Lip Sync Karin Kallmaker

"She's doing a great job selling that song."

Dishra turned from her adoration of the woman on stage to give Brandy an agreeing smile. "It doesn't hurt that there's a strong resemblance. Add the wig, dress and the real Mariah Carey's voice, and she does put on a perfect illusion."

"You work wonders with the wigs. Peggy Lee is perfect."

Her focus back on the woman moving like a diva in the spotlight, Dishra said, "Wait until you see ABBA."

Brandy chuckled appreciatively as she moved on. Dishra hoped she got hired by LOVE—she was a delight to work with. Then she forgot all about such matters as "Mariah" exhorted the crowd to shake it off, all the while strutting in five-inch stilettos and a body-molded gown that left little to anyone's imagination.

Certainly it left nothing to Dishra's. Oozing sex appeal, lip syncing with confidence and dancing with abandon, the woman on stage moved like a real goddess. Dishra had always had a thing for Mariah. She'd always been convinced that if only Mariah met the right woman, she'd be singing an entirely different tune. Dishra had always believed, from the time she was about twelve, that she was the right woman for Mariah.

The crowd was into the number, cheering at the defiant, "Baby, I'm Gone" and applauding madly as the contestant left the stage. As she breezed past Dishra she gave her a look that was pure siren. All that exuberant lesbian energy in the room— Mariah seemed to have gotten infected. At the door to what served as a quasi-dressing room, Mariah gave her one more look over her shoulder.

Heart pounding, Dishra got Peggy Lee into position, checked that the blond page boy wig was still on straight, then followed Mariah into the chaos of the room set aside for Love’s overflow use. The steady pulse of "Fever" followed after her even when the door had closed. Appropriate, she thought.

"Thank you for all your help," Mariah said. She put up a hand to remove the wig, but Dishra caught it and pulled the surprised woman deeper into the room. Behind the stacked high boxes of T-shirts and CDs for sale, she found a dark corner and pushed her personal diva up against the wall.

"I don't care if this gets me fired. I want to make you sing for me."

Mariah resisted until Dishra's lips were on hers, then the fever seemed to catch her too. Somebody had loved Mariah wrong, and Dishra was going to love her right.

"Yeah, kiss me," she whispered, and Dishra was happy to oblige.

The sun was lighting up the daytime from the stage speakers when she felt Mariah's hands on hers, guiding them around her hips to her ass, then up to her breasts. Dishra's head was spinning.

That soft, sweet voice asked, "How did you know what I wanted?"

It was not a moment to be shy. They didn't have much time before she had to get ABBA lined up for the stage. "I've always known what you wanted. And what you needed." She yanked up the dress and massaged die soft insides of two perfect thighs. She worked down the pantyhose just far enough, then boldly pushed her hand in.

"Oh, baby, that's right, that's what I need. God, how did you know?"

Grinning, Dishra angled her palm up to a wonderfully prominent clit while she wiggled her fingers, getting them wet and ready. From her back pocket she removed a small packet of lube. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"

"Whatever it is, you know I want it."

She tore the packet open with her teeth as Peggy sang about Romeo and Juliet. With a shift of her hand, the tips of two fingers sank into the increasingly slippery and sodden woman. This was her diva, her songbird goddess, and it was perfectly natural to get down on her knees to worship at the only shrine that mattered.

With a growl she locked her lips around the beautifully peaked and straining clit, and the noise Mariah made was the kind of music Dishra had wanted to hear for years. She squeezed the packet of lube and knew some of it missed her hand, but most of it went where she wanted. She was slick past her wrist, and Mariah might say she didn't know what was about to happen, but from the way she planted the stilettos and spread her legs, it was clear she had expectations.

Captain Smith and Pocahontas were burning in the fever as Dishra pushed all of her fingers into Mariah's delicious pussy. She was getting sweet wetness on her shirt, on Mariah's dress, but nothing was going to stop her from giving the moaning woman what she needed.

"Sing for me, baby," she said, low and intense, as she tucked her thumb and pushed firmly.

"Oh, oh, oh, baby!"

There was no time to pause in awe at the sight of the beautiful black-fringed cunt clasped around her hand, to wonder what an artist would make of the hues of cocoa, caramel and rich, lustrous red. This wasn't art, it was sex, and the way her hand was being squeezed and molded, obviously needed and enjoyed, had blood pounding in Dishra's ears.

She leaned in to slip her other arm around Mariah's hips and pushed gently up, once, twice, then harder. "I'm going to fuck you right off those pretty shoes."

Long fingernails dug into her scalp, then slid away as Dishra's tongue flicked over the swollen, gleaming clit.

"That's right, you fuck me. Fuck me good. That's what I need, damn it."

Every thrust of her arm was met by responsive, powerful muscles that pulled her hand in deeper, then threatened to push her out.

"No, you don't. I'm not done. I like watching my wrist go in, and then slide back out. You are so incredibly beautiful. You do give me fever, baby."

Mariah grappled for some kind of balance against nearby boxes after Dishra went in so hard and deep the stilettos slipped. "Harder," Mariah begged. "Harder!"

"Come on my hand." Dishra sucked the hard clit between her lips again as Mariah finally sang the high note she'd always imagined. Mariah's cunt shuddered around Dishra's hand until she pushed it out with a hoarse cry. She surged against Dishra's mouth, violently scrubbing her clit across Dishra's chin and lips. Her tight curls reddened Dishra's cheeks. Tomorrow, she thought, I'll look like I got too much sun, but this was a much, much more lovely way to burn.

"Jesus Christ," Mariah gasped as she started to go limp.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I have to go." The applause was rising, and Dishra knew ABBA was milling around off stage, wondering what to do.

God, I'm a mess, she realized, wet and sticky from my nose to my fingertips. She grabbed a T-shirt from the defects and discards pile and wiped her face and arm as she ran for the door. Peggy was just coming off stage, flushed and pleased.

"You were great. Wait right here for the results after our last act. Girls, stand right here, now do your entrance!" Dishra pushed the trio of jump suited platinum blondes toward the spotlight, then hurried back to the little room where she'd left that hot, beautiful woman.

When she opened the door she saw her girlfriend, Becka, perched on a stack of boxes. One stiletto dangled from her fingertips as she massaged her toes.

With a lopsided grin, she asked, "Did you make it in time?"

"Yeah, baby, just in time." Aching with affection and gratitude, Dishra pulled Becka to her feet to hug her.

"You smell like sex," she murmured into Dishra's chest.

"So do you."

"Not as much as I'd like." She leaned back to give Dishra another of those looks. "Mariah got really fucked, baby, but now I'd like something of my own."

The stage speakers pulsed out "Waterloo."

"I promise to love you evermore," Dishra said, "but this is pure Top Forty, baby, and the song is only three minutes, including the applause. I can't do everything I want in what's left."

"You can kiss me then."

No hardship, that. Dishra brushed her lips to Becka's, then went in for a long, wet kiss that promised more later. "Thank you, darling, for dressing up for me."

"It was all my pleasure."

The singers were finally facing their Waterloo, and Dishra knew she had to let go of Becka. "Why don't you join the others backstage when you've caught your breath?"

"Okay."

At the door, Dishra looked back to watch Becka slip her delicate foot into the killer stiletto.

Becka looked up and grinned. "Honey? We can keep the outfit until tomorrow, can't we?"

There was only one thing to say to her passionate, playful girlfriend in reply to such a perfect idea.

"I adore you."