Appetites_Tales of Lesbian Lust

by Ily Goyanes

  Whizz rolled along on the cracked concrete, enjoying the promise of a fine spring day. There's unfinished business between us, thought the skateboarder. The pheromones were flying, but I wonder if the woman really knows what signals she sends out.

  Whizz checked in at the shop, and found Joe working on Len's rustmobile as though it were a challenge to be overcome. Whizz felt a rush of pride for all the men (and some women) who scrape, take apart, drain, flush, lubricate, repaint, and repair all the vehicles and appliances that most other people take for granted. Whizz felt like a soldier in an invisible army, that army with the ground troops that keep the world moving.

  She felt as if her bagpipes were calling to her from her bedroom closet. The instrument needed to be played in the open air, under the sky, even though the first mosquitoes of the season were already out hunting.

  After a fast supper of leftover stew, the Mad Piper (as she thought of herself) found last summer’s bug spray and spritzed herself as though with cologne to prepare for a date. It had been a long time since her last one.

  Outdoors, the evening sky was streaked with lavender clouds like silk scarves floating just above the horizon. Whizz inhaled the smell of new grass before adjusting her instrument. It felt natural to pace up and down the back lawn while playing Road to the Isles. As her breath forced the piercing notes into the air, up through tree branches to the first visible stars, Whizz felt she was sending a message to someone who could not be reached any other way. She wondered whether Candace liked the skirl of the pipes.

  ***

  Candace squirmed in her seat, composing an email to send to Whizz. “Dear Whizz,” she began. But a greeting like that might sound both presumptuous and old-fashioned. Imagining Whizz's expression, Candace felt the heat of embarrassment…and of something else.

  The weight of her breasts was held by a knot at the back of her neck. Candace untied the two sides of the halter and pulled her top over her head. She took a deep breath, watching her nipples harden in the cool air of the room. This is what I have to offer you, she thought. I know you were tempted. You could hardly tear your eyes away.

  “How do you do, I’m a dyke,” Whizz had said. As though that explained it all.

  Dear Whizz,

  I’m sure that isn’t the name your parents gave you. When did your name change, and when did you know who you are? Did those things happen at about the same time? When did you know you wanted to spend your life fixing cars, or did you? Did your father always treat you like a son, and is that why you took over his business? When did you know you liked girls?

  Candace knew she couldn’t ask questions like that—not this soon, and certainly not in an email.

  Len, thought Candace. She knows a lot about Whizz, but how far can one person be trusted to tell the truth about another person’s feelings, even those of a close friend? Besides, Len just went through a messy breakup, and that must make it hard for her to be objective about anything.

  Candace had seen Whizz at the lesbian bar, but Whizz hadn’t seemed to notice her. Candace vaguely remembered a woman who must have been Sherry, Whizz’s long-term girlfriend, and she had looked fairly butch herself. Maybe Whizz was a faggot dyke, a connoisseur of masculine women.

  Oh Goddess of us all. Maybe Whizz doesn’t even think I’m queer, or worth her time.

  Candace was sweating. On impulse, she pulled off her capri pants, dragging her panties down with them, and sat naked on a vinyl-covered chair that seemed to sweat along with her. Her hair lay hotly on her shoulders as her scalp prickled with heat. She remembered the breezy look of Whizz’s gelled hair, like icicles the sun couldn’t melt.

  Candace’s clit was awake. She wanted to be seen and understood by an honest, trustworthy butch with hearty appetites. She wanted a grown-up tomboy who loved to have fun, and who saw Candace as the reward or compensation for a lonely childhood.

  I wonder why I always fall for dykes who seem innocent but wise, boyish, and experienced, she thought, when I’ve never found anyone with all those qualities together. Appearances can be so deceiving.

  Candace knew she didn’t just want to recruit a suitable dyke for the panel on gender identity. She wanted an impossible hero, a dyke from her dreams, to ride into her life.

  Candace stretched back in her chair, stroking the damp, curly hair between her legs. She imagined an eager suitor nosing her clit and spreading her thighs apart. Yes, thought the dreamer, come find me. Candace tickled herself with teasing strokes that grew bolder and deeper. She moaned, hoping the sound wouldn't travel beyond the walls of her apartment, but raised the volume by pinching her own nipples with one hand while the other plied her wet cunt, making the vinyl squeak in rhythm.

  The sound of a woman being pleasured rose from Candace's open mouth as though to join the sound of bagpipes that wafted from behind a backyard fence—a sound that was causing passing drivers to slow down and look for the source.

  Candace came with a series of yelps. As her breathing slowed and she slid back down to an awareness of herself, sitting alone in her bare skin in front of an empty screen, the woman knew what she wanted to say.

  ***

  Whizz walked the six blocks to the coffee shop, wanting to arrive with a clear head. She didn't trust the young woman who wanted her to tell a crowd of strangers everything about herself for Pride Week, but nothing could have kept Whizz from meeting Candace to negotiate the deal.

  Candace was already seated at an outdoor table, sipping an iced cappuccino and reading Lesbian Issues magazine. A mockup of the Pride Guide was spread on the table in front of her. She was wearing jeans and a red cotton top. A low, pleated neckline framed her tattoo and the shadow between her breasts.

  Whizz knew that arriving early for meetings in cafes was a trick of women who wanted to prevent anyone from paying their way from a misguided sense of chivalry. Chill out, babe, thought Whizz. Aloud, she said, “Yo, Candace.”

  “Hi there, Whizz.” Candace smiled as though something really delightful had just happened. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

  Whizz noticed the vagueness of “this”.

  Whizz sat across from her. “Do you read Lesbian Issues?” Candace turned her magazine so Whizz could see the cover. The title of the lead article appeared above several cartoon figures in the style of a popular lesbian illustrator. “Who We Say We Are” read the title. Beneath was a subtitle in smaller letters: “The Politics of Lesbian Identity.”

  “I haven’t seen that one.” Whizz studied it briefly. “Excuse me a minute, dear. I need a coffee.” And a shot of rye in it wouldn’t hurt, she thought, but I probably can’t get that here.

  Candace seemed frozen to her chair, despite the heat of the sun. “Dear? Did you call me dear?”

  So sue me, thought Whizz. Aloud she said, “Sure, dear. Do you mind?”

  Apparently this wasn’t the response Candace expected. “That depends.” She paused. “On what you mean by it.”

  Whizz grinned wider. “Nothing bad, girl. I’ll be back in a minute, and then we can talk about it.” She sauntered into the cafe, went to the counter, and ordered a coffee and a muffin from a cute young woman in an apron. Whizz couldn’t stop smiling.

  As soon as Whizz returned to the table, Candace put down her magazine to look her in the eyes.

  “I don’t mean to intrude,” Whizz explained, “but since we’re on the subject, Candace, are you bi?”

  Candace’s face was deep pink, not only from the kiss of the sun. She looked around, and seemed relieved to see that none of the customers at surrounding tables showed any interest in this conversation. “Are you asking if I do women?”

  “Yeah. Basically. And if you’re married to someone who was born male.”

  Candace angrily flashed both hands in Whizz’s face. There were rings on both her pinkies, but all the other fingers were bare. “No fuckin' way. Jesus. Why do you think I go to the bar? And the potlucks and every other event in the women’s community? Did you know I made the pos
ters for the Lavender Girls concert at Solstice? Didn’t you see—well, never mind. Whizz, I’m queer. The only guys I’ve been with are friends, and most of them came out gay themselves.”

  “Sorry, my girl. I guess I’ve been in my own world. I’m an old dog.” Whizz tried to guess Candace’s age. She looked young, but Whizz knew that good genes and healthy living could contribute a lot to that. As Whizz had just been pointedly reminded, there was lesbian life outside the bar.

  Whizz reached for Candace’s hand, held it experimentally, then slowly raised it to her lips, opened Candace’s palm and placed a lingering kiss in it. Candace seemed to hold her breath. She could feel Candace surrender.

  They both seemed to be in a private bubble, ignored by the rest of the world. Each of them exhaled a silent Ahhh.

  She held Candace’s hand until she felt a subtle tug, and immediately let go. “Honey, are you single? I mean unattached.”

  Candace laughed. “I could say anything, couldn’t I? You’d believe anything. I could say I live with six other people and we’re poly. I could say I have to bring you home to share with my Daddy. But no. I’ll tell you the boring truth. I’m single, not attached at all.”

  A challenge seemed to hang in the air: So what are you going to do, Whizz?

  Whizz shook her head, laughing quietly. “Candace, you’re something else. Do you know how much I want to hold you right now?” She held Candace with her eyes while reaching for her coffee and took a sip without breaking contact.

  “Baby, honey, angel, sweetheart. I don’t care if they’re politically correct or not. Those are the words I use.” Whizz lowered her voice to a drone. “I could be on you in a minute. I could find all your ticklish spots and show you a really good time.”

  She looked away first, but when Whizz gently picked up her hand from across the table, Candace didn’t resist. Whizz hoped her sky-blue eyes were having their intended effect on the woman. Candace’s brown ones looked opaque, but Whizz could see a mixture of desire and pain in them.

  Candace glanced around at the other tables. “Don’t you think we should be having this conversation somewhere else?”

  “We can say more in private, dear. But here is safer for the moment. We don’t have to rush into it.” Whizz stroked Candace’s hand, smiling steadily at her.

  “Oh God, Whizz!” Candace seemed to clench her teeth to keep her voice low enough not to be overheard. “You’re a tease. I just want to get it on with you and forget everything else.”

  “Rushing into things too fast.” Whizz shook her head, wagging two fingers. “I’ve always been like that too. It’s why they started calling me Whizz when I was just a little sprout. Now I’m a bit older and wiser. I’m not a player, Candace.” Liar! jeered a voice in her head.

  Whizz hadn’t had time to process Candace’s remark about hooking up with fags. It didn’t sound safe or sane, and it certainly wasn’t a path Whizz had ever gone down, either before or after Sherry—or on occasional weekends when Sherry was away—but Whizz refused to pull up memories of what she had barely admitted to herself at the time.

  Whizz absolutely did not need unforeseen complications in her life, but she wanted to be a guide and mentor to this wild child. More than that, Whizz wanted to convince herself of her good intentions.

  “Honey, let’s go for a walk in the park. After you’ve finished your drink,” Whizz said, locking eyes with her. “Take your time.”

  ***

  So much for a stimulating discussion on politics in the LGBT community, thought Candace. Yet she had to admit to herself that the conversation had been enlightening. A walk in the park with Whizz sounded very appealing.

  “I’m done. Let’s go.” Candace stood up and swept all her reading-matter into her knapsack. “I’ll have to come back later for my bike. I’ve got a good lock on it, so it should be safe for now.”

  “I can drive you back for it. If you’d like.” Whizz smiled at Candace as if there was nothing she wouldn’t do for her.

  As far as Candace knew, Whizz’s car was at Whizz’s house. So much for taking things slowly. The hookup or liaison between them seemed to be accelerating along with the speed of the vehicles involved.

  Candace and Whizz strolled together down a tree-lined street as birds chirped overhead and traffic swished past. As they crossed the street to enter the park, Whizz seized the opportunity to wrap an arm around Candace's waist.

  Whizz led her toward the gazebo, a quaint wooden structure that had been built when Queen Victoria was still alive, and where bands sometimes put on open-air concerts. Candace was charmed, wondering what the local residents 125 years ago would think of her and Whizz. The surrounding trees provided an illusion of privacy.

  Whizz swept Candace up the creaky wooden steps. “Baby…” She pulled Candace into her arms and kissed her, tipping Candace's head back for easier access to her lips and throat. Candace held on to Whizz as though she were a life raft navigating a dangerously fast current. Whizz smelled like hair gel and some fresh, subtle cologne.

  Candace realized that she had been expecting the smell of motor oil and the sight of dirty fingernails and clothes with black streaks on them.

  She knew that Whizz lived alone. She must keep a clean house too, thought Candace. She’s no slob. Candace refused to imagine herself inspecting Whizz’s kitchen and bedroom like a possible tenant. One step at a time.

  A crow cawed sarcastically from a nearby tree. Candace pulled away to catch her breath, saw Whizz's expression, and laughed with her. “Whizz,” sighed Candace. “If you're too old and wise for one-night hookups, what do you want from me?”

  “I could ask you the same, lady.” Whizz seemed able to smile with her eyes.

  “It's not what you think.” Candace wanted Whizz to know she wasn’t desperate.

  “You mean you're not that kind of a girl? After you got me all worked up?”

  “Oh, I'm a slut from Slutsville.” Candace searched for the right words. “But I didn't ask you to join the panel on gender diversity just to get to know you. I mean, I do, want to get to know you, but we all need to discuss this stuff as a community. Don't you think?”

  “For sure, girl. And we need to discuss this stuff one-on-one. Mmm. At my house.”

  Whizz sat down on a wooden bench with a rose design in its cast-iron frame. “Sit here.” Whizz pulled Candace onto her lap, and Candace wiggled herself into a comfortable position, one arm around Whizz's back for stability.

  Candace could feel the strength in Whizz’s thighs. She found it harder to think, but apparently Whizz was intellectually inspired.

  “Honey, we need to agree on our terms beforehand, like signing a prenup. I'll tell you what I need from you and you tell me the same.”

  “Okay.”

  This time, Candace leaned in to kiss Whizz. Both of them were momentarily distracted.

  She wanted to hear Whizz’s conditions, so she pulled her mouth away. “Okay. Shoot.”

  Whizz ran a hand down Candace’s back. “First thing, you have to like the skirl ‘o’ the pipes.”

  “Bagpipes? They sound prehistoric, like pterodactyls singing mating songs I imagine. Would you serenade me with a bagpipe, Whizz?”

  In response, Whizz kissed her again. “Every time we get together, if you like. And no matter what happens, we won't stop talking after one night. It's not allowed. We'll talk it through. Before you go home, you have to agree to answer the phone when I call.”

  “Done.”

  “Next thing, we won't date other people without talking about it first.”

  Candace wondered how jealous Whizz would turn out to be. “Only if this works both ways. Seriously.”

  “Everything in this deal works both ways, honey.” Whizz looked troubled. “I don't care if Len wants you too. No sneaking out with someone else on the side.”

  Candace burst into a laugh. “Christ, Whizz. Len doesn't want me.”

  “Everyone with hormones wants you, babe. I know what I saw.”
r />   “Whatever.” Candace snickered, then sighed. “I have terms too. No butch power-tripping. No patronizing comments from on high.”

  “I don't—”

  Candace thought of getting off Whizz’s lap. Whizz held her though, and she gave in. “Agreed.”

  Candace sighed, wishing she had more control over her own lust. “Whizz, we're so different. I don't know how long this is going to work, but I want to try. I've never met anyone like you.”

  “That's what it's about, dear. We're like snowflakes. No two the same.” Whizz helped Candace to her feet, and stood up.

  Heroes don’t exist, thought Candace, but she’s a gentleman as well as a handyman. I’ve done much worse.

  As she walked out of the park with Whizz, Candace imagined sketching her at various angles, trying to capture the light in her eyes on paper. Candace liked to think she had left her naiveté behind, but she still had hope. For now, that was more than enough.

  Lucky in Lust

  Kiki DeLovely

  The tour was exhilarating but also exhausting. Our trajectory had been dictated by the proximity of various New England cities thus far, but the bitter mid-February chill did not agree with me. I was excited to be back home in the relative warmth of the Carolinas, to be performing one last show, and to be sleeping in my own bed again. But even more than that, I was excited about our guest performers. Nari and Quinn, two punishingly gorgeous butches, were flying in for the final stop of the tour. But these were not just any butches. They were my unrequited crushes. Una cosa bien rara en mi mundo.

  I have lived an incredibly charmed life. Due to happenstance, fate, and what could only be considered a blessing from the goddess, I’ve been lucky when it comes to lust. Every time I’ve inevitably developed the hots for someone new, that desire has been actualized. Meaning, of course, that I’ve been fortunate enough to hook up with everyone who has sparked an appetite in me sexually. Call me picky, but never a prude, my life has been filled with more than my fair share of scintillating encounters, whether they manifested in a two-night stand or a two-year relationship...with the exception of these two butches. Quite a while back, I had done a reading with Quinn and was immediately charmed by their dapper demeanor, then seduced further by their intelligence. I hadn’t yet crossed paths with Nari—my attraction for her blossoming over time through her brilliant work. My libido had held a flame for each of them, never faltering through the years, yet never had oportunidad come knocking either.