Lesbian in Love

Anytime I see her, the only tongue that wants to spring out, isn't the one that involves words.

She grinds me at the local Lez pub and I collapse in an epileptic fit. When she asks if I'm okay, I tell her that's my dance move.

I wear the sheerest shirt I can, and only open my jacket when she walks by. Mind you it's hot and I've kept it on all night, but Snap buttons make an excellent sound effect and she had to have heard it. Pop pop pop pop!

I gift her heterosexual men, introducing her to my LezBros again and again, in hopes she's gay and pays more attention to me than them. My lesbian brotherhood gages her interest. If they think she's full of rainbows, they beef my image in her eyes.

I stand in the corner of the bar with my wingman, cowering while he encourages me to talk to her. I'd've crawled under the table, but my LezBro is blocking me while trying to make it look suave. She looks at us with a confused expression, but we look cool.

I turn red and nearly pass-out when trying to ask for her phone number. Instead I put my foot in my mouth and she gives me a strange rebuking look. I have no idea what I said. My LezBro carries the conversation and gets her number for me. I can't remember how he did it, everything was bright and fuzzy. I think he told her to checkout my writing. Who knows?

We're dancing and while resisting the urge to bite her, I rub my nose and lips against her shoulder. Oops. Hopefully she'll forget that. I certainly didn't.

I sprint to the restroom shaking, and a girl walks out of a stall. She asks if I'm okay. I stutter something incomprehensible and she gives me a strange look. I blurt out I haven't been laid in two years. She says, "Damn, I'll lay you right now." It's not the first offer I've had tonight, but I still can't say yes. I'm blocked by the image of HER.

I haven't seen her in awhile, and pretty sure she wouldn't care to talk to me as I've pissed her off every time. [No idea what I said.] But no matter how many girls (over ten, I lost count) offer to buy me a drink, I think of her and can't accept. I go to the restroom, a stall opens, and a smoking hot woman with her blouse unbuttoned and a gorgeous lace bra with well-equipped breasts spots me. She doesn't wash her hands. I am clearly a major distraction to her routine. She tells me I'm gorgeous, brushes my hair aside. This woman is clearly drunk. But how drunk? I thank her for the compliment, and she pets my head aggressively. Not once, but over and over again until the static electricity reminds me of a high school science project. She keeps telling me I'm gorgeous. I compliment her bra... meaning to compliment her breasts. I'm off-guard. She's asking me questions. I can't think. I button her shirt so I can think. I'd rather be taking it off. I really have to pee. Do you think she'd wait? This would be the opportunity of a lifetime. Maybe a chance to move on. But the reasons feel wrong and I hate feeling I'd be taking advantage. She's really drunk. So I decline politely, and in doing so, piss yet another woman off for the night. Great. Nothing like being hated at a lesbian bar.

I dream with my arms around her, my nose nestled into the back of her neck. When I wake I'm spooning my pillow in an awkward side-straddle. At least she wasn't there to feel that. Good thing no one saw. Need more practice.

I keep asking her if she's five foot ten. It's practically how I say hello. She thinks it's because I used to be a talent scout. That's probably what came out of my mouth, something from my old resume. I say it again, "Are you five foot ten?" She's already answered a hundred times, but what I'm really asking is if she wants to dominate me. She could kill me with one hit. But I want her to pin me. I piss her off again. What did I say? She walks away. I realize I accidentally drooled on my hair.

I keep seeing her face in pornos, and I'm tempted to ask her if it's her, but then the sharp sensation of her elbow striking my face comes to mind. "Are you 5 ft 10?"

She walks up behind me and taps my shoulder. Her gentle voice rings my name between my ears. I don't have the heart to tell her I orgasmed. I've never orgasmed with anyone until now. She has a surprised expression on her face. I blush and sprint away. Just before I'm out the door, I see her hasten to the restroom with one of her friends. Is she gathering herself? Was she nervous too? Am I the topic of discussion?

I go to a friends' house for a party and help in the kitchen. It's better than social anxiety. I'm scared of the number of new people I'll meet. SHE shows up, and my friend introduces us, not knowing we've already met. SHE isn't pleased. My head is frazzled with nerves, my hands are shaking. I let someone else use the knives and take to washing the salad. While straining the lettuce, she grabs my hips and reaches around for a silverware drawer. I feel a sudden jolt throughout my body and bash my head into the cabinet. We're all startled at this point, but I'm the only one who looks stupid and can't explain it. Forget speaking, my tongue twists without the grace of poetry.

I'm so captivated talking to her I forget I have to pee. When it becomes urgent, I sloppily excuse myself and resolve my business with the "Room of Requirements." When I get back, she's gone.

I go to my local watering hole. A place near home I frequent only with close friends. I see an extraordinarily attractive woman. I sit next to her. I think about "volleyball grrl". I was just talking about volleyball grrl with my LezBro. We're still talking about her. I look at the woman next to me. She's incredibly gorgeous, dressed in workout clothes. Wow. She looks familiar. We talk. I go back to my volleyball conversation with my LezBro. We crack a few erotic jokes. [I am a Lesbian Erotica Writer]. I notice my mouth is too profane for public, but fuck it. I gaze at the woman again, and pleadingly hope she's gay. Her friends appear to be so, or at least bisexual. I hope she's not bisexual. She probably is. My LezBro and I introduce ourselves. Her name is the same as THE GIRL. Coincidence. Life jabbing me in the ribs while it laughs. We chat with her friends. They're nice. I stare. She smiles. OH SHIT. It's HER. We talk. I remember. She pretends not to. Or maybe I didn't leave much of an impression. People probably rub their face in her back all the time. What happened on the dance floor has apparently disappeared from her mind thanks to an intense amount of liquor. We talk, smile, laugh. Apparently she works at the building behind. I remember her last name, and many details about her. She remembers me, but nothing about me. CRAP. I stumble through a paragraph of jumbled dyslexic words. Great, now I've developed dyslexia. She's stares at me. She's lost interest. I ask her if she has my number, and grab her phone without waiting for her reply. She smiles and admits she doesn't even remember me giving it to her. I told her I pissed her off taking her beer out of her hand to give her my number. Then remind her I gave her beer back immediately. She appears to be a little less pissed, but she's turning her shoulder away from me. The shoulder I'd almost bitten by impulse. I don't have the heart to lookup my name in her phonebook. It's probably not even there. I put her phone down, and apologize for snatching it without permission. She turns her back to me for the rest of the night. She clearly wants nothing to do with me. My bar friends say otherwise. We talk. The signals appear to be 50 pro, 50 con. We debate, analyze. In the end, they agree, she wants nothing to do with me.

I go to the building behind the bar. The place where she works. It's huge, looks incredible for the business vision. She'd said she'd studied business. Clearly, she knows how to spot good people to work with. I want to see her play, coach, but I know she wants nothing to do with me. I leave, and hardly go to my local watering hole anymore. What if I run into her?

I hangout with some of her friends, they're nice. I like them. I can never accept a drink. Luckily I haven't run into her. Probably best. I can imagine myself sprinting away every time I see her. I'll probably do everything I can to avoid her.

It's over. That's best. Clearly, I don't have any effect on her.