“Sure,” I said, “you know where Freddy’s is?” Freddy’s is the only place in town that sells a decent cup of coffee and doesn’t have a million high school kids throwing spitballs at each other in the middle of the afternoon. It’s a little out of town, not sleazy or anything—it’s not far from my place, as a matter of fact, but not smack dab in the middle of town either. I told her how to get there and then there wasn’t much left to say.
“See you tomorrow, sugar,” she said, and I swear I could feel her tongue licking the inside of my ear right through that telephone.
I hardly slept at all that night, I tell you. I was more than a little curious and more than a lot flattered, and hell, I figured that any woman with that much sass deserved at least an hour of my time and hopefully more. I wondered where she had come from and what she was doing out there by herself, all spruced up like that in the middle of the night. But to tell you the truth, I didn’t really care. I was just glad she was where she was when she was and I was there too.
I tossed and turned, too full of BLT and lust to sleep, but I must have dozed off sometime because the next thing I knew it was ten o’clock and the sun was coming in through the windows heating up my eyes like they were two eggs cooking on a grill. My bedroom is tiny—one wall is mostly all windows and the bed takes up almost the whole room. I don’t mind though; in fact, I kind of like it like that. Feels sort of like a nest, though why I have a double bed at this point is beyond me. Nobody’s been in it since Sally left over two years ago. Hard to believe it’s been two years already. Time sure does fly, I guess. But it must have been because she left right before I turned forty, right before I signed up at the fire department. That’s one of the reasons I did it. With Sally gone there was this empty space in my life, this aching in my belly I didn’t know how to fill, and I just couldn’t face all those awful lonely nights by myself. So now I sit in the firehouse two, sometimes three nights a week playing poker with Al.
I sure didn’t want to be thinking about Sally this morning, so I got up, plugged in the coffeepot, and went into the jane to splash some cold water on my face. “Looking good, old girl,” I said to myself in the mirror over the sink, which I noticed was speckled with old toothpaste. “Who says Zoey B. is over the hill, huh? Women are still beating down your door, old gal.” I winked at my reflection—I am a pretty good winker if I do say so myself. I can also raise one eyebrow at a time; it’s not as hard as it looks if you practice. I looked at myself and wondered what Natalie—God, even her name was sexy—had seen last night standing in the deli that made her give me a call. Your basic brown eyes, an ordinary nose, average lips, nothing special.
Maybe it was the uniform. Some girls really go for that sort of thing. Or maybe it was the gray hair at the temples, makes me look kind of distinguished. Some girls like older women. I wondered how old Natalie was and if she did this sort of thing often. Maybe her buddies, whoever they were, had put her up to it. Maybe a whole gang would be waiting at Freddy’s to laugh their heads off at the old bulldyke who’d been taken in by the first pretty face that’s shown up in this pint-sized town since 1959. Or worse, maybe there’d be some guys waiting with chains and billy clubs ready to kick ass. Like I said, it’s no secret who I am and it’s no secret that some folks in this town don’t exactly like it either.
That was really hard on Sally, one of the reasons she left, I think. Nothing ugly’s ever happened, but we were always thinking it might. Sally took herself to San Francisco, where she says the streets are paved with queers and she can even hold hands with her new girlfriend all over town and nobody bats an eye. Not even the cops because even most of the goddamn cops are queer themselves. Now that’s something I’d sure like to see.
I drank my coffee and messed around most of the day, cleaning up the house and doing chores. My place is small, just the bedroom, the kitchen, the living room, and a small spare room where I keep all my stuff—my tools and papers and stuff. Used to be Sally’s painting room—that’s what she does, paint—watercolors mostly. She even had a show of them in San Francisco, sent me a postcard about it.
About three o’clock I started getting nervous. First of all, what the heck was I going to wear? Not that I had much choice. It was either jeans or jeans. Jeans with a ripped knee, jeans speckled with white paint, or jeans with two belt loops missing. I could wear my black chinos but that would look awfully funny, me so dressed up in the middle of the day. I put on the jeans with the belt loops missing and a white shirt I thought about ironing and my sneakers. By the time I’d finished fussing with my hair, which is only about two inches long and not all that much to fuss about, it was time to get my ass out the door. I sure didn’t want to be late—something told me Natalie wasn’t the kind of woman who liked to be kept waiting.
It only took me ten minutes to walk to Freddy’s. I got there at four o’clock on the nose and she wasn’t there. Well, fine, I told myself. I don’t care. Wouldn’t be the first time old Zoey B.’s been stood up, not the first time she’s looked like a fool. I sat myself down in a booth toward the back, ordered a cup of coffee, and looked at my watch. Four minutes after four. Oh well, I thought, ripping open a packet of sugar and dumping it into my cup. I knew it was too good to be true. These things don’t really happen. Not in real life anyway.
At exactly ten past four, the door to Freddy’s swung, and I mean swung open and in walked Natalie like she owned the whole goddamn place. She was looking so good I almost dove right straight into my coffee. I held on to that cup for dear life as she stuck her hands on her hips and looked around like she had all the time in the world. When she spotted me, a slow smile crept across her face that said, I knew you’d be waiting for me. I smiled too, thinking to myself, fool, of course she’d be late. She didn’t just want to meet me here. She wanted to make an entrance.
I watched Natalie walk across Freddy’s slowly, giving me plenty of time to admire her as she weaved her butt in and out of tables and chairs on her way over to where I was sitting. She was wearing this white, blousy kind of thing with a belt at her waist with these pink pants that had little black designs on them all over the place that reminded me of slanty tic-tac-toe boards. She had on little pink shoes too, that knocked me out; round pink earrings that looked like buttons; and hooked over her arm, a shiny black purse. It’s those little things that separate the femmes from the butches, you know. Sally taught me that. Accoutrements are everything, she used to say, and of course I had to ask her what the heck accoutrements were. They’re just a fancy word for accessories, which is just a fancy word for earrings and pocketbooks and stuff. Sally was always throwing those fifty-dollar words around when she was angry at me, or frustrated at being stuck in this peanut-size town.
Anyway, I don’t know a thing about accoutrements. I have an old leather wallet I stick in my back pocket, two pairs of sneakers, and earlobes as unpunctured as the day I was born. But Natalie, boy, I bet she has a jewelry box the size of Montana and a closet full of pretty little shoes that could just about break your heart. She was wearing those same silver bracelets again that clattered down her arm in a fine racket practically every time she moved. It was like each one bracelet wanted to be the first to get down to her wrist and maybe win a prize. Her lipstick was one shade lighter than yesterday, her smile one shade darker.
“Hi, honey, sorry I’m late,” she said in a voice that let me know she wasn’t sorry at all. “Have you been waiting long?”
All my life, I wanted to tell her, just to hear a woman like you call me honey. “Nah, I just got here myself,” I lied. Both of us knew I had been waiting and would have kept waiting forever, and then some if I’d had to.
She slid into the booth, put her purse beside her and leaned back against the seat looking at me.
“Want some coffee?” I asked.
“I’ll have tea,” she said and leaned toward me with her elbows on the table as if deciding to have tea was an intimate secret just the two of us were in on. Her blouse moved when s
he leaned forward, revealing the top of her cleavage, and I almost forgot how to breathe.
“Hey Freddy, bring this lady a cup of tea,” I hollered over my shoulder. Natalie smiled and settled back in the booth and her blouse settled back over her skin and her cleavage disappeared to wherever it is cleavages go to when they’re not out there in the open calling to you practically by your own name.
We kind of looked at each other again, with me grinning like a fool because I just couldn’t believe I was sitting there in Freddy’s with this absolute doll who had come out of nowhere, and she smiling that I-know-what-you’re-thinking smile and playing with one of her bracelets.
“So, uh, here we are,” I said, always brilliant at making conversation.
“Yes,” she said. Not yeah or yep or uh-huh, but yes. “Thanks for coming out with me.”
“My pleasure,” I said and I hoped she could tell I meant it. “I was very flattered that you asked me.”
Now she smiled a real smile and I could see her beautiful white teeth. She even blushed a little bit, which only made her prettier because I saw that maybe she wasn’t as sure of herself as she thought she was.
“I didn’t know if you’d be glad or not. But when that boy behind the counter at the deli called your name, I knew it would be easy to find you. How many Zoeys could there be at the fire department of a town this size?” She waved her hand around like the whole town was sitting in Freddy’s, and that sent her bracelets rushing back down toward her elbow this time, sounding like a million tiny little bells.
“I’ll have to remember to thank Larry next time I see him,” I said.
“Yes,” she said again. It sounded almost like a hiss, like she had just run into the room and was a little out of breath when she said it. “I wanted to meet you.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she said, staring straight into my eyes, “I’ve always been interested in fires. Ever since I was a little girl.”
“Really?” I couldn’t believe it.
“Yes. And when I saw you in your uniform,” she lowered her eyes and lifted them again, “I knew I could ask you some questions about fires and maybe you’d have the answers.” She leaned forward. “Now why, for example, do you sometimes fight fire with fire, and why is it sometimes better to soak the flames until everything for miles around is wet through and through? Then I’ve heard that some fires,” she paused like she was really thinking this out, “some fires burn even hotter when you try to put them out. And some fires can burn for days, weeks, months even, and there’s just no stopping them.” She started stroking my arm, which felt like it was on fire itself, and her fingertips were soft as feathers. “I thought maybe you could explain,” she went on, “why some fires are just warm enough, some burn so hot they destroy you, some go out in a minute, some need to be stoked to keep them going, and some will just burn and burn on their own forever.”
“Let’s go,” I said.
We stood up and I threw two bills down on the table. Freddy was just coming over with Natalie’s tea, but we just walked right by him without saying a word. We didn’t say anything to each other either as we walked down the street. I just listened to Natalie’s little heels clicking and my heart beating and thought about the fire burning deep inside my belly and wondering how in the world it could ever be put out. I never wanted anybody the way I wanted Natalie right that second and I didn’t care if the whole town knew who she was and who I was and what I hoped we were just about to do. It was all I could do not to take her in my arms right there on the street. But hell, this isn’t San Francisco. The six blocks between my house and Freddy’s seemed like five hundred miles.
Finally we got to my place, and my hands were shaking so bad I could barely get the key in the lock. There goes my suave bulldyke image, I thought, if I ever had one to begin with. I kept fiddling with that door for what seemed like forever until it finally gave way and we stumbled inside. Or rather I stumbled. I don’t think Natalie’s ever stumbled a day in her life. Natalie entered my place. She sauntered, sashayed, swished and swung those big luxurious hips from side to side, checking out the place like it was something special, like Buckingham Palace. We were standing in the living room, and she had her back to me, looking at this painting of a sunset that Sally had done.
I didn’t want to tell her about Sally. I didn’t want her to know I had ever been with another woman before or ever would be again. Nothing mattered but this moment. Nothing mattered but her. She filled my house with all the longing I had ever known in my whole life, and I knew if I didn’t have her that second, I would burst and maybe even die. With my heart beating in my throat like a big bullfrog, I walked up behind her and cupped my hands under her gorgeous behind. She leaned back slightly, letting her weight settle into my palms, like she was sitting in them, and I thought of that song for a minute, called “He’s got the whole world in his hands.” But just for a minute because Natalie turned her head and whispered into my neck, “How about showing me where you live, baby?”
I turned Natalie around and put my mouth down on hers for an answer. She was about the most kissable woman I ever met in my whole life. And even though I’m hardly a Casanova or Don Juan, I’ve known a few women in my time. None of them kissed like Natalie kissed. Natalie sucked, nibbled, bit, chewed, licked, rubbed, stroked, caressed, and damn near danced with those lips. And the things she did with her tongue I don’t even have words for. I was dying. My knees got all rubbery and I thought they’d give out on me for sure. Finally she, not me, led us to the bedroom, like the tough femme she was.
But once we got there, she knew her place. She kicked off her shoes, slid all those damn bracelets off her arm, lay back on my bed, and let me undo her buttons one by one, setting loose her glorious body an inch at a time. Her breasts were round and full as the moon, the perfect size for me to get my mouth around. She pressed my head into her harder and harder and I made love to her breasts for hours, weeks, years, it seemed and that woman just couldn’t get enough. Finally she took my hand and put it where it belonged.
I took off her pants and her pink lace panties gently, and slid four fingers inside like a diver hitting the water in one clean, easy motion. She took me in all the way, and inside there it was soft as…soft as…hell, she gave a whole new meaning to the word soft. Soft and sweet and wet and wonderful. Oh I tell you she was all woman from those deep dark chocolate eyes down to the soles of her pretty little feet and I should know because I explored every single inch of her. I felt like a kid in a candy store—my eyes just got bigger and bigger and bigger and I wanted everything. And each kiss I gave her, each touch, each lick, would make her catch her breath in the sweetest little gasp, like that was the first time anyone had ever touched her in that spot before. I tell you, some women are just made for loving and Natalie was one of them, that’s for sure.
Before I knew it, it was dark outside, with the windows all filled up with black and a little sliver of a moon peeking in. I could barely see Natalie’s face though I could feel it an inch away from mine. Maybe that’s why I let what happened happen. It’s almost like I didn’t even know what was going on until we were in the middle of it, but before I knew anything, there I was flat on my back with Natalie up above me, unbuttoning my shirt and sliding my jeans down.
Now I’m usually clear about who’s the butch and who’s the femme, and I like my women to just lay back and enjoy themselves while I give them what they want. That’s how I always get my pleasure, from giving pleasure. That’s the way it’s always been and that’s the way it’s always going to be and that’s the way I like it. But Natalie had me under some kind of spell. My whole body just wanted to leap into her mouth—breasts, belly, legs, elbows, you name it. So when she finally reached for me down there, I didn’t give her my usual, “No thanks, babe.” I let her.
Listen, I sure don’t want this getting around the PTA or even to my friends who are queer like me, because it’s a known fact, in certain circles anyway, that Zoey B.
Jackson is a proper, old-fashioned stone diesel dyke that doesn’t flip for nobody. I’ve never been a rollover butch but that night stands apart like it was a whole lifetime by itself, or a dream maybe, or a visit to another planet. No one I knew had ever met Natalie or ever would. My instincts told me that. And I was safe with her. And that for some reason beyond what I could understand, I needed her to do to me what no one else had done, though more than a few had tried.
“Silky,” she whispered as her fingers stroked me. “You’re as soft as silk, see?” And she took her pink lace bra, which happened to be real silk, and rubbed it all over my body. I went wild, I tell you. Then she kissed her way down from my breasts to my belly and beyond, and when her mouth landed down there, I thought they’d have to pick me up off the floor in a million little pieces. I wondered why it had taken me forty-two years to lay myself down for a woman. I sure hoped all the women I ever made love to had felt that good. Just thinking about it got me even more excited and before I knew what was happening, my whole body exploded like the fireworks they set off down by the high school on the fourth of July and I was gasping and moaning and carrying on like a banshee.
I felt a little shy after that but Natalie just laughed and came up to kiss me. I tasted myself on her lips and I tell you, that got me going all over again. I’m usually a once-a-night girl—I don’t need all that much to keep me satisfied—but that night I lost track of how many times I did it to Natalie and she did it to me and we did it to each other.
What a night. I tell you we didn’t even think about getting any sleep until about six in the morning when the windows were a pale pink and the birds were singing their wake-up song in the trees. I held Natalie tight and she laid her head against my chest and filled up my arms with all the sweetness in the world. I fell asleep with one of her legs braided between mine and her soft breath tickling the base of my neck.
When I woke up hours later, the sun washing my face with heat, she was gone. Gone. I couldn’t believe it. Lock, stock, and pocketbook, gone. I got up and paced around the house, fooling myself every two minutes. Oh, she must be in the bathroom, I’d tell myself, and go looking. Or maybe she’s in the kitchen making coffee. Nope. Maybe she’s in the spare room looking at my stuff, spying on me. I wouldn’t mind. But it was useless. She was gone. I climbed back into bed, forlorn as a big-pawed puppy whose owner just hollered at him to go on home.
Radclyffe & Stacia Seaman - Romantic Interludes 2 - Secrets Page 4