug of beer. With her mouth full, she managed, “I say we start with Clit-Teasers for appetizers,” and chewed through a self-satisfied grin.

  “You would,” added Cyndy dryly.

  “What’ll be the main course?” Sylvia, the catcher, offered helpfully. “Pussy Pot Roast?” She looked like she ate more than her fair share of pot roast, heavy on the potatoes and gravy with a half-dozen biscuits to lop up the juices.

  “Be serious, you guys,” Tristan chided, but grinned.

  “Meaty Chicken Breasts baked to perfection.”

  “Or a recipe for homemade, hot, sweet and sour Tongue with mustard, sauerkraut, potato chips and Russian dressing on rye.”

  “What kind of combination is that?” They all howled.

  Between jokes and munchies, they’d managed to outline the Table of Contents and figure out the best way to get recipe submissions so they could taste them before accepting them. Cyndy checked her watch, stood, and smoothed out her jeans. “Well, it’s getting late and tomorrow’s work.” Standing offered a slight relief from the pressure her pants placed on her crotch after one too many beers and whatever Tristan called those addictive cheese things that melted in her mouth. She hadn’t had anything as tasty in quite a while.

  She waited while Tristan let the others out. Lucky lingered, chewing on her lip in that way she always did before going after her next prey. Short, but quick on her feet, Cyndy practically pushed Lucky out. “See you tomorrow, bro.” They worked in the same firm, only she was in distribution and Lucky in design. Cyndy might have dissuaded Lucky from participating, but a graphic designer would help the cause.

  Tristan closed the door. “Well, that went well.” She clapped off imaginary crumbs. Her fingernails were well manicured and painted a neutral shade. Even though her nails did not extend past the tips, they appeared long because of lengthy nail beds. Cyndy’s hands were stubby in comparison, but once upon a time she made up for it with technique and equipment. Back then she enjoyed playing the field and freely indulged her kinky side, but those days were gone.

  Tristan gathered the empty bottles.

  “Here, let me help you with that.”

  “That’s okay. I can do it in the morning.”

  “I insist. Besides, I owe you an apology for scoffing at your idea.”

  “I bet you a million bucks we need a second printing. We’ll get a break publishing because my uncle is in the business. It’ll be pure profit.” Tristan’s enthusiasm was contagious. Cyndy thrummed with excitement akin to a hormonal surge and fought the urge to carry this lovely woman to her chambers.

  It was torture each time Tristan brushed past her to remove the leftovers from the living room. Not much for domesticity, Cyndy had an unusual calm replace her jumpy nature as she assisted Tristan in the mundane task. It was a shame when the job was done. “I guess I’ll be going then. See you at practice.” Did her voice tremble? She never got this way, ever.

  “It’s only minutes past eleven. Stay a while longer. I’ll make us some coffee laced with whatever you want.”

  “I can’t. Caffeine keeps me up all night.”

  “So?”

  Tristan’s breasts were too close to her face, but Cyndy resisted temptation. If she so much as lightly touched the soft peaks, she’d never stop. Tristan’s floral scent mingled with her own musk in the tiny kitchen. The proximity of her object of desire intoxicated her senses and revived her sexual appetite. Cyndy was reminded of the lyrics she coincidentally heard on the radio driving over, “You can view the menu and you just can’t eat…” and glumly thought, how fitting. Not usually such a klutz, she moved away and knocked the tray of nachos off the counter. It crashed to the floor. Guacamole and salsa went flying and created a colorful display on the stark white cabinets and linoleum.

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” They both went to clean up and bumped heads on the way down. “My fault. Allow me.” Cyndy tried to gather the sauce in her bare hands and only made more of a mess as it dripped through her fingers. She licked the outside of her palm in an attempt to avoid getting it on her shirt. “Mmm, this is quite good.”

  “I’m glad I washed the floor today.” Tristan’s good-natured laugh ended abruptly. She captured Cyndy’s wrist. “Oh, crap, your shirt. Hold still.” Tristan reached behind her for a dishtowel, which was stuck to a spatula also tangled up in an oven mitt. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but in her haste, she bumped into a pitcher half-filled with iced tea.

  Cyndy caught it before the glass met the floor.

  “Good save,” Tristan said. “Oh, but look what you did.”

  Cyndy surveyed her surroundings.

  “I don’t mean the kitchen. Look at your clothes. The stain will set if we don’t try to get it out right away.”

  Cyndy peered down at her shirt. The light blue button-down resembled an art project gone wrong.
A smattering of green and red glided towards her belt. Tristan caught it along with Cyndy’s hand. She ate the glop off both their fingers. Cyndy shook from a craving so powerful, it threatened to knock her out. She struggled to regain control and withdrew her hand. “I have lots of other shirts.”

  “I’m sure you do, but I like the way this one hugs your—”

  Tristan flushed and that gnawing in Cyndy’s gut grew. She couldn’t stop the want any more than she could stop the rain as Tristan stepped nearer. Cyndy warned, “Not too close or I’ll ruin your dress.”

  Tristan thwarted her effort to move away. “I don’t care about this old thing.”

  Cyndy leaned in and ran her tongue over the lips she dreamed about. Tristan’s mouth welcomed her. Soft moans amidst spicy salsa and smooth avocado was tasty, but Tristan was delectable. She pressed Tristan’s mouth more urgently. With their breasts squashed between wet clothes, her nipples became as hard as Tristan’s.

  “Let me take this off.” Her words were like a faint breeze as she allowed Tristan to unbutton her shirt, revealing her naked flesh covered in remnants of Mexican dip. Tristan hummed as if savoring a gourmet meal. Cyndy’s body jolted when Tristan nipped at her nipples and clamped her teeth around the tips.

  “Tris, you drive me mad.” She cradled Tristan’s head and as hard as it was to make her stop, she had to.

  Tristan’s eyes went wild, the green becoming barely visible, shrinking as her pupils expanded. Cyndy sucked in her moist, quivering lips, but she wasn’t after a one night stand, not with Tristan. “Wait,” she started, but when she noticed her palms firm upon Tristan’s chest, she retreated, and banged her hip on a cabinet. In a heated rush, she buttoned her shirt and haphazardly stuffed the ends into her pants.

  “I’ve waited…patiently, I might add, and now it’s time to take what I’ve wanted since the moment I joined your team.”

  Tristan’s pout accentuated an irresistible, willing mouth. Cyndy ignored the lack of space between them and stood taller. “That was like two years ago.”