Allergies in the Groove

Mr Sneezy

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Tegan and Sue lay in Tegan’s highly comfortable queen-sized bed, something they weren’t unused to doing. They were also both quite nude, again not uncommon when they were left alone with a bed. Sue held a tissue poised in front of the other girl’s face. Tegan breathed, gasped, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“It won’t come out,” she complained.

“Just breathe steadily through your nose,” Sue told her. “It can’t stay in there forever.”

Tegan obeyed and finally felt the tickle she sought relief from, grow bigger, past the point of no return.

Sue saw the look on her girlfriend’s face and knew that success was close at hand.

Tegan took a deep breath, closed her eyes and gave herself over to the explosive release.


Sue, holding the tissue over Tegan’s mouth and nose, felt the convulsion of the other girl’s body and the sudden dampness under her hand, which the thin tissue could not contain.

She wiped Tegan’s mouth and nose.

“Do you need to blow?” she asked.

Tegan shook her head. “It’ll just make me sneeze again,” she said. “My nose is so tickly.”

She settled back on the pillows, sniffling. Sue lay down beside her and draped an arm across her chest.

“How long have we been lovers now?”

“Twelve years,” Tegan said. “Time flies, etcetera.”

Sue chuckled. They were both twenty-eight and she could not recall a time when they had not known each other. Kindergarten and even further back, most likely.

Sue was the homely, girl-next-door type. The sort you’d take home to meet your mother. Tegan, on the other hand, looked as hard as nails, the type you’d find in a city pinball parlour, looking for trouble. But anyone who got to know her properly found that she was just a pussycat underneath, needing love and affection. Those two things she had found with Sue.

“Why do you ask, anyway? Keeping count?”

“I just think it’s odd how we found each other practically from when we were toddlers. Now all these years later, we’re still together.”

Tegan shrugged and sniffed wetly. “It’s just destiny,” she said, swiping at her nose. “We’re destined to be together.”

There was silence for a few moments while they both digested this.

“Anyway,” Tegan went on, “you didn’t start coming onto me until we were sixteen. Then you didn’t start helping me with my sneezes until we were twenty.”

Sue batted her eyelashes fetchingly. “I was a late bloomer,” she quipped.

The truth was that Tegan’s hay fever and consequential sneezing fits could send Sue into sexual meltdown. Tegan had a tolerance for the bizarre, and hadn’t minded a bit when, one sunny spring day with the pollen-laden north wind doing its work, Sue had merely walked up to her sniffly lover, taken out a hanky and said softly, “Let me help you.” She’d put the hanky to Tegan’s troublesome nose and had bidden her to blow. Soon, she was bringing her tissues, regularly helping clean out her nose and bathing her bloodshot eyes.

Things had come full circle when, one day, lying in bed together, Tegan had paused mid-sentence to utter the words that never failed to double Sue’s heartbeat. “Ohhh… I’m gonna sneeze.”

About to relieve the violent tickle in her nose, Tegan again heard those soft, loving words; “Let me help you.”

A palm slipped across her nose and mouth. Tegan, unable to do anything and not really wanting to anyway, had given vent to a solid, wet “ATISSSHHOO!!” Then another. And yet another. Straight into Sue’s hand. There were no shocked looks or recriminations. Just Sue calmly snagging the bedside table’s tissue box and cleaning her lover’s nose and lips before drying her palm. Tegan thanked her quietly, as if Sue had just made them coffee. Shortly after, they had made love with an unusual intensity.

Which was what Sue had in mind now. She ran her hand between Tegan’s legs, stroking her soft pubic hair and massaging her vulva, her own desire rising rapidly.

“Wanna play?” she whispered.

Tegan giggled, already knowing she would give in. Sue knew just where to touch.

“We just played an hour ago,” she whispered back stagily.

“I’m a horny devil,” Sue told her.

“Yeah, especially when I’ve got hay fever,” Tegan growled, running her fingers around one of Sue’s perfect breasts until they found the nipple.

Sue, her fingers now inside Tegan’s pussy, gave a half-gasp, half-sigh of contentment.

It was hopeless. Hands and fingers found all the right places, lips and tongues locked and they were at it again for the second time that day.


Afterwards, they lay kissing and nuzzling.

“We should get going soon,” Tegan murmured.

“Plenty of time,” whispered Sue kissing her again.

“Mmmmm…you’re cute. I need the loo.” Tegan sat up and climbed reluctantly out of bed.

She stood, stretched and walked three paces before stopping, a very familiar expression on her face.


She bent at the waist, spraying the carpet. The third sneeze had ended with a little shriek.

“Urrgh!” she said, wiping her mouth. “I’m not going to get through this afternoon without taking some tablets.”

She wandered out of the room, across the hallway and into the toilet.

Sue heard the sound of urine running and a nose being blown.

Shortly, Tegan was back. About to resume her spot in the bed for more cuddles, she gave a start as the mobile phone on the bedside table burst into life.

“Aww shit,” Tegan said irritably. She grabbed it and glanced at the screen.

“Yeahllo… hi… yeah… what, already?… Bloody hell!… Alright, well, it’s Saturday afternoon, would she be anywhere else? Okay, we’re on the move.”

She cut the connection and looked at Sue

“It’s 1.30, girl. We’re on at 3.00. They’re already doing the sound check.”

They both looked at the digital clock nearby, something they had conveniently not done before.

“Shit and corruption!” Sue sprang, nude, out of the bed.

T-shirts and jeans were pulled on, hair brushed, desert boots and Doc Martens laced. Tegan pulled open a drawer and took two clean handkerchiefs, putting them in individual pockets.

They caught each other’s eye and Sue nodded.

A moment later, they were ready. Before they left, though, Tegan went to the kitchen, took two of her hay fever tablets and washed them down with a “glug” of water. With a wry grin, she gave Sue a kiss and they headed out the door.


Sue and Tegan were two-fifths of five-piece pub band called “Telekinetic Head”. The band had been formed four years ago with the other members, Mike, Greg and Tori. Again, like Sue and Tegan, all five had known each other for as long as they could remember, and they had had an affinity for music all the way through school.

Four of them worked at the local Bridgestone tyre factory, a huge complex employing hundreds of people. Only Tori broke the mould with her job at an insurance company in the city.

The suburban music scene in Adelaide had its ups and downs, but the five of them were never short of a gig, playing at least two between Friday night and Sunday afternoon, pretty much every weekend.

Now it was a warm Saturday afternoon in November and they were set to play at the Elizabeth Tavern, a rough working class pub in the equally rough northern suburb. Elizabeth was carved up into ten smaller localities, a situation which could become confusing at times. Sue and Tegan lived within a few streets of each other in Elizabeth Fields. To get to Elizabeth, though, you had to pass through Elizabeth North and Elizabeth West.

Now, as Tegan gunned her ’96 Ford along the main arterial road with scant regard for metropolitan speed limits, Sue looked out the window at the dingy Public Housing dwellings and graffitti-scarred shops.

“Christ, what a dump,” she though dismally.

Unemployment was high in the area, despite there being plenty of factories and industrial complexes. Drug use, crime, vandalism and theft were commonplace. So was violence, domestic and general, as people took their frustrations and problems out on one another.

Sometimes, Sue referred to it as “New York without the Yellow Cabs.” Still, it was home to so many.

“Tschoo!” Tegan took one hand off the wheel to forcibly stifle a sneeze. “Fuckin’ hell!” she said irritably. “If these tablets don’t work, I’m gonna have a prick of an afternoon.”

“You’ll be okay,” Sue answered, glancing over at her. “And even if you’re not, we can celebrate that later on tonight.”

Tegan gave a mirthless chuckle, her sign that the half-joke, half-inuendo, was lost on her. Deep down, she wanted nothing more than to please her girlfriend, but surely there were other ways than always feeling snuffly and uncomfortable for someone.

A few moments later, they turned off the main road into the car park of the pub. It was about three quarters full, guaranteeing a good crowd in the saloon bar where the bands generally played every Saturday afternoon and again on Sunday nights.

Sue recognised several cars belonging to workmates. Telekinetic Head had a good following amongst workers at Bridgestone.

Tegan drove past the bottle department and around to the rear of the building. Ahead were parked Mike’s ex-courier van, which carried the larger parts of the band’s equipment, alongside Greg and Tori’s Holden, in which everything else was carried.

Tegan parked beside the other two vehicles and they both got out. Tegan locked the doors, stepped away and took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

“Ah… HATISSH!… TISSH!!” she exploded, bending over.

“Bless you, honey,” Sue said quietly, the first stirrings of arousal beginning within her.

Tegan wiped her mouth and nose with a forearm, her two handkerchiefs as yet untouched.

“I feel like shit, Suze,” she said. “At least I’ll forget about it a little once I’m behind that drum kit.”

Sue nodded. Playing hard driving rock could make you temporarily forget imminent death, let alone hay fever.

“Well, we’d better get inside and see what needs to be done properly,” she said. This was an old joke between them. Greg and Mike, excellent musicians though they were, could not be trusted to set Tegan’s drum kit exactly the way she wanted it. Tori’s keyboards and pedal steele were a moot point as the tall, attractive insurance broker allowed nobody else to touch them.

The two girls walked hurriedly around to the bistro entrance, finding the door unlocked. Lunch had finished being served and there were few patrons left. Several heads turned as the hard-looking female in tight denim and Doc Martens strode purposefully by alongside her absently pretty companion.

Sue and Tegan reached the foyer and stopped. They hadn’t been here in months. Which way were they to go? As if in answer, a nearby door drifted open, emitting a wave of chatter and the sounds of horse racing on the Sky Channel. Front bar. Saturday afternoon was swimming along well on a tide of beer and lost bets.

“Fuckin’ bloodhouse,” Tegan muttered. “Saloon’s this way. I remember now.”

Lounge bars in most Australian hotels have pretty much all been converted to gaming rooms these days, and this one was no exception. The girls walked past one such room then, hearing the electronic beep from the poker machines and the rattle of coins. To their right was another bar. Tegan went through the door without hesitation. Inside, the crowd was a little more subdued, there to see the band more than just to wile away the afternoon.

As they strode across the room, there was some good-natured cheering and clapping from patrons at several tables, some Bridgestone employees, and some regulars at their gigs. People they both knew.

Sue grinned back. Tegan waved an arm impatiently, half-acknowledging, half-dismissing. Her allergen-reddened eyes were hard. It was time to go to work. With Sue following in her wake, Tegan strode to the front of the room and onto the raised platform that served as a stage. A solidly built man in jeans and a tank top looked up from the amplifier he was plugging in.

“Ah,” said Mike. “Afternoon shift’s arrived.”

“Sure has,” said Tegan. “Are we nearly ready….ISSHOO!!… to start?”

The unexpected sneeze spoilt her abrupt approach and lack of greeting. Mike cocked his head.

“You got hay fever again, Teegs?”

Tegan cocked her head slightly, a smart arse answer always ready.

“No, I zipped up to the North Pole yesterday in my helicopter to personally give Santa my Christmas list. Of course I’ve got friggin’ hay fever.”

She sniffled, seemed about to reach for one of her hankies, then changed her mind.

Mike was wearing the almost evil, infectious grin that he sometimes did when singing one of the many fast-paced heavy rock numbers in their repertoire.

“Just as long as you can play without your nose dripping on the drumskins,” he said.

They had had these conversations before and it was more of a verbal joust to pass the time than any concern for Tegan’s health. Everyone in the band knew she had allergy problems at this time of year. They also knew she and Sue were “more than just good friends,” but musicians are a diverse lot and as long as there were no things like lover’s tiffs and “sulkings”, no one else made much of it outside of a few jokes.

Their pre-show checks obviously complete, Greg and Tori wandered over to the trio.

“Hi girls,” said Tori. “Been bonking on the company’s time again? You’re cutting it fine.”

That was a long speech for Tori. She was the quietest girl Sue and Tegan had ever known bar none. She listened carefully to everything that was said in a group situation, but rarely contributed herself, opening up a little more only on a one-to-one basis.

She also suffered hay fever, but seldom did more than rub her itchy eyes and blow her nose. Her light, single sneeze - when she gave it - looked almost relaxing. Indeed, on this warm, spring afternoon, she looked ruinously healthy in contrast to the sniffly, sneezy Tegan.

Who now relaxed for the first time since she had gotten the phone call.

“We were, actually, Tors,” she said, her grin almost as evil as Mike’s. “Did you want to watch sometime?”

Tori reddened and smiled shyly at the floor.

There was no malice in the exchange. Back in their teenage years at Salisbury High School, Tegan had hospitalised a loudmouthed “skinhead chick” who had accused the shy, studious Tori of “lookin’ at me boyfriend.” Two other incidents of victimisation towards Sue and Tori that year saw Tegan stepping in to deal quietly and permanently with the problem. The many witnesses saw nothing. In growing up in the northern suburbs of Adelaide, you quickly learned to look after yourself or know someone you could count on, who could do it for you - and Tegan allowed nobody to harm her two girlfriends. After these three incidents, she gained a reputation of being “somebody you don’t fuck with.”

“Sort of like a female version of Fonzie… or at least Cliff Hardy,” Sue had joked one night over a boozy session of reminiscing between the five of them.

Strange though, people had thought, that the hard-as-nails teenage tearaway had taken music as an elective subject, then graduated with honours for it…


Tegan turned her head and sneezed into the crook of her arm.

“HA… ISSSH!…ISSH!…What have you done to my drum kit, anyways, that I’ll need to fix?’ she asked immediately on the back of the sneeze, more to divert attention from it than find out the answer.

“Should be good to go,” Greg spoke for the first time. “Just check your skin tensions.”

“And blow your nose,” Sue thought desperately as she began checking her guitar over, prior to plugging it in.

Tegan nodded and detached herself from the  group, rubbing her nose. She passed Sue with a wink and another maniacal grin, stepping up to the second tier of the stage, which held the drums and cymbals.

For the next few minutes, there was only the sound of clinking glassware and general bar room chatter below them as the five made their final checks. Tegan played a quick solo, shook her head and made some more adjustments. She repeated the solo and nodded, satisfied.

Sue plucked strings individually, testing them, before plugging her guitar into its amp and working it with a riff that got enthusiastic applause from a number of patrons.

Three o’clock ticked past, but then, no musical event in the history of rock and roll ever got underway on time. The play lists were taped to the floor within view of each performer while bottles of water and towels were arranged nearby. The physical exertion under hot lights could have you sweating and dehydrated pretty quickly.

Tori was at the side of the stage, checking last-minute notes with Sam, the genial old hippie who worked the mixing board. During the few songs that did not require her presence, she could often be seen working the board herself under his practised eye. He had to be seventy if he was a day, but the old man had never missed a single one of their gigs.

It was nearly time. Sue ran an eye over the crowd, recognising faces that came to every gig, people from work and others who were in the bar every Saturday, whatever was happening. Many of the men looked like they wouldn’t stand up well to a Police history check and more than a few of the women looked like they had been around the block several times, despite their relative youth. Two large men in security company uniforms wandered the room at random, pausing to chat with patrons they knew, eyes roaming continually, always ready for trouble. There never was any, not that Sue knew of. The whole atmosphere was pretty casual.

Behind her, Sue heard Tegan sneeze again. This time, the sound was muffled, as if the hard-as-nails rocker had finally used her handkerchief. Sue casually half-turned as if to survey the setup, and saw Tegan forcefully blowing her nose and looking straight at her. She did not pocket the hanky, but placed it within reach by her water bottle. She grinned at Sue and gave her a barely perceptible nod that could have meant anything. Sue grinned back and made a little kissing motion with her lips. Tegan returned it.

Tori had vaulted back up onto the stage and was settling herself at one of her two keyboards. Mike and Greg picked up their bass and rhythm guitars respectively. Mike stretched and flexed his fingers, then splayed one hand open in a “five minutes to go” gesture at the other members. That was how the casual observer may have read it, but it was actually their code for “let’s do it.”

The noise around the room diminished as everyone seemed to sense there was about to be live music. Tegan raised her drumsticks and clicked them together three times in the usual introductory manner. A moment later, the room came alive as they belted into the opening bars of Rose Tattoo’s “Bad Boy For Love.”


They played three songs, warming up the audience a little before Mike made his usual introduction. Sometimes he made it after the first number, sometimes halfway through the first set. There was never a routine.

“Well g’day everyone and welcome along to the Elizabeth Tavern once again this afternoon. In case you haven’t already guessed, we’re Telekinetic Head and we’ll be rocking you through to 7:00 in three sets.”

Behind her, Sue could distinctly hear Tegan blowing her nose, taking advantage of the minute or so’s break. Mike took a deep draught of water before speaking again and she realised she was already sweating under the hot lights that illuminated the stage.

“So get yourselves amongst the beers, wines and spirits at the bar and stick around.” He wiped sweat off his face with a nearby towel. “We’d like to now play a track that we wrote for Jimmy Barnes, who, as many of you know, grew up in Elizabeth.”

He paused for effect, adjusting the grip on his guitar.

“But since there aren’t any, we’ll do one of Elton John’s instead.”

There was muted laughter at the old gag and now, with all three guitars blazing but Sue leading, they fired into “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting.”

It was Mike’s habit to cover songs that allowed individual members, or at least pairs, to showcase themselves. This afternoon, Sue was ripping lead guitar into this song, carefully chosen the previous year due to its fast-paced licks and riffs. Tegan was almost level, pegging her on the drums, and the room was starting to come alive.

“I’m the juvenile product of the working class… whose best friend floats in the bottom of a glass…”

Tegan’s face floated through Sue’s mind’s eye. She had that cat grin around her lips and a sneezy look on her face. Then the look was replaced by a genuine pre-sneeze expression. Then a white hanky rose to cover it as the vision sneezed silently in Sue’s head. She clicked the image away and leaned even harder into the closing quarter of the song, making the guitar howl in heat. Damn! Elton would be proud!

This time, the applause was considerably more sustained. Everyone was paying attention. Another forty minutes went by as they played a number of covers from Billy Joel through to Led Zepplin. All medium-to-fast-paced.

“Well, let’s do one more before we take a break,” Mike finally said. “Who remembers Steppenwolf?”

There was a round of cheering, led by a number of bikie-looking types at a front table. They launched into the opening bars of “Born To Be Wild,” riding a steady rhythm guitar through the intro, Sue responding with short riffs. She hadn’t had the opportunity to turn and look at Tegan in order to gauge her condition. What glimpses she could get had her dazzled by a badly placed overhead light. But surely a combination of allergy pills and vigorous drumming had settled things down. She didn’t want to be deprived of Tegan’s sneeziness, but she didn’t want her lover to feel unwell either.

As they hit the vocal, she let herself drift again.

“Get your motor runnin’, Head out on the highway…”

The image of Tegan loomed in her head again as she played the chords automatically.

“Lookin’ for adventure,  And whatever comes our way…”

As the tape in her mind’s eye rolled, she could see Tegan’s smiling face, the sparkle in her eyes that not everyone ever got to see. Then the smile vanished and the Tegan-vision began to sneeze. Once. Twice. Thrice. Half-attempting to cover with the back of her hand, dosing it with a thick spray of saliva.

“Fire all of the guns at once Explode into space…”

Sue replayed the image in her head as the song reached the halfway mark and the bridge began. Again, she leaned into it, taking it over. Short riffs. Long ones. The image of Tegan replayed again and again. Sneezing. Hard. Wet. Uncontrollably. The guitar howled and yipped. She left the microphone and duck-walked to the edge of the stage. At the bar and in the body of the room, conversation had stilled. She had everyone’s attention. In the cleared space in front of the stage, a number of younger women were dancing, cigarettes in hand, a couple looking less than eighteen. She stood there for another minute, the guitar biting at the air. The bridge was only supposed to be about thirty seconds, but Sue had pulled four minutes out of the hat and behaved quite out of character. She reversed the duck-walk back to her spot. Her fellow guitarists watched, half-amused, half-amazed. Could they have what she’d obviously been having?

Tegan took over, ending the bridge with a three-second drum solo that led them back into the final vocal. A minute later, they were done. When the applause had died, Mike said to the crowd: “We’re gonna take a short break. Keep your glasses full. Plenty of drinkin’ time left this arvo, so don’t go away. Plenty more to come.”

Bar chatter resumed as soft pop piped over the musak speakers. Sue buried her face in her towel, realising for the first time how much she was sweating. Drying her face, she looked up at Tegan, who was still seated at the drums wearing the little cat grin Sue had seen in her vision earlier, albeit now with no sneezy look.

“How you feelin’, hon?” Sue asked her.

“Pretty good,” Tegan replied. “At least those pills have stopped me sneezing for a bit.”

She stood and climbed out from behind the drum kit, stepping down to join her lover who was putting her guitar on its stand.

“You looked like you were having quite a bit of fun there a minute ago,” she said. “What brought that on?”

Sue sighed sadly. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you.”

Tegan shook her head, bemused.

They climbed down from the stage. At the opposite side to the mixing desk, a table had been set up for their use. Tori, Mike and Greg were already seating themselves as Clive, the bar manager, hastened over with a tray bearing five schooner glasses and three jugs of foaming, cold beer. Sue and Tegan joined them as he poured a round.

“Christ, Mike, you sure know how to put on a show and a half with those new guitar solos,” he exclaimed.

Mike gave a tired smile, wiping his face with the towel hung around his neck.

“We aim to please, here, Clive,” he said.

The first round of beers disappeared as soon as they’d been poured and this time Greg set up the next one.

“Besides,” Mike continued. “A couple of them were Sue’s and I didn’t know she was going to do them, dark horse that she is.”

They chatted another couple of minutes, the others staying silent, then Clive went back to the bar.

“I’ve never seen you lead a bridge or carry a song like that,” Mike said to Sue. “You were fuckin’ unreal, girl.”

Sue was quietly pleased at the compliment. Mike didn’t hand them out idly.

“I had a guitarist’s inspiration,” she said dryly.

“Could you have it again?” asked Mike. “Because that was so good I’m changing the playlist for the beginning of the second set.”

Sue paused in the middle of raising her glass to her mouth. There was a sudden gnawing suspicion in the back of her mind.

“Opener is ‘Overdose’. You like to start the second set slower,” she said quietly, considering the slow bass overtones in the old AC/DC track written before Bon Scott drank himself to death.

“Not any more. It’s too slow for this lot.” Mike flicked a glance at the crowded saloon bar. “We’re gonna do ‘Gear Jammer’ and you’re gonna lead and do the solo in the bridge.”

“Shit,” Sue wailed. “I can’t do something like that. It takes a specialist. I’m not ready to be a specialist.”

Everybody else chuckled, but Mike was determined.

“You worked on it for hours just a fortnight ago and called it your baby. You were doing as well then as you have this afternoon. You can carry it off easy.”

He watched her worried face. The other three considered the vagaries of live music for a moment.

Then Tegan spoke up, concerned at her lover’s unease. “I reckon you can do it, Sue,” she said. “It’s not that difficult once you’ve got the feel of it. You said that yourself about blues rock.”

Sue gave herself a mental thump for giving the impression she could carry off George Thorogood’s howling blues rock track, but she appreciated Tegan’s support.

Tori opened her mouth for the second time that afternoon. “She’s right, Sue. It’s not as if he’s asking you to play ‘Bat Out Of Hell’.”

Sue had to concede that point. No one could emulate Meatloaf’s rock opera, with its biting “motorcycle” guitars.

“Alright, I’ll do my best,” she said and skolled off her beer. There was a muted cheer from the other four.

A young kitchen hand appeared, carrying a tray with a family-sized pizza on it. “Compliments of the management,” she smiled shyly.

They knew it had to be Clive’s doing. Mike smiled back. “Tell him thank you very much,” he said.

They ate enthusiastically, finishing the final jug of beer. Mike and Greg walked up on to the stage and started examining their two guitars, discussing some technical aspect required for the next set. Tori went over to talk to Sam and advised him of the change in the next opening number. Sue observed the pair of them bent over the mixing board, deep in conversation, and reflected that there were less than a handful of people that the dark-haired beauty would come out of her shell for.

“Thank Christ they’re gone,” said Tegan, taking out her second hanky. “My nose has wanted to explode for the last fifteen minutes.”

Sue’s pulse quickened. Worrying about her impending solo, she had momentarily forgotten Tegan’s hay fever and how the visions of her girlfriend sneezing had enhanced her performance earlier.

“Want to nip into the toilet together?” Sue just couldn’t help herself. Only a few weeks ago, they had been in the city at the building where Tori worked. Spring was beginning to show its claws and Sue abruptly became uncomfortably aroused with Tegan’s sniffling and explosive double/triple sneezing fits, begging to be “looked after” in the lobby toilet. Tegan obliged, quickly attending to Sue’s eager pussy while the other woman held Tegan’s mucus-stained hanky to her face, inhaling its scents. She had come hard, silently, and when they met Tori in the lobby with two minutes to spare, she’d wondered if her face had held a ‘just had a great orgasm' look about it.

“There’s no time… and there’s no… hah… way… it’ll… be… haah… empty… HAISSSHHOO!!… ISSHHOO!!… ISSHHOO!!… IIISSHH!!… ISSSHH!!… HATIISSHOO!!”

Smothered in the thick cloth, the size of the sneezes was muffled somewhat, but both Sue and Tegan knew how big they really were. If anyone else heard, they gave no sign. Without lowering the hanky, Tegan gave her nose a snuffling blow, then folded the cloth. She turned to Sue, lowering her voice even though no one could hear them.

“We can compromise. Do you have a hanky? You usually do.”

Sue discreetly checked her pocket by pretending to scratch her leg. Yes, she felt the square of linen in there, ready to guard against her own moderately sized sneeze, which could go days without appearing. She nodded wordlessly.

“Do you need to come now? You can’t wait until we get back to our place?”

Sue found her voice shakily. Her vagina was starting to throb, needing relief.

“I need you now. And most likely again tonight,” she said, almost pleading.

Tegan cut her eyes left and right. Mike and Greg were still onstage, discussing their guitars. Tori was still talking to Sam. She stood, almost casually.

“We’ll go into the toilet and, hopefully, it’ll be empty. I’ll give you this hanky I just sneezed into and take yours. Then I’ll fix you up.”

Sue’s heart was thudding. It wasn’t the first time they had been intimate whilst in danger of being discovered, but each time was a new adventure.

She stood and followed Tegan, who was already moving into the bar area. The women’s toilet was halfway along, down a short passage. They nodded to a couple of workmates from Bridgestone, not pausing to chat. Down the passage. Through the door. A hard-looking female with tattoos on both arms had just finished doing her hair, turning away from the mirror over the washbasin to leave as they entered. She made no sign of recognition. For someone who didn’t know them personally, Sue and Tegan looked no different to any other hotel patron that afternoon.

The door wheezed shut as the woman left and Tegan strode the length of the washroom, checking the five stalls. Confirming they were all empty, she flicked her head at Sue, then at the farthest stall from the door. Together, they hurried in, Sue bolting the door firmly behind them.

In the confined space, she unbuckled her jeans and lowered them, easily extracting her clean handkerchief from the pocket. She handed it to Tegan who passed her back the used one. Uncomfortably aroused, Sue knew this would be quick.

Tegan leaned forward, gently easing her against the wall. She kissed Sue open-mouthed and hungrily.

“Just think of me, sweetie,” she purred in Sue’s ear. “Sneezing all that lovely wet spit into my hanky… and you touching it… playing with it…”

Abruptly, she dropped down, burying her head in Sue’s crotch. Sue parted her legs as best she could with her jeans around her ankles, but it was enough. As she felt Tegan’s tongue slip inside her, she unfolded the hanky.

Oh god!  A lovely, large wet stain, mostly mucus, greeted her. She pressed the cloth to her mouth and nose, feeling her excitement mounting below. Tegan had sneezed into this… spraying her big “Atishhoo” into it… and now Sue could touch it… wet... lovely… sticky… beautiful, fresh mucus… warm, caressing saliva… ohhh… so wet and sticky… ohhh… so fresh and tantalizing…

Almost a full minute had passed since they had entered the toilet stall. Both of them were experts at quickies, whether at home or in public and Tegan knew just where to direct her tongue, giving maximum pleasure in minimum time.

Sue felt the soft tingles of her orgasm beginning to build. A hand strayed involuntarily to her breast, the other clasping Tegan’s handkerchief even tighter to her face.

Loving wetness… exquisite, slippery saliva… spraying from Tegan’s mouth… her own beloved soulmate… ohhh... yes… yes… ohhh… Tegan’s beautiful snot was all she needed… oh… oh yes!

Panting violently, face still buried in the hanky, Sue came. The wave seemed to go on forever, but it was really no more than ten seconds. She struggled not to cry out. Gradually, she subsided.

Tegan unravelled some toilet paper and wiped her face.

“Better?” she asked.

Sue nodded.

“Thank you, sweetie,” she whispered.

“I need a piss and you probably do too. We’ll leave separately.”  Tegan began to giggle. “Shit, there’s just no doubt about us, is there?”

Without waiting for Sue’s philosophy on that, she opened the door and ducked around into the next stall.

A couple of minutes later, Tegan emerged from the toilet and wandered back to their table as though nothing had happened. Mike and Greg were seated there again, still deep in conversation on their usual topics: music and musical instruments. Tegan paused at the bar and spoke to one of the three staff serving. A moment later, two stubbies of VB were in her hands, chalked up to shrinkage and breakages. Sue materialized behind her and Tegan handed her one. Without a word, they clinked the bottles together and drank deeply.

“Thanks, babe,” Sue said softly. “When do you get your turn?”

She was speaking in shorthand known only to the pair of them.

“Tonight,” Tegan replied, her voice also low. “And if you can pull this simple task off, which you will, I’ll give you a night to remember.”

Sue chuckled.

“How’s your hay fever?” she asked, suddenly remembering what had started this.

Tegan gave an experimental sniff.

“I think the tablets are wearing off,” she said. “If they were ever working at all.”

She glanced at her watch.

“Thirty-five minutes. That’s long enough. Let’s get on with this and get it finished. You and I are having a night in tonight”

They walked over to the table and Tegan raised her eyebrows at Mike questioningly. He nodded and both he and Greg stood up. As if by unspoken signal, Tori vaulted back up on stage from the spot where she had been talking to Sam and seated herself at the keyboards, switching on her amp as she did so.

It was time. Sue fretted as she began adjusting the tensioners on her guitar. She caught Tegan’s eye and received a comforting wink in return.  All amps back on, the Muzak faded as Sam worked several switches on his board. The chatter in the bar diminished as everyone sensed the return to action. Tegan played her signature three second solo. The three guitarists picked it up and bounced it. Everyone was ready.

“Alright folks,” Mike boomed. “Back into action. You all getting’ pissed out there?”

There was a muted cheer.

“We’re kickin’ straight on with some George Thorogood. Who doesn’t know this one?”

Sue took a deep breath.