Desiree laughed. “Your mother is a wise woman. Now the first thing you should know is that lots of lesbians are big foodies. Characters in lesbian romances are always making omelets. It’s the one dish you don’t have to be Martha Stewart to make. Even a dyke can crack a few eggs and toss them in a pan.”
Desiree finished shredding the spinach and tossed it all into a skillet with some butter and garlic. “The beauty of omelets is that everybody has eggs in their fridge and you can put almost anything in them. So, you look in the fridge and find some stuff you can put in the omelet. For instance, I’m using the spinach we had left over from our juicing debacle. Then we’ll add some feta-goat cheese that Candy Sweet corralled me into buying because one of her clients has goats.”
“It’s like a garbage omelet,” Mildred stated, stirring the spinach with a spatula.
“Exactly.”
“That spinach and carrot and eggplant and kale juice was horrible,” Mildred said, making a yuck face. She was referring to last Sunday’s escapade with a juicer. They had decided to get healthy by joining in on the latest juicing fad and they bought a Ninja Bullet 4000. It was black and shaped like a dildo. Looking back on it, Mildred thinks they were the victims of a clever marketing scheme aimed to make women want to buy juicers—why else would it be shaped like a dildo? Mildred shivered at the memory of the brown gunk she had tried to drink. “Vegetables aren’t made for drinking. Even V-8 needs vodka in it,” she said sagely.
“So true,” Desiree said. She watched Mildred sauté the spinach. “At least the juicer wasn’t a total waste. It does make a mean daiquiri.”
“So you’re really going to use this goat cheese?” Mildred was skeptical. She gave it a good sniff and wrinkled her nose. It smelled about like you’d think it would.
“We gotta do something with it.”
“It’s stinky.”
“Tell you what… If the omelet turns out stinky I’ll buy us a dozen donuts,” Desiree conceded. “Deal?”
“Deal,” Mildred said. She looked down at her pan and gasped. “Oh no!”
“What?”
“I ruined the spinach!”
“Ruined?”
“Look!” Mildred said, pointing to the pan. “It shrunk up.”
“That’s called wilting,” Desire said.
“You mean it’s supposed to do that?”
“Yes,” Desiree said. “At least I think so.”
“I hope I didn’t totally ruin it. Maybe I should crack the eggs. I’m real good at breaking things,” Mildred offered.
“Sure,” Desiree said. She took the spatula from Mildred and poked the spinach.
Mildred cracked three eggs, stirred them, and Desiree poured them into a pan. As the eggs began to firm, Desiree added the wilted spinach, and plopped spoonfuls of feta on top. Then she folded the omelet in half.
“Are you ready to flip it over?” Desiree asked.
“Me?”
“Of course you.”
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea. If I do it, the omelet will end up on the ceiling or something,” Mildred said.
“Nonsense,” Desire said. She handed Mildred the spatula. “We’ll do it together.” She positioned Mildred in front of the stove and stood behind her. Desiree wrapped her arms around Mildred, one hand resting on Mildred’s hip, the other on her hand holding the spatula. “I’m going to guide your hand.”
Desiree’s soft breath on Mildred’s neck was a complete turn-on. Mildred’s knees turned to jelly. This position reminded her of one of her favorite romantic movies, Ghost. This was just like when Patrick Swayze sat behind Demi Moore at the pottery wheel. It was sexy as all get-out.
“Okay, on the count of three, flip and release. One, two, three…flip.” Desiree guided Mildred’s hand and the omelet turned over easily. It was perfect.
“I did it!” Mildred exclaimed.
“I knew you’d be good at it.”
“Who knew little ol’ me could make an omelet,” she said.
“I did,” Desiree whispered into Mildred’s ear. She was still pressed up against Mildred’s back. “I bet you’re good at lots of things.”
Mildred smiled. She had the feeling that Desiree wasn’t talking about omelets.
The Invitation
After they ate the omelet, Mildred put the dishes in the sink without rinsing them. She had learned her lesson. Qui was set to arrive shortly. She would take care of the dishes. Desiree saw the mangled envelope on the bar and picked it up, saying, “What’s this?”
“It came that way… mostly,” Mildred said. She was putting the feta in the very back of the fridge so they’d forget about it until they decided it was safe to throw it away.
“Mostly?”
“Well, I might’ve done some damage getting it out, but it wasn’t my fault.”
“Our mail boxes leave something to be desired. I’m impressed our mailman got it in there in the first place.” Desiree ripped open the package. “Uh oh, it’s that time of year again.” She looked from the envelope to Mildred. “And I know who I want to take with me,” Desiree said with a tinge of hope in her voice.
“Take where? What is that?” Mildred asked, taking her twill apron off and hanging it on a peg in the pantry.
“It’s the invitation to the annual Big Tent Ballyhoo. They have it every May. It’s to raise money for lesbian awareness.” She handed the invitation to Mildred. It was in the shape of a big circus tent—red and white striped with a big pole in the middle.
“Aware of what?” Mildred asked, taking a stool at the kitchen bar next to Desiree.
“Of… I dunno… of being lesbian, I guess,” Desiree said.
“Are they unaware of it?”
Desiree shrugged. “All I know is that it’s a big to-do here in Bon Chance. Think of high school reunions except it’s all lesbians. One night a year all the power lesbians come out to play. These invitations are very hard to come by.”
Mildred studied it. “It says here that you can take anyone you want pending approval from the board. What does that mean?”
“The Big Tent is an all inclusive, gender-free, bisexual-friendly, LGBT-friendly, dog-and-cat-friendly group that puts on this big dance where everyone can come and feel safe and included,” Desiree explained. “They’re free from the marginalization of society.”
“This might sound stupid, but if it’s all inclusive how come you got to be approved?” Mildred said.
“You don’t make a very good lesbian sometimes,” Desiree said. She sipped her coffee.
“What does that mean?” Mildred said, her face flushing.
“Don’t get your panties in a wad—I don’t make a good one either. I didn’t mean in the sack. I’m sure you’re plenty good at that. What I meant was that you’re not a good lesbian politically.”
“It’s a political group now?” Mildred said. “I just registered plain ol’ Democrat.” She got up and refilled both their coffees.
“Stay that way if you know what’s good for you. Lesbians in large groups are dangerous. They form committees. They have power grabs, coups and interventions. You might find yourself on the wrong side of the fence without even knowing there was a fence. See this?” Desiree held up the thick manual that came with the invitation.
“What is it?”
“The rules and regulations of being inclusive,” Desiree put air quotes around the word inclusive. “I was finally approved last year. It was a long vetting process.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means they checked me and decided that I was harmless in spite of my occupation. They didn’t initially approve of me,” Desiree said.
“What changed their mind?”
“I fuck one of the board members every other Thursday.”
“Oh.”
“So… you want to go to the dance with me?” Desiree’s heart beat quickly. She felt like a teenage boy asking the homecoming queen to go to prom.
Mildred looked up from the packet. “W
hat?”
Of all the times to be distracted, Mildred had to pick this one. It was hard enough asking the first time. “I wanted to know if you would like to attend the dance with me.”
“You want to invite me?” Mildred seemed stupefied by the request.
“I think we’d have a really good time.”
“Don’t you want to take your favorite client?”
Desiree inwardly sighed. Why did lesbians make it so hard? Couldn’t Mildred just say sure, that’d be great instead of giving out reasons why not? “No, I want to take you.”
“What about that petting thing?”
“Vetting. I’ll get it all taken care of. You won’t have to worry.”
“You’d do that for me?” Mildred said.
“Unless you don’t want to go with me,” Desiree said.
“Oh no, I’d love to go!” Mildred said, blushing prettily. She got up from the kitchen bar and gave Desiree a big hug. “This is going to be so much fun. Oh my goodness, what am I going to wear?”
“Better read the packet. There’s a dress code,” Desiree said. Her heart pounded in her ears. She knew she was playing with fire but she couldn’t stop herself. She had a thing for Mildred and she’d done the exact wrong thing—going on a date with a co-worker. She should be slapping herself upside the head for being so stupid, but she couldn’t. This feeling was too big, too gooey and too delicious not to bask in. She’d think about the consequences later. Right now she wanted this moment of happiness.
Mildred looked up from the packet. “The dress code is four pages long.”
“Yep. That’s lesbians for you.”
Mildred And The Feminist
Mildred sat on the red satin sheets with her legs spread wide while she touched herself. Her client, a militant feminist and Women’s Studies professor, reclined on a red suede chaise and watched—fully clothed. Mildred had no idea why she was getting paid five hundred dollars to diddle herself but she believed the old saying “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” She thrust her hips forward and put her fingers inside, using the palm of her hand to press against her clit. Her ass made Ssshhhh noises as it rubbed against the satin sheets. Mildred liked the idea of satin, but she wasn’t sure she liked satin in reality. It felt nice, but was so slippery she was afraid she was going to slide out of the bed.
Mildred closed her eyes as her fingers worked their magic. She thought about Desiree. Desiree naked. Desiree consumed with passion. Desiree making love to her. It was Desiree that allowed Mildred to enjoy doing this to herself and others. She never told Desiree this but it worked wonders as a sexual strategy. And as the master of seduction, Desiree had told her to always go in with a strategy. It might change during the course of the evening according to the client’s wants and needs but it gave you a firm starting place.
Her little lady in the boat throbbed and she knew it was time for the home stretch. Mildred lifted up her hips and thrust deep inside—moving her fingers deliciously in and out. She arched her back and moaned. “Oh, yeah, oh yeah,” she panted. She took her other hand and ran her middle finger over her little lady pressing softly and then hard, alternating. With her fingers still inside, she sat up and continued thrusting, riding her hand and moaning. She was like a wild mustang trying to buck its rider.
The Feminist’s normally passive face became animated. “Yes, yes, very good. Now come for me,” she said. Mildred obliged, being sure to look the client directly in the eyes as she rode the waves of her passion.
Mildred collapsed on her back, breathing heavily. Gosh darn, she was one hell of a masturbator. The trick Desiree had told her was to hold off coming until the Freaky Feminist, as she was called in the gigolo circles, told you to come, and you had to make sure you were looking at her when you did it.
The woman slowly walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. She softly stroked Mildred’s forehead. Her thin lips were pressed into a grim smile. “Yes, you were a very good girl. You came when I told you. I love your control. I definitely want to see you again.”
“Thank you, I’m flattered,” Mildred said breathily.
“Now, about me,” the Feminist said, “I do not enjoy being touched, but I heard you have the most delightful little toy in your bag of tricks.”
“I sure enough do,” Mildred said, smiling slyly. “If you mean the Blue Motion Nex One panty vibrator.” She sincerely hoped it wasn’t the taser she was referring too. Although, Honey Belle had initially considered the taser as a new customer delight, she decided it was a liability and put the kibosh on its future use. She was concerned about vaginal paralysis and heart attacks.
“Ah, such a lovely name,” the Feminist said. “Full of syllables, power and promise.”
“I think you are going like this,” Mildred said. She leaned over the other side of the bed and fished around in her oversized purse. (She no longer carried the taser with her.) After a moment, she sat up and handed the woman the panty vibrator. “Put it where you want it,” she said. “It works best if you leave your panties on. I’ll be holding the remote.”
“Turn around,” the Feminist said demurely.
Mildred turned her back to the Feminist and listened to the rustling of clothes. She felt the bed shake as the woman climbed under the satin sheets. Once the movement stopped, Mildred said, “Ready, Freddie?”
“Ready,” the Feminist answered.
Mildred turned back around. The Feminist was under the bedclothes with only her naked shoulders showing. “We need a safe word,” Mildred said. “Just in case.”
“Oh… How about Gloria Steinem?”
That was two words, but whatever, Mildred thought. “Okie, dokie. Now, I can go in another room or sit here and operate it.”
“I want your eyes on me. Sit on the chaise like I was,” the Feminist said.
Mildred crossed to the chaise and sat. She pointed the remote at the woman. “Tell me when you’re ready for take-off.”
“Hold on a minute. Let me adjust it,” the Feminist said, her hands moving frenetically under the covers.
Mildred stifled a giggle. It looked like there was a gerbil moving around under the sheets.
The Feminist propped herself up on pillows, and leaned against the headboard. She looked very serious; like this was some dangerous adventure they were about to embark on. “You may begin,” she said.
Mildred turned the Blue Motion Nex One on. “I’ll turn it up slowly so you can judge what it’s like and how much juice you want.”
The Feminist’s face stayed like a mask—a stoic one. Mildred cranked it up another notch. “More?”
“Oh yes, my female zone is getting wet,” the Feminist said in a monotone voice. She moved her hips up and down and then side to side. “More, I need more,” she said robot-like.
Mildred turned up the power two more notches.
The Feminist’s thrusting turned to bucking. Her cheeks reddened. Her eyes closed. “Oh, yes, more, my femaleness is dripping, wet and hard,” the Feminist said with her voice cracking.
Mildred wished the woman wouldn’t talk. She found it distracting. Desiree had told her some women were talkers. She wasn’t kidding. Mildred turned it higher. The woman was already at level seven out of ten. She was afraid level ten might rocket the woman skyward.
“Oh, yes, more, oh yes, give it all to me.”
Mildred was uncertain. She hadn’t even gotten that high with the Blue Motion Nex One and she was a seasoned professional. Usually a five did it for most women. But this woman was in a sexual frenzy.
The Feminist’s voice became a primal growl, “Turn it more. My femaleness is pulsing. It’s saturated. It’s smoldering with desire. She’s a soggy, bad girl.”
“Okay, just remember the safe word,” Mildred said. She cranked the Blue Motion Nex One up all the way, saying, “Blast off!”
The Feminist threw the sheet off. Her hips rose and fell and rose and fell like a jackhammer. It was as if her panties were possessed by a demon. The next thing Mildred
knew the Feminist hydroplaned off the slippery satin sheets and crashed into the night table, sending books, the alarm clock, a flash light and a glass of water crashing to the floor.
“Holy crapoly,” Mildred whispered, clicking the Blue Motion Nex One off. She ran to the woman who was collapsed in a puddle of water in the middle of the floor. The panty vibrator was buzzing to a halt in her panties. The woman trembled and jerked like a goldfish that had jumped out of its bowl.
Mildred grabbed the Feminist’s shoulder and shook her. “Are you alive? Oh my God, did I kill you?”
“Gloria Steinem,” the Feminist said in a raspy voice. Then she smiled.
Candy Sweet’s Farewell
“What the hell is going on?” Desiree said, standing in the middle of Heavenly Bliss’s gym. She’d stopped so suddenly that Mildred plowed into her back because she was busy texting Greta and hadn’t been watching where she was going.
Now that Greta had a smartphone that Mildred had purchased for her, they texted and Instagrammed a lot. Desiree seemed miffed about it. Mildred had a sneaking suspicion that Desiree was jealous of Greta. But if anybody had a right to be jealous, it was Mildred. After all, it was Desiree who spent her own personal time sexting other women.
Mildred missed home. She missed Greta. She missed her mother. She even missed the chickens. No matter how much she tried, the homesickness niggled at her. She did her best not to show it. She didn’t want Desiree to think she was ungrateful.
Desiree kicked a balloon that was lying on the floor. She turned in a circle—there were streamers, confetti and balloons everywhere. Disco music pumped loudly through the speakers. Desiree marched toward Heavenly Bliss’s office with Mildred right on her heels.
Desiree threw open the office door and found Heavenly Bliss sitting behind her desk with her chin in her hands, looking sad and dejected. She was staring at an uneaten cupcake. A dozen or more cupcake wrappers were wadded into little balls and littering the floor. There was a smear of chocolate frosting above her lip like a little Hitler mustache.
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