Sneakers!

With the air cleared between she and Elle, Slow visits a lesbian bar for the first time.

I sat in the parking lot for I don’t know how long, screwing up my courage. Across the street, business at Sneakers! was somewhat steady, proving it was going to be a wonderful Saturday night in the city. So why the hell was I staring through my windshield at the place? 

I hadn’t been back since Valentine’s Day with Misty Sue. Not that I hadn’t toyed with the idea, but life has a way of getting busy. Once Misty Sue began spreading the news of my virtues to every lonely housewife in town, I hardly had a spare weekend to myself. Or weekday afternoon, for that matter. 

I’m not complaining! Don’t get me wrong, but almost all of my experiences have been with married women. Every time one of their husbands pulled up at the garage, I wondered if he was there to clean my clock rather than get on oil change. Floyd Barret scared the shit out of me last Monday when he pulled a rifle out of his truck. Franklin just laughed, the ass — Floyd was returning the rifle after borrowing it from Franklin. I had to take the rest of the afternoon off to wash out my boxers.

Besides, I had to admit to a certain level of curiosity. I had never been with a woman like me — as opposed to a straight chick taking a walk on the wild side. Was I missing anything? It’s not like I could ask the fellahs at the Bronc about their experiences. My sexuality isn’t a topic of conversation, though it’s an unspoken town-wide secret. The guys fart around and joke about this woman or that rumored to be slipping between the sheets with someone. They give me sideways looks but don’t say what they’re thinking. Just as well. They’d be disappointed. I’m not bagging that many women. 

Elle Shipley showing up at the garage last week didn’t make matters easier. What happened happened, but damned if I was going to sit around moping about it. I’d done plenty enough of that last year and didn’t care to watch the reruns. I cared for her a lot, maybe even loved her, but I had no intentions of bringing her down. She needed to get good grades in college, find a decent woman and make a life for herself that didn’t involve mowing the lawn, weekend neighborhood barbecues and the inevitable mid-life spread. 

And I had my own life to consider. So here I sat across from the only lesbian bar I knew of in a fifty-mile radius, half scared out of what little mind I have.

The banty roosters were there just like last time. It had been four months since my first visit and for the life of me I couldn’t tell if they’d changed membership or not. There were four of them tonight, leaning against the building, smoking cigarettes, sleeves rolled up to reveal well toned biceps and tattoos. Open alcohol containers aren’t allowed on the street, but one had a hip flask that made the rounds when they deemed nobody was looking. They seemed relaxed and confident. I wondered if they were always like that, or did they learn it like I was learning at home?

That’s when I realized that the old feelings from high school had come back while I sat here. Last year, I spent a lot of time not liking who I was because of stuff the other kids would do or say about me. I thought I’d come a long way since then, but here I was worrying about it all over again. Why? The women in that bar were strangers to me. Their opinion shouldn’t count for anything, no more than the notions of a bunch of unruly apes like my schoolmates did.

Except that they’re like me.

That ticked me off. Damned if I was going to let a bunch of dykes I didn’t even know make me feel shitty about myself. I do all right in that department by myself; I didn’t need the help. I got out of my truck and locked the door. Sure, she don’t look like much, but this is the big city. Just my luck someone would recognize the tender loving care put into her engine, and then I’d be walking home. I used the moment to give myself a once over. It was hot, the June sun still hanging in the sky. Heat baked into the soles of my work boots. I wore clean jeans, a sleeveless tee and a blue short-sleeve shirt with the buttons undone. Mama always said that shirt brought out the color of my eyes. 

Putting thoughts of my mother firmly out of my head, I braced myself and marched across the street. The roosters gave me the eye as I approached. I put a bit of swagger in my step and kept my head high. One said hi and I returned the greeting but  didn’t stop to chat. As I slipped into the bar, I belatedly wondered if the same bouncer would be there.

No one guarded the entrance, and the bar wasn’t near as crowded as it had been when I was there before. I frowned, having expected the place to be packed wall to wall. But then, it was earlier than it was last time I’d been there, too. Maybe the place didn’t pick up until later. With no bouncer to impede me, I sauntered over to the bar just like I would at the Bronc. The bartender did the deed by asking for my ID. Other than a raised eyebrow of suspicion, she went ahead and gave me a beer. After I paid, I lounged there on a padded stool, checking out the scenery. 

There were maybe twenty patrons scattered about the place. A handful were having a private party on the second floor balcony, crammed into one corner and laughing loud enough to be heard over the canned music. The dance floor was empty, but there were three couples sprinkled among the tables there, and I figured sooner or later someone would get a hankering. That’d probably wait until the DJ got fired up, though. I shared the bar with about a half dozen women like me, nursing drinks and waiting for something exciting to happen.

It looked like it was going to be a long wait.

I took my time with my beer and ordered another. Things picked up some by the time I finished my second one. The population had tripled, and someone had turned on the overhead fans to move the air around. Over at the door, the bouncer was set up. She was the same one who had carded me last time, big and beefy. Her buzz cut was longer now and slicked down with gel. She had to pass me to get where she was, walking by in a cloud of Old Spice and giving me a wink. Was it a good thing she remembered me from my last visit or not? While I pondered the question, I got directions for the bathroom from the bartender. I had her get me another beer for good measure and pushed off of my stool. 

Once I heeded the call of nature, I stepped out into a tiny alcove outside the bathrooms. Did the men’s room ever get used here? I hadn’t seen many men on my last visit, but then I was more interested in getting into Misty Sue’s panties at the time. There was a pay phone in the corner and a bulletin board across the way with various announcements of meetings and things. Curious, I took the step closer and started reading. 

Wow. There was a whole bunch of things to do if you were a dyke in the city. The notices were about rap sessions, job opportunities, some sort of parade…there was even a bowling league. My eyes scanned further along and froze on a garish pink handout. 

Sneakers! had an open mic night.

Before I could dwell on the knowledge, the music from the bar turned up a notch and the woman DJ announced that she was going to rock this place. There were whoops of excitement, and I returned to my seat to watch the show. Or at least I would have had someone not been sitting in it.

The place wasn’t packed to capacity yet, so I wondered why the interloper had taken my spot. In fact, there were two stools on her left and one on her right that weren’t taken, and the beer I had ordered sat untouched right in front her. All in all, I had to admit the view was a nice one. She wore low-slung jeans and a form-fitting pastel blouse that left an appealing amount of skin bare above her thick black belt. She had a tattoo there, some swirly Celtic design that was all the rage, but I could only see some of it. I wouldn’t mind seeing the whole thing and wondered if she’d go for a private viewing.

I eased up on her right, reached in front of her and slid my beer closer. “Nice tatt.” She turned her head toward me with a smile on her face, and I recognized her. When I had been here on Valentine’s Day, she’d been the one watching me and Misty Sue from the balcony. 

“Thanks.”

The bartender delivered a mixed drink to her, and I hastily threw some money on the counter to cover it. I still hadn’t sat on the neighboring stool, putting me very close to her. She wasn’t complaining, so I remained where I was. It was nice smelling her perfume, and being only inches away did wonders for my libido.

She lifted the drink in toast. “Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.” I watched her take a sip, followed the movement of her throat as she swallowed. Up close she was prettier than I had given her credit for. A light dusting of freckles hid beneath her makeup, and I realized that she probably wasn’t too much older than me. I think that made her even more appealing, and I took a swig of my beer.

“I’m Becca.” She offered her hand to me. 

“Slow.” Her skin was cold from the glass but warmed up mighty fast in my hand. 

She gave me a quizzical look. “Slow?”

I grinned. “Yup.”

A smile twitched at her lips. “How slow?” 

Laughing, I gave her hand a squeeze. “Slow enough to make it worth your while.”

She had a sweet blush, and her green eyes became just a touch hooded. Leaning forward so she didn’t have to yell, she spoke in my ear. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Please do.”

I let her hand slide out of mine, grinning at her flushed face. Oh, this is going to be fun. I’m glad I decided to come inside. After a moment’s debate, I opted to remain standing rather than take the stool behind me. Hell, she sat on my stool for a reason and didn’t seem too put out with my proximity. Sitting on the stool would put a good foot or two distance between us, something I wasn’t willing to do just yet.

Around us the music pounded, though the dance floor remained bare. At the door a line had developed in the entryway as the bouncer took her time with her job. The DJ demanded that a particular couple get onto the floor when she changed songs. It must have been a popular tune, because several folks eagerly joined the DJ’s friends. Dancing wasn’t my forte, but lots of the women I’d been with loved to “cut a rug,” as my daddy would say. Apparently that wasn’t just a straight chick thing either. Becca moved in her seat, enjoying the music, and I had a moment’s indecision. I could shit or get off the pot—stand here scared of making a fool of myself or take this woman out there and let her have some fun. The more fun she had now, the more fun I might have in my immediate future.

I took a swig of my beer and set the bottle down with a thump. Moving closer to her, I put my hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you want to dance?”

“Sure!” She rewarded me with a brilliant smile and hopped down from the bar stool, her body pressing against mine. 

Reluctant, I stepped back to give her more room, and she winked at me. I liked her impish grin. My hand found hers, and I led her to the now-crowded floor. 

We danced through three songs. I was pleased to discover Becca was a toucher, never letting more than a few seconds go by before her hands drifted across my shoulders, arms, or waist. I tried to do the same in return, but my attempts were awkward in comparison. I wonder if there’s someplace a body can take lessons? Bet there was something listed on that bulletin board in the hall back there. I didn’t have a TV or cable, so I didn’t have the benefit of seeing how people my age were dancing these days on those music stations. My lack of ability didn’t seem to bother Becca. She stepped closer, our bodies mere inches away from one another. Looking me right in the eye, she gave me that grin and slowly licked her lips. Her hands drifted to my neck, and she pulled me in for a kiss.

Both Misty Sue Morton and Caroline Levinson had taught me how to keep dancing during a make-out session, thank God. Otherwise I would’ve fallen on my ass right there in front of everybody. Becca’s lips were soft and sweet, her tongue gentle along my lower lip. I stepped closer, my hands on her waist, wanting to deepen the kiss, but she pulled back with another of those damnable winks and a laugh. I guess all women are flirts like that, whether they prefer men or women. It was something to chalk up to experience. I gave her a smile, wagging a warning with one finger. She laughed again and twirled around, looking provocatively over her shoulder at me.

Now there was a challenge I couldn’t let pass. I stepped forward, pressing against her back, my hands on her hips. It must have been what she wanted, because she leaned against me, her ass grinding backward. Her hands found mine and drew them around her slim belly, pulling me close. I loved the way her body felt as it moved. I sent another prayer of thanks to the women in my life as I adjusted my movements to Becca’s, glad for the experience that allowed me to loosen up enough to do so. She had short light brown hair, giving me easy access to her bare neck. I couldn’t help but give her a nibble there. 

She released my arms, raising her hands over her head as she danced. Her short shirt rode up in the process, and I caressed the firm skin of her abdomen with my right hand. I wondered how far she’d let me go. On a lark, I slipped the tips of my fingers beneath her jeans, my palm covering her bared belly button, and pressed her close. She threw me a laughing smile before a quick bump and grind with her ass. I dutifully followed along, seemingly joined at the hip with her. 

My left hand felt left out so I slid it down the front of her thigh, scrunching down a bit to reach as far as I could without losing contact with that scrumptious derriere, then drew it back up with my fingers teasing her inner thigh.  I barely brushed her crotch when she turned in my arms, leaving my hand perched on her ass. The lustful expression on her face told me she wasn’t put out, and I casually slid my hand into her back pocket as deep as it could go, squeezing her close. The kiss she gave me sparked fire from my head to my toes. When she pulled away, we were both breathless, leaning our foreheads together as we stared at each other. The song had changed again, but damned if I could remember when it had happened. 

“C’mon.” 

She drew me off the dance floor, and I wondered if we were heading to her place or something. My place was out of the question. I doubted I could make the thirty-minute drive without touching her. Instead of the exit, she directed me toward the dark alcove where the restrooms were. There was a line outside the women’s room now, and I frowned. She has to pee? I’d overheard the guys at the Bronc talking about the kinky stuff, usually spoken of in hushed tones of awe and disgust. I hoped Becca wasn’t into…what did they call it? Golden something? The idea of someone taking a whizz on me wasn’t appealing, and I didn’t think I could do that to someone else.

Rather than wait in line, she bypassed it and headed for the mens’ room. Startled, I followed. It was darker in there, almost as dim as the hallway outside. It looked like some lights had been removed or the bulbs not replaced. At the sink, a woman sat on the counter, making out with another. Before I could do more than register surprise, we’d passed the urinals and had entered one of the stalls. The music was more muffled, but the bass line just as heart thumping, maybe more so now that the tenor didn’t distract from it. The couple at the sink provided an exciting counterpoint to the tunes as they panted and moaned. I guess men didn’t use this bathroom at all, I thought before releasing my mind for more carnal pursuits. 

Becca filled my arms, pressing me against the metal partition as her hands roamed my body. They were everywhere, my belly, my breasts, my hair, my ass. She was about as forward as Caroline Levinson back home, and I liked it. She brought her hands up my sides, forcing my arms up as she continued pushing skyward. “Hang on, darlin’. Don’t let go.”

Never one to deny a request from a beautiful woman, especially one intent on pleasuring me, I did as she wanted and gripped the top of the partition. She smiled as she slid her hands back down, coming to my shoulders and tantalizingly bypassing my breasts. “You are one hot little butch, Slow,” she murmured, her voice barely above the music. “I’ve been daydreaming of you since I saw you a few months ago.” Her hands dropped to my tee, easily slipping beneath the cloth. Her touch was hot as she firmly caressed my ribs, her thumbs stroking ever closer to my swollen nipples. She leaned in and gave me a searing kiss, flicking my nipples with the tips of her thumbs as she did so. 

I gasped and groaned. “I’d have been back sooner had I’d known.”

Becca laughed, a melodious sound that sounded both sweet and sinful at the same time. “I bet you would.” She pushed the hem of my tee up to my throat, promptly taking a nipple into her mouth, sucking hard. 

My hips surged forward and my eyes closed as I moaned. God, that felt good! She met my hips with hers, her thigh slipping between mine. As she suckled, we rubbed against each other, her hands gripping my hips. I tried to give as good as I got, but it wasn’t easy with my hands out of play. That and the constant distraction of arousal burning in my abdomen anyway. It didn’t help that every time I’d develop a good rhythm she’d change it, keeping me off kilter. When she wasn’t lavishing attention to my breasts, she was running her hands all over my skin until I tingled with need. Her tongue soon followed suit, sliding down my abdomen, teasing my belly button and points farther south. 

Those hot hands found my belt, and she tugged at the stiff leather, inadvertently giving me a wonderful thrill as my swollen clitoris rubbed hard against her thigh. The sensation of impending arousal was sharp, and I tried to press closer. She would have none of it, though, pulling away from me. “Not yet, darlin’. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

I would have argued the point, but the look in her lascivious eye told me I’d regret opening my mouth at this point. She seemed like the take-charge kind of woman and, while I’d become quite good at diverting such notions in the ladies I’d been entertaining, for the life of me I couldn’t do so now. 

Becca opened my jeans, tugging hard as she drew the denim and leather down to my knees, bending over to do so. Her fingers tickled as she caressed the bared back of my thighs, reaching the apex of my ass and digging in to pull the cheeks apart. It put a different but delicious sort of pressure on my clitoris, and I moaned aloud. “God.”

She grinned up at me, having knelt down, and leaned forward to inhale as her fingers curled around and lightly stroked my vulva. “Goddess,” she corrected before burying her face in my crotch. 

“Goddess!” My voice was loud enough to be heard over the music. I think the couple at the sink paused a fraction of a second, but I could care less. All my attention was on Becca and her talented tongue as it slid through my folds, teasing me even more as she lapped up the wet evidence of my excitement. My thighs quivered as I tried to spread my legs, but my jeans kept me pinned in place. The woman had me right where she wanted me, and I was only too glad to let her have her way.

At some point she pulled away. I know I begged then, my clitoris pounding with need. “Lift up a bit, darlin’. Come on. Just a little.” I opened my eyes, taking my weight on my hands and upper arms with some effort. She lifted my legs just enough to slip her head between my thighs. Now I dangled there on a flimsy partition, my jeans entrapping the knees that were draped over her shoulders. At first it was mighty uncomfortable, at least until she dived back in. We both supported my weight, and this position afforded me a little better angle and easier access for her. I’m all for easier access.

Becca stroked me with her tongue until I couldn’t stand it any more. Then she gently took my clit into her mouth, and her knowing fingers found their way inside me, filling me almost to the point of discomfort. She thrust in time with the bass from the bar, the music of our partners in crime reaching its own crescendo, as I finally reached the pinnacle. My hips rocked as I orgasmed, my voice joining the other’s.

She let me down easy, guiding me with gentle touches and an occasional stroke of her tongue until I felt like a long, wet noodle. Between the two of us, we got ourselves back up on our feet. I didn’t bother pulling my jeans up — there wasn’t anything to hide after that, was there? She held me close, supporting me until the shaking of my legs and arms subsided. 

I looked down into her eyes, seeing the hunger there, knowing she needed release. Smiling, I whispered into her ear. “You are a goddess.” The rumble of her laughter delighted me, and I pulled back and kissed her. She tasted of me, and a whole new sensation of arousal ignited in my abdomen. “Time for me to worship you, darlin’.”