by Roxy Harte
“Sure.”
I don’t know when I’ve ever had so much discussion about sex before sex. I cup her chin and lower my lips, thinking if we can just start kissing we’ll both relax and this will be so much easier.
“Danni?”
I meet her gaze, our lips nanoseconds away from colliding. “Huh?”
“I’ve never actually had sex with a woman.”
I close my eyes. God, I miss New York. Everyone there is bi or lesbian, but most importantly they have experience, lots and lots of experience. I kiss her, pushing her down onto the mattress. I kiss her face, eyes, nose, cheeks, jaw, saving her mouth, her lips, her tongue. “Just pretend I’m not a woman.”
I know it’s hard, especially with me like this, not equipped. Why did I come out of the bathroom wearing just a robe? I should have rebound my breasts. Pulled on a clean wife beater. Strapped on, for god’s sake.
She pushes open my robe, exposing my breasts. Granted, they’re small. I’ve never owned a real bra, but I’d guess I’d be an A cup, maybe. No, I wouldn’t be. I’m flat, that’s why it’s so easy for me to look in the mirror and see pecs, and if it wasn’t for my damn nipples being so large I wouldn’t even bind. Hence the wrap—to hide the nipples.
She runs her hands over my chest, my abs, my ribs. “God, you’re so small, Danni.”
As I said…
“Delicate.”
I don’t know about all that.
She keeps tugging off my robe so that it falls off my shoulders. I cooperate, readjusting my weight as need be to pull my arms out of the sleeves. She runs her hands over my biceps. She’s inspecting me, every inch. “You’re buff too.”
I feel my muscles flex with pride. I am cut. It’s been hard work, long hours with the weights…
She pushes my bangs out of my eyes. “You have the longest, thickest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on anyone.”
“You have the bluest eyes.”
“You’re beautiful,” we say at the same time.
I prefer handsome but I’m smart enough to keep my mouth shut. She leans up and kisses me and I congratulate myself for being so smart.
I love the way she caresses my body while we kiss—shoulders, arms, chest. Her hands drift lower, over my stomach, and I shift my weight with every intention of changing positions so that I can go down on her, but then her fingers are at the juncture of my thighs and my brain freezes. Usually the strap-on hides everything down there. And while I don’t mind clitoral stimulation, my apparatus does just that, helping me reach climax. The times a woman has actually explored my folds can be counted on one hand.
“Relax,” she says and I almost laugh. Isn’t that my line?
She strokes softly over my mons, then even more gently over my clit, still just exploring. Her fingers slide farther and dip into my slit. I’m slick. I can feel it through the sensation of how her touch feels. “M-mmm.”
“Like?”
“It feels good.” Like would imply that I’m comfortable with this, right?
She slides a finger inside me, rubbing my clit at the same time, a technique I’ve used on so many women…every woman I’ve ever been with…but I never experienced it just so. Despite my discomfort and embarrassment, my body responds, hips rocking. “You’re playing with fire.”
“I like fire.”
“There’s always turnabout is fair play.”
“I’m counting on it,” she replies saucily.
She looks so sensual lying on my bed, sex-goddess-awe-inspiring seductive. I slide my fingers through her folds and feel her tense the second before I touch the slick of dampness along the edge of her labia. I rub, sliding, not in and out, not yet, just back and forth from clit to crack, loosening her up, feeling the tension spread through her limbs then fade away.
When I finally slide a single finger inside her, I find her so tight I’m not completely sure my favorite cock wouldn’t have hurt her. It’s thicker than the others, a favorite of my previous lovers. I’ll have to start more slowly with Jessica. I try to remember if I still have one of the original, thinner cocks I once used.
I push deeper, slide my finger out. Again in, and out, until I get a rhythm established. She shakes beneath me, moaning, and I ask, “Am I hurting you?”
“No,” as soft as a whisper. “It’s perfect.”
I kiss her, gently at first, but my intensity grows along with the need I feel spiking under my fingers. I want her to enjoy this, really enjoy it, me, but I know the likelihood of her experiencing an orgasm the first time we’re together is not good. Not that I’m not skilled. It’s her absolute lack of experience I’m worried about and I wonder if she knows her body well enough to help make that happen.
I kiss her harder, a demanding kiss that requires her cooperation and she responds with a ferocity that surprises me. She half sits up, pulling me into her, digging her fingers into my biceps. Maybe I underestimated. Until this moment she’s been soft, pliable, not actively participating. It pleases me she is no longer lying there like a limp noodle.
She pushes into my palm as I finger her.
“Can you handle more if I slide in a second finger?”
“God, yes, please!”
I cradle her closer, sliding my free arm under her ass to pull her into me. I’m happy when her arms go around my neck. I press in a second finger, feeling the tightness and then the relaxation as her body accepts me. She rocks against me, driving my fingers deeper, faster than I planned. She screams a little, as if it hurt or felt really, really good.
I’m sucked into her raw need and start fucking her with my fingers the way I would have been driving home my cock had I worn it.
She moans and begs into my neck, “Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.”
“What do you need me to do? What will make it better?”
“I don’t know. I just know I need more. I. Need.”
I rub her clit, smacking it a little too as I pump her. She responds with guttural sounds and I know she is close.
“Oh god!”
I keep working her and she is suddenly bucking and gasping, not screaming, not yet. I push my fingers deeper, curling into her G-spot until she is convulsing, crying out, cursing, making those sounds that girls make when I make them really, really happy.
I bring her down, slow and easy, soft strokes, then even softer ones, until she is lying still. I withdraw my fingers, covered with her slick fluid.
I kiss her neck and a trail down the flat plane of her stomach, smelling the evidence of her satisfaction heavy on the air. I kiss the smooth, creamy skin on the tops of her thighs before returning to rest my chin on her shoulder. “So is that everything you expected?”
She hides her face behind her hands, embarrassed. “More than, more than I ever expected.”
Chapter Fifteen
Hell Hath No Fury
Jessica nearly trips over Shade as she sneaks out. It isn’t late. Still believable to the sitter she merely worked late, but dark enough outside she doesn’t see him at first. Her shrill sound of alarm brings me running.
“Shade! What were you doing?”
“Sitting. Waiting. Thinking too much.”
“Good god. Come inside.” I turn to Jessica and kiss her good night. “You were sneaking out.”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You should have.” I feel like she is lying. “Was this a mistake?”
“No.” She looks down at her feet. “I know I was all brave and daring a few hours ago, but I’ve got kids, and this town is…small.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I want to see you again. I do. This was,” she lets out the breath she’s been holding, “amazing. The best moment of my life. I’m just not ready to be out. Okay?” She brushes her lips over mine, promising in a whisper, “I’ll see you later.”
I’m wearing a somewhat defeated expression as I reenter my apartment. Shade isn’t smiling either.
“It’ll be fine. I have this under control.”
“You are just begging for another heartbreak, man. You know it. I know it. It’s gonna happen.”
“Whatever. I’m going to bed.” I turn off the lights and stumble, cussing the rest of the way to bed. Shade doesn’t make another comment but I can hear him stewing from the couch, his irritation a heavy weight on the air.
I know what I’m doing. I do. I have it under control.
That probably explains why I don’t sleep…
* * * * *
It is midday when I realize Jessica didn’t pass by the garage this morning on her way to work. Jessica always passes by the garage on her way to…hell, I don’t know…someplace on the north side of town. Worried, I start walking toward her house. Just to make sure everything is okay.
I won’t lie, after the night I just had every imaginable horror is running through my head. I think I’d be happy if she took the long way around the backside of town just to avoid being seen near me, but I know that isn’t what happened.
The open windows and sounds of a daytime talk show suggest nothing sinister has happened. I don’t intent to go up the concrete steps to the porch but then that’s exactly what I’ve done and then I knock. I expect Cheryl, but Jessica actually answers.
“You didn’t go to work?”
She shakes her head.
“Why?”
“I was informed by telephone first thing this morning that I no longer have a job.”
My eyes narrow. “What was their reason?”
“They didn’t give one.”
“Uh-huh.” I don’t believe this. “Where did you work, anyway?”
“Calico Cat, the diner at the far end of town. I know business isn’t booming but there’s always a steady morning rush and a good lunch crowd. I always made good tips, better than good, so I know my customers liked me.”
“I don’t think this had anything to do with you.” I turn away and start down the steps.
“Where are you going? Don’t you want to come in?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back. I just need to take care of a few things.” I hate being cryptic, but I know she’d try to stop me if she knew what I was up to.
First stop isn’t really a stop, it’s a cruise-by, or walk-by in my case, of the Calico Cat, and just as I suspected there’s a HELP WANTED sign in the window. I take a photo with my cell phone, time-stamped of course. Several photos. Enough photos so that the owner comes out to demand, “Just what in the hell are you doing?”
She’s taller and skinnier than I expected, but then villains don’t always fit the same molds. It suddenly comes to mind that Cruella De Vil was portrayed as tall and thin, skeletal almost, and the Calico’s owner would make most runway models feel overweight. Guess she doesn’t like her own food. The hair is all wrong though. No widow’s peak, no white streak. She actually has a hodgepodge of artificial color cutting swatches through her hair that closely resemble the feline she named the restaurant after. And it isn’t attractive. “Collecting evidence.”
“Evidence? Of what?”
“Discrimination. You fired a young woman this morning without reason.”
“I have plenty of reasons and you’re trespassing. You need to clear out of here—”
“Public sidewalk. Trespassing doesn’t apply.”
“Well, I say get the fuck away from my business. I don’t need the likes of you or that damned whore Jessica near this place. This is a family business.”
“But it was okay to hire the whore in the first place, knowing her previous reputation.”
“You know what I meant.”
“You meant lesbian?”
“She isn’t welcome here anymore. Not her, not you, not your kind. This town has family values. Didn’t you get the message?”
“Is that a threat? Or an admission of guilt?” I turn to my hidden sidekick and ask, “Got it?”
“Every incriminating second.”
Shade walks out of the shadows of an adjacent alley, small video camera still taping.
“You can’t do that.” The owner holds up her hand to shield her face.
“Already done.”
I pray to god Shade got all of it, which I’m sure he did. I slowly walk away, alert to what may or may not be going on behind me, but it is broad daylight and I feel relatively safe. For now.
“Nothing like stirring the pot a little.”
“With a really big stick.” I laugh but don’t really feel it. With Shade’s connections and mine, I hope we can put enough pressure on the Calico Cat to get Jessica her job back before nightfall.
Back at the garage, the real work begins, getting the word out.
Social network sites are powerful weapons and I’m pretty sure if a few people can encourage and produce a third-world country’s civil war, we can call some attention to this middle-of-nowhere town. The feed was too much to send in a text, but once edited with some explanatory narrative and uploaded to a video-based social site, the URL could be sent to anyone and everyone. I start with Janice. Knowing her penchant for gossip and her own level of connectedness through this town, I didn’t doubt word would travel quickly.
“Are you sure you want to load the vandalism video? You seriously downplayed the jeopardy this morning—”
“She’s selling the place anyway. I’ve got nothing to lose now.”
* * * * *
Janice arrives simultaneously with the news crews from three of the major networks. I’m not surprised she’s perfectly coiffed and doling out business cards with her short insider interviews.
A dozen teenaged girls show up in jeans and white t-shirts. I know they aren’t lesbians, but their show of support is heartening.
I see James, introducing himself and showing journalists and anyone who will listen about Sean. This town is changing.
And then the big network trucks start showing up.
“Is your soapbox big enough to handle this?” Shade asks before I step out into the sunlight to face a dozen camera lenses.
“Are you kidding? I was born for this moment.” And as I walk to the huddle of microphones I know that I have been practicing for years for this day.
A dozen questions come at me rapid fire. I hold up my hands until I get silence.
“My name is Danson O’Brian. I changed my name a decade ago from Denise Alanna O’Brian because I needed to redefine myself. I was born female and I’m still biologically female, but I’m also genderqueer. In New York it’s easy to get by with being different, but in the small town I was raised in and have recently come home to, being lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender isn’t acceptable. Hundreds of celebrities and regular people have started a campaign to tell kids that it’s okay, it gets better, but the reality is times are not changing fast enough. There’s too much ignorance and the ones who do understand that discrimination and hatred is wrong need to step forward and demand change…even in small towns.”
I talk and talk. That’s what I do. I know everything I’ve said will be edited down, broken up, changed, but I hope the message gets out. And by the time I walk back into the sanctuary of the gas station, I know I’ve done all I can do.
“The phones are ringing off the hook, Danni. Your cell, my cell, the shop phone. You have interview requests from a dozen national talk show headliners. You couldn’t have staged a better setup for your career boost.”
“I didn’t do this for my career.”
“Yeah, I know that, but it’s perfect timing, now that you won’t have the garage to worry about, and right on the heels of your last book’s release. Man oh man, to be you. You are the luckiest damn dog on the planet.”
I did this for Jessica. And Mrs. Morrison, because it isn’t fair to either of them that Jessica move away just to be afforded the opportunity to be herself—not that she’d go. She’d never leave her grandmother. I also did this for Sean. And Margie. And any others I don’t even know about destroyed by this place.
I did this so this town can have its mind opened. Change comes slow but once it’s b
egun it does come. History has proven that again and again.
Shade taps his message pad. “Oh, and you will be very interested to know that the school principal called and would like to schedule a meeting with you, concerning whether you would be willing to address the students on the topic of Diversity and Acceptance.”
“I’d love to!”
“I thought you would. I directed her to your Dr. Danson O’Brian website. I didn’t think the local administrator’s office was quite ready for full-on Dapper Dan.”
“Probably not, but anyone with a computer can link the two if they do a web search.”
“True. But the Dapper Dan site does have an entry page that warns it is intended for adults only.”
I shrug. I don’t know that the parents around here would take that into consideration. I look on the bright side. I have a meeting scheduled. That in itself is a huge victory.
Chapter Sixteen
Big Storm Coming
When dark descends, the town rolls up for the night and for once I’m happy about that. It’s been an exhausting day and I’m content to finally have a moment to lie on the bed staring at the ceiling fan and doing nothing.
“It’s too quiet, man. I don’t like it.”
“Shh-h, listen.” I have the door open and the windows to let in the breeze and the crickets are just waking up and the locusts are finally quieting down enough to hear something other than their high-pitched wail. “Isn’t that nice?”
“I’d rather hear cars and sirens and—”
In the far, far distance I can hear thunder. “Shut the fuck up, man, and listen.”
It seems forever, but it’s only twenty or thirty seconds later when I hear the rumble again. In New York, you don’t hear the storm coming from thirty miles off.
“What the hell, Danni?” The screen door screeches open without preamble and then bounces closed as Jessica fills the room with seething anger. “Didn’t I say we couldn’t even hold hands in this town? Couldn’t go on a date or to a movie? I have kids!”
Okay, she doesn’t see me as a hero—yet.
“Everyone thinks we’re a couple.”