STALK Greta: 2 - 1 = 1, MISS. Go to the outlet mall for stationery and hats.

You frown. "It went straight to message again." You hang up on Greta Lehrer's voicemail.

Dot says, "Oh well, Anna. She might be working. Or getting a massage. Or napping. Or writing, or anything."

You frown and prepare to redial.

Dot takes your hand. "Three times is plenty, Anna," she says. "We got our pictures printed out. How about we go get some nice envelopes and stationery and give Greta some of her own back."

You growl.

"For me?" Dot asks.

All your irritation goes away. You feel warm all over. You turn to Dot and smile. She leans in and kisses you.

"I'm wet," you say.

Dot giggles. "I love you, Anna, there's no guessing what you're feeling."

Your scalp muscles twitch and your vision blurs.

"Here, c'mon!" Dot says. She wraps her arms around your shoulders. "Is that hard to hear, I love you?"

"Yes."

"I don't need any promises, okay?" Dot tells you. "Just be you."

"Okay."

"Can we go to a card store?" Dot asks. "I love ..."

The town doesn't have Dot's favorite stores, but it does have a Hallmark outlet at the edge of town among a cluster of name brand stores on a big parcel of cheap land in the river floodplain.

"That one, or the college art store?" you ask. "Or there's H..."

"Never," Dot says. "Do you know what their worker health care policy is like? Hallmark looks good, they'll have stationery too. Look, they have Cinnabon. Do you want a Cinnabon?"

"No, but I want you to buy me one," you tell her. "You can feed it to me in little bites off a fork."

Dot laughs out loud. "You know, I think I scored real lucky getting you as a roommate."

You smile. "Card store, then."

You get some paper and colored pens and envelopes and gold foil stick-on seals. Dot buys some ink pads and rubber stamps, a bursting-star edelweiss flower for you, a speckle-petaled tiger lily for herself.

You allow Dot to feed you bites of sticky cinnamon roll on a plastic until the gooey sweetness is too much.

"I'm done. Too much sweet."

Dot leads you on a window-shopping tour of the outlets. You sip at a coffee. She has a lemonade. She points and holds forth on all the things. You nod. The words she's saying about the things don't mean much to you, but she's happy. You like that. She finds a straw hat on sale.

"I don't look too much like, I dunno, Holly Hobbie in this?" Dot says.

"Holly Hobbie has a bonnet," you say. "So, no. You look fine. And hats are good for sunny days."

You burn easily, but you don't actually have a hat. You've mostly been lurking in the shade and turning away from the Yellow Face.

"Do you want to get me a hat too?" you ask Dot.

Dot gets the biggest smile. She finds one that looks like the ones in Madeleine and the Bad Hat, with a thick ribbon tied in a large bow at the back.

"You should wear this one," you tell her. "Madeleine is a redhead." You have to explain to Dot, who doesn't know the book.

You switch hats with Dot and step up to the mirror. Now Dot looks like a Parisian with freckles. You look like yourself with a straw hat. Pale hair, pale hat, pale face. The Nordic Cowgirl?

Dot buys the hats. You head for the women's restroom for a stop before you drive back home. She's still got that big grin on her face. You remember reading something about love languages and gifts. You think Dot likes receiving, but even more, she likes giving.

A laugh forces its way out, bursting from your lips.

"Why are you laughing, Anna?" Dot asks.

"Your kink is gifting," you say. "You are a switch-y top."

"Oh GOD, Anna!" Dot says. Her voice gets low and croaky. "You're. Not wrong."

She laughs the rest of the way to the ladies' room.

You're the only two in the lavatory. You take your seats in the stalls and start tinkling into the bowls.

"Dot?"

"Yes, Anna?"

"I'm thinking about your pussy."

Dot laughs. "Oh well. Haven't seen enough of it today?"

"No."

"Guess you'll have to wait till we get home. You can help me pick which picture to send to Greta."

"I'd like that."

It's a quiet drive back to your apartment. A happy quiet.

Dot arranges the packet from the stationery store like she's preparing for a serious art project, then pushes them back to the back of your kitchen table. "Picture time."

You and Dot sit close together, shoulders touching, as you sort through the printed pictures from DeLoria Cutler's photo session today. For your response to Greta, you pick a well-lit picture of your hairless mons, vulva, and anus with everything spread wide open with your legs raised and splayed by the stirrups of the exam chair.

Dot sorts through the options for her pictures. You let your outside hand drop between your legs. You nod and make encouraging noises as Dot talks about this picture versus that picture. You tense your thighs, squeezing on the hand between your legs. You suggest the picture with the view most like yours. Her coppery pubic hair is an enticing veil, but in this position, it really hides nothing.

"You can have that picture for you, then," Dot says. "This is the one I'm sending with my letter." She points to one with an angle that does not show her butthole. "Hey," Dot says. She turns her head. "Are you masturbating, Anna?"

"Yes."

Roll +CONTROL(+2): 5 + 2 = 7. They watch you, fascinated and turned on.

Dot puts an arm around your shoulders. "I want to watch your face."

Your cheeks feel instantly warm.

"I want to watch you all the way," Dot says. "I want to see your O face."

You whimper.

"Are you thinking about my pussy, Anna?"

"Yes," you squeak.

"I like to watch you, Anna. Do you like watching me?"

"Yes," you say, between panting breaths.

"Can I touch your nipples?" Dot asks.

"Yes."

Dot slides her hand under your top. "They're so hard. That's amazing."

You whimper as Dot slides her hand back and forth, caressing each nipple in turn, back and forth.

"Oooh," Dot says. "You're shivering. Does that mean you're going to come?"

You make some sort of noise.

"Your face is so pink," Dot says. "How about I squeeze this nipple?"

Dot pinches one. You flinch and cry out.

Dot leans closer and whispers in your ear. "Or do you want me to bite you?" She tickles your ear with her tongue.

"AHHHHHH!" you shout as your orgasm seizes you, squeezes you into a little ball, and spits you out. Dot eases you to the floor, cradling your head and shoulders.

"That was big," Dot says.

You nod.

"And I didn't even bite you," she says.

You laugh, helplessly, sloppily, as Dot holds you. She laughs along.

You say, "And I didn't even see your pussy for real. Just pictures."

"You must have a good imagination," Dot says. Her big grin is back, putting dimples in her freckled cheeks.

"I was imagining how Greta would enjoy her surprise gift," you say.

"I'm a little scared," Dot says. "But I want to tell her that her pussy is pretty. And I want to show her mine."

"I want to see yours," you say. "Right now." You sit up and tug at her waistband.

Dot gets up and prances away. She leads you a merry chase around your apartment, giggling each time she slips away. Finally you leap toward her.

Roll +HARD(+1) to DOMINATE Dot: 4 + 1 = 5, Miss.

Dot dodges your leap. You land in a heap. Dot disappears into her room. Her lock clicks. She opens her drawer. Her vibrator starts buzzing. You hear her rising moans.

Dot reaches orgasm with a cute little hiccupping cry. You give her a loud cheer from outside the door. Dot giggles.

"I'm taking a nap!" Dot says.

"Me too!" you say.

You lie down in bed and give yourself a quiet orgasm before taking a nap to recover from your busy day.

After dinner, you and Dot work on your envelopes for Greta. Hers gets her sex questionnaire with a little note, plus the picture she chose. Yours gets your questionnaire answers, your spread vulva picture, a few words saying that you and Dot worked together, and Dot wants to show you hers too. The envelopes are sealed. They get a Tiger Lily flower stamp for hers and an Edelweiss flower stamp for yours, and GRETA in Dot's curly script for hers and in block letters for yours.

You have 2 XP, +1 Hard, -1 Hot, -1 Cool, +2 Control), and know the Character Moves Ass-Licking and Masturbate.

What's your next Move?