Rebecca was the first of the women I’d talked to that put a tingle between my legs. She also happened to be the only one I’d been honest with. It dawned on me during the initial stages of this painstaking process, the easiest way to get down to funky town was to ask for directions. Beck, as she preferred to be called, was confident enough to show me the way and hopefully draw me a map for later use. I’d endeared myself to her with my tales of male woe, and she thought it was cute I’d decided to give the Y a try.
I came out of my bedroom in a fitted, cotton dress. The red brought out the highlights in my dark-brown hair, made my skin look flawless with little makeup, and elongated my flat tummy. The brown, leather knee-high boots took my legs from long to endless. Every asset I had was now perfectly displayed.
“Damn, Giselle. Why don’t you just meet her at a hotel? You look like a high-class hooker.”
“I most certainly do not.” I spun to give my best friend the full view.
“I’ll bet you twenty bucks this girl tries to take you straight home. One drink max. And she’ll pay.” She squinted her eyes and cocked her head, knowing I wouldn’t pass up a bet.
“Fine. Two drinks and I’ll return home alone…from the bar.”
“You’re so full of shit. You’re like a cat in heat. Just don’t rub up against her leg. You might leave a mark.”
“You’re foul. Truly. I don’t know why we’re friends.”
“Oh, because you’re teaching classes on etiquette down at the charm school?”
“Touché.”
I moved to the kitchen to change purses. The monstrosity I took to work didn’t need to accompany me to a watering hole. A clutch was much more appropriate for the outing.
“So, what’s the protocol here? Who pays?” My insecurity poked a hole in my confident façade.
“Who asked who out?”
“Umm, I’m not sure. It was mutual, I guess.”
“Always plan to pay, but don’t fight if she insists, unless you don’t want there to be a second date. In which case, make an ass of yourself and argue vehemently against your need for someone to carry the freight. She’ll roll her eyes, and you’ll be done.”
“You don’t know that.” Not all women could possibly follow that code. Just like not all men believed it was their responsibility to pick up the tab. The whole women’s lib movement had totally blurred the gender lines.
She shrugged, and her perfect breasts lifted with her shoulders. Her nipples teased the fabric of her thin tank top…I shook my head, pulling my thoughts from my best friend’s chest.
“How do you practice safe sex?”
Ronnie’s attention jerked up from the magazine she’d been scanning to face me and about fell off the barstool from laughing so hard. “What difference does it make? You just bet me a crisp Jackson you’d be home after two drinks.”
“Future reference. I need to ask these things when they come up; otherwise, I might forget.”
“You’re in deep shit. Are you sure I can’t come and tape this from the sidelines? We could put the footage on YouTube and make a mint. I guarantee it’d go viral.”
My scowl demonstrated my irritation. “Well?”
“Jesus. I don’t know. What are you planning to do?”
“Do you carry female condoms?”
“Not if you plan to actually be intimate.”
Condoms were gross in heterosexual play as well, but a necessary evil—luckily, once they were on, I didn’t really have to think about them. I didn’t have a clue how female condoms even worked. For all I knew, they were like Saran Wrap you laid across the hooha. I didn’t see any point in them being internal since there wouldn’t be any penetration.
“Oh my God. Should I carry condoms in case a girl wants to finger me?”
“Do you make a guy put a condom on his fingers? Jesus, Giselle—think this through.”
I kept the rest of my questions to myself. I didn’t plan to sleep with this girl—at least not tonight. I had time to learn, and there was always lesbian porn if I still needed answers.
“Are you going to be here when I get back?”
She slid off the stool and pulled at the frayed hem of her shorts that had bunched on her thighs. Only Ronnie could pull off a tank top, cut-off jean shorts, and heels—and fuck did she rock it. “No. Trish has me on a short leash ever since the whole shopping fiasco. It was one pair of shoes, but you’d think I’d slept with Holden or something.”
One thing I loved about Veronica, not much got to her. She knew she’d pissed Trish off, but instead of complaining about it, she took her lumps, stayed with Holden, one of her bosses, overnight while her girlfriend cooled off, and then laid low until it blew over.
She swatted at my behind as we walked out the door together. When she turned to me, her face had gone from playful to serious. “If you get in over your head, you don’t have to go through with anything. Just like a guy—dating is still dating, regardless of whether it’s a man or woman, and you’re never under any obligation to anyone. Okay?” Her brow furrowed, and her lips tipped up in a half-hearted grin. “Peer pressure still exists in your forties…and you’re a hot piece of ass.” She winked, but I knew she was concerned.
“First of all, I’m not forty. Secondly, I can handle myself…but thanks, Mom.”
I hugged my best friend goodbye with far more self-assurance than I actually felt and slid into my Camaro. I kept the top up to prevent my hair from falling apart, but the moment the engine roared to life, so did my confidence. There was something in the way the car hummed that turned my insides out and caused my flesh to burn in the most erotic way. It had been a post-divorce present to myself. Men loved it, the black racing stripe only added to the intrigue of the sunshine-yellow exterior—and if men loved it, women would swoon.
With my aviator glasses perched on my nose, I checked my lipstick in the mirror, buckled my seatbelt, and drove to the bar to meet Beck.
It was early in the evening, and the after-work crowd still mingled after happy hour before the night owls would stroll in. Beck stood out like a beacon in the night amongst the suits and ties. And it didn’t take long for me to notice the men staring her down from their seats at the bar. Her pictures online hadn’t done her justice. Beck was stunning—model gorgeous with exotic, green eyes. Instead of the sight of her intimidating me, it fueled my fire. I straightened my spine, pulled my shoulders back, and sashayed with one leather boot-clad foot in front of the other until I reached her side.
And then I promptly fell apart. I didn’t have a clue what to do or how to handle an introduction. I wasn’t sure if I should extend my hand, lean in for a hug, or peck her on the cheek, and instead, it ended up being an awkward handshake-hug with a kiss on the ear. I stumbled into her almost knocking her over before I could pull myself back.
“Jesus, I’m sorry.” I tried to bite my tongue and refused to admit I was nervous. “I’m nervous.” Smooth, Giselle.
Beck’s lips lifted to reveal the most pristine white teeth I’d ever seen, followed by an engaging smile. “It’s okay. Sit, sit. It’s great to finally meet you.”
I pulled out a stool and climbed onto the high seat as gracefully as possible, praying I didn’t end up mooning the men behind me or falling on my face.
“You look beautiful. I love that dress.”
With that one comment, I launched into friend mode. “I got it at Saks on sale. The fabric’s great.” I peered down at the way it clung to my body. “It would look fantastic on you. You should borrow it sometime.”
Suddenly, I was having drinks with a girl I’d hoped to become BFFs with, and not one I wanted to accompany to bed, but I had to keep an open mind. Things with women were bound to be different than dates with men. I had no idea what attraction felt like when it wasn’t firmly attached to a penis. Maybe this was how things blossomed with another woman; everything about the female species was different—surely that included dating.
The more Beck talked, the more I adore
d her. From the way she flipped her hair over her shoulder, her ability to tune out the men balking at her beauty, and the demure smile she flashed in my direction—everything about her was perfection. Her eyes kept me entranced along with the silky-smooth tone of her voice.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Giselle.”
I didn’t know what to do with her compliment. It rolled off her tongue like a line from an eloquent poem, but I sat there like a daft duck, unsure of how to respond. Men never tripped me up, but this woman had me reverting to zit-faced prepubescence with a handful of words.
I batted my eyes in her direction and glanced down in uncertainty.
“It’s cute that you’re so shy.”
But I wasn’t. Not normally. Typically, I was like a blazing inferno doused in gasoline. My mouth frequently overrode my ass and wrote checks my body couldn’t cash. Since she was enamored with this side of me, I played it up. I needed her tutelage, and there was only one way to get it.
“I’m sure it’s odd to be on a date with a woman who’s never dated. I don’t know what I’m doing here.” I realized how that sounded and quickly backtracked. “I don’t mean here here, but here as in this moment, not the location with you. I just—”
She put her delicate fingers on top of mine to silence my gibberish. Her tongue snuck out and wet her lips, and all I could find myself thinking of was the color of her lipstick. She’d been drinking for the last hour, and it hadn’t smudged or even worn off. I stared at her mouth, the gorgeous matte nude that now glistened with the moisture of her tongue, and realized she’d caught me staring. Even her giggle was melodious.
My gaze darted back up to her minty-green eyes and the smoky shadow that colored her lids. Her lashes were thick without being clumped together, and her liner could have been tattooed it was so perfectly applied.
“I’m attracted to you. I know you need to take things slowly, and this is all new to you. But I’d love to see you again. Spend some time together somewhere other than a bar.” Her plump lip slipped between her teeth as she waited for my response.
“I’d like that, too.”
“Do you have plans this weekend? Why don’t you come over, and I’ll make dinner?”
I couldn’t help but wonder if that meant she would be the “girl” in this relationship. My thoughts shifted instantly. If she were the girl, that would make me the guy—I was far from butch. I shook my head to clear the notion—there was no man in this duo. Neither of us had to be the “guy” because there were no traditional roles here. A subtle smile lifted my lips with that realization.
“Oh, well…okay then.” Disappointment lined her stunning features.
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean no I couldn’t do dinner. I’m sorry. I’d love to. Can I bring wine?”
She perked up, and that brilliant smile graced her cheeks once again. Her spine grew straight as an arrow, pushing her breasts out. “That would be fantastic. I love to cook. I hope you love to eat.”
“Far too much.” I was that woman who ran to eat. I hated running. Abhorred it. But I liked food far too much to sit idle after stuffing my face. Forty wasn’t the new twenty…not that I was forty yet.
We made plans for Friday night, and when the waitress came, Beck took the check. I watched her as she eyed me, her perfectly stained lips pursed seductively as she glanced at me from beneath heavy lids. I’d given many a man that same glance. Beck wanted me. She had paid the tab and invited me to dinner at her place.
“Thank you for the drinks. I have to admit, this has been fantastic.” It wasn’t a line. I did appreciate the drinks, and Beck was a pretty amazing first girl-girl date. If only men like her had lined my doorstep—well, men of her caliber but still male—I might not be sitting here. Thinking about this weekend, the fact that I’d managed to win over my first female, my seductive side peeked out from behind the curtain. It was Beck’s turn to give my mouth her full attention, and when I swiped my tongue across my lips, I heard her softly purr.
I slid off the seat and waited for her to join me. As she gathered her purse and I took my clutch from the table, one of the men who’d been eyeing us since I walked in approached.
“Ladies, you two looking for company this evening?”
At that moment, I realized just how sleazy members of the opposite sex truly were and was reminded of what brought me to Beck in the first place. She didn’t give me the chance to respond. With poised grace, she turned to the man and responded, “No, thank you. There’s only room for two in this party.”
She took my hand with hers, and together we owned that floor from the table to the exit. I could feel the eyes watching us, the wet dreams formulating, and the cocks hardening as we strutted out the door.
Beck walked me to my car and raised her brows in appreciation. “Nice ride.”
I might have gotten a lady boner watching her salivate—whether it was over me or the Camaro, I wasn’t sure, but it felt like a win either way. The sun had fallen, and the moon welcomed the night. Standing next to my bright-yellow sports car, with my hand still in hers, Beck leaned in and kissed my cheek. Still as a statue, I wasn’t sure how to respond. I’d be lying if I said my date hadn’t warmed my center.
She winked at me and let go of my fingers as she walked away. “Goodnight, Giselle.” Those two words had never been sung in such a beautiful chorus. “Until this weekend…” Her farewell hung in the air, and my fingers touched the spot she’d kissed on my cheekbone.
It wasn’t the flood of sexual endorphins I’d felt when a man turned me on, more like a slumber party with my girlfriends back when we thought pot was cool. My insides were warm, and a smile clung to my lips the entire way home.
I knew I would probably get Ronnie in trouble, but Trish would have to get over it. Surely, from one lesbian to another, she could appreciate the newness of the situation.
“Hey, Giselle. Hang on. I’ll get Veronica.” I wondered why Trish answered her phone if she was so put off by people actually calling the person it belonged to, but I kept my mouth shut and waited.
“So, how’d it go? Your lips still wet from your first muff?”
Of course, my friend had to turn this into a locker room chat. “No, heifer. We had drinks. It was nice.”
“Then why do you sound so unsure?”
“She paid the bill.”
“She digs you. And if you let her, I assume you thought she was pretty kinky, too.”
I rolled my eyes. In the last two weeks, my best friend had gone from this well-put-together, gorgeous woman to a horny teenager with a crass mouth. “We’re having dinner on Friday. She’s cooking.”
“Wow.”
Here’s where things got sticky. Since my divorce, I wasn’t interested in relationships. I rarely saw the same guy more than twice, and that only happened if he was really good in bed. I didn’t care what people thought—men had done it for decades, and I was enjoying my sexual freedom as I neared the prime of my life. If that made me a slut, at least I was a well-satiated floozy.
“Oh, stop. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing here. It’s not like things with guys.”
“You might want to figure it out quickly. A woman who bought your drinks and offered to cook your dinner is either a leprechaun or a hag. One doesn’t exist and the other you’ll wish didn’t.”
“Can you stop for a minute and focus?”
“Sure. What are we focusing on? Did she catfish you? She was ugly, wasn’t she? I bet she stole her profile picture off some modeling website. Women do that—”
“Jesus, Ronnie. Shut up. She was gorgeous. And charming. And her boobs were so perky they have to be fake. I meant to ask her about her lipstick. It was the perfect shade and looked like she’d just applied it even after she kissed me.”
“Whoa! What? She kissed you? Was there tongue involved?”
“God, you’re such a pervert. No. Just on the cheek when we were leaving. Right after she shot down a rather good-looking man in the bar.”
“
She’s so attractive men approach her? I love women who don’t look lesbian. The ones made for all of us to enjoy regardless of which way we swing.” My friend had gone into some dopey trance on the other end.
“Veronica…”
She grunted to remind me she was still listening.
“What do I wear to her house? What kind of wine do I take? And we’re back to this same question—condoms or no?”
“She knows you’re a newbie, right?” She kept talking after I uttered my agreement. “Dinner at her house is casual. Jeans and a cute tee. But nothing complicated. It all needs to be able to come off with ease. No woman wants to fumble with clothing when they’re already going to be fumbling with you. Secondly, take a nice bottle since she paid for drinks and she’s cooking.” She paused, likely waiting for me to say something, but when I didn’t, she asked, “Are you really ready for this?”
“I’ve never been one to shy away from something new in the bedroom. I’ll be fine. Do I bring my own dildo?”
She snorted. Legitimately snorted in my ear.
“I’m serious. People don’t share sex toys, right? Lesbians still like penetration—you’ve said so yourself.” The thought of another woman’s rubber dong in my twat was reason enough to bring condoms.
“Goodnight, Giselle.” She was blowing me off. Right in the middle of a terribly important conversation.
“Veronica—I need your help.”
“Just have a few shots before you go to her house. It’ll loosen you up enough that the details won’t matter, and you’ll just go with the flow. You better call me afterward.” I could hear Trish whining in the background about how late it was and knew I had to let my friend off the phone…even though it was just after nine. “Love you, Gizzy.”
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