SS:TIE 001

March 2, 2016

The muggy warmth is a heavy blanket over Miami in the pre-dawn light.

Traffic noise hasn’t yet risen with the sun, and steam and exhaust waft among the power lines. The fine mist over the streets and tracks makes every lightbulb into a watery, four-pointed star. A salty breeze shakes the palms along the Vizcaya platform as the train whines into place.

Doors hiss open, revealing Rey **** in brown coveralls. She wears a matching brown cap pulled low over her ponytail. She steps off and makes her way briskly to the exit, a clipboard under her arm.

She looks both ways and crosses the quiet street. The gate in the chain-link fence ahead is open, and she only needs to duck under the black and yellow bar to start across the parking lot.

Engines, voices, and the thudding of heavy boxes come clearly through the open bays of the UPS distribution center. A delivery growls rattles past behind her as she hurries up a few concrete steps and into the building.

She makes her way among the workers and machinery, keeping her eyes ahead. The noise of the place presses on her ears. She enters a restroom and pulls on a pair of latex gloves, then reaches to the top of the mirror of the sink. Her fingers find a key. She pulls it down and heads back out, down the hallway, and out through an emergency exit.

Rows of delivery trucks wait under the bright lights in this lot. She doesn’t break stride as she goes directly to the second truck in the third aisle and climbs in. Rey turns the key, and the engine rumbles to life.

SAPPHIC SORORITY: TAKE IT EASY

The logistics officer pulls off her hard hat and unlocks her workstation. The whine of a power saw makes it difficult to hear. A man pushes a cart loaded with heavy machinery toward the open shutters, and it rattles all the way. “All right,” the officer says. “You said you were working out of West Virginia?” She looks up at the woman on the other side of the counter.

Chica Flores wears her customary jeans and polo. Her hair is up, and her round-framed glasses are a little dirty. Plenty of frizzy hairs have escaped her blue scrunchie in the morning humidity.

“The tops of those mountains aren’t going to blow themselves off,” Chica says.

The officer chuckles as she types. “You shouldn’t have to come all the way down here for this.”

“My super says she knows a guy.”

The officer snorts. “You know, most mining companies use RDX these days.”

“More energetic. Also more expensive. More difficult to control.”

“Yeah, but you can get this done with a quarter of the weight.”

Chica smiles patiently. “Trust me. I thought about it.”

“ID?”

Chica holds up a license, and the officer squints at it. “Carmen Gomez. California, huh?”

“Not anymore.”

“I feel that.” The officer pats the case of explosives on the counter. “Cash or card?”

“Cash,” Chica replies.

SSTIE

Linens rustle softly in the bedroom, which is lit by the morning sun. It gleams on the City of Miami Police badge on the bedside table.

The straps of Lieutenant Sally Scott’s nightie have slipped off her shoulders, allowing the woman underneath her to glimpse some nipple. Sally gazes intently into her wife’s eyes. Tracy Scott’s bedhead is possibly even more comical than Sally’s chest popping out of her slip. The staring contest lasts only a moment before Tracy laughs and Sally vengefully shuts her up with a kiss.

Tracy participates enthusiastically. She pulls Sally more firmly on top of her and wraps her arms around her neck. Pressed together, lips locked—the sensory experience does a better job waking Sally up than coffee would. She yanks the sheet away and touches her wife’s shoulder. Tracy hisses at the momentary cold of her fingertips, then moans softly under her gentle caress.

Sally breaks the kiss and stares again. There’s a hint of challenge in Tracy’s eyes. It’s morning on a weekday. Sally stares straight at her, sliding her hand up and over Tracy’s shoulder to her chest, then down her side, following the curves of her body. Tracy shivers, breathing hard. Sally reaches her hip, then slides her hand back up.

Tracy lifts her head to get the kiss going again, one of her hands impatiently tugging at Sally’s nightie. She pulls it up, and Sally can’t help but stiffen as the frigid air from the AC touches her skin back there. Tracy grabs Sally’s bottom and does something between a squeeze and a pull, trying to encourage her.

Sally laughs and nuzzles her neck, then shimmies down to shove her face into Tracy’s soft chest, leaving countless kisses all over her skin. Tracy’s fingers pluck and pull at Sally’s panties; she wants to take them off, but her movements are limited because she’s on the bottom.

Tracy gasps loudly as Sally’s mouth finds her nipple.

Sally lifts her head, smirking. Tracy gives her a stern look, but it softens as she holds her wife’s gaze, feeling a hand on her flank, then on her belly. Sally reaches Tracy’s panties and slides her fingers inside. She rubs her palm luxuriously across Tracy’s warm, damp bush. Tracy’s breath catches, and she tries to move, but Sally stays firmly on top. She watches Tracy’s face closely as she touches her. Tracy sighs raggedly as Sally’s fingers touch more deeply.

One finger, then two. Tracy moans quietly, and her insides squeeze. Sally uses her knees and leans, shifting her whole body forward to thrust with her fingers. Tracy gasps and clutches at Sally with her walls and her hands. Sally curls her fingers and pulls. Fingernails rake across her back.

Her cell phone begins to ring.

Should Sally answer it?