Gateways Grind

This is a lesbian love story that is based in truth as there was a lesbian club in Chelsea called Gateways that was open during a time when male homosexuality was illegal and lesbianism was considered unnatural. Back then a woman could lose her job and her home if it was discovered she was a lesbian. This is a lesbian love story about two fictional women who battled through those times. It is also a homage to the Gateways Club and those wonderful women who bravely fought to create the acceptance lesbians enjoy in society today.

*****

"Come on Elsie it will be fun."

I had known Maggie since we had been evacuated as kids towards the end of the Second World War. We lived in the same block of flats and our fathers were away at war serving in the same regiment. When the sirens sounded our mothers would herd us into bomb shelters where we would huddle together in the tube station. Maggie would tell me stories of magical kingdoms and fairy princesses to distract me from the thuds of bombs dropping above our heads.

My mother always used to call me a proper war baby as I was born on the same day as World War 2 started in Europe in September 1939. Maggie was a couple of years older than me and became the big sister I never had.

The stress of the blitz became too much, so when the opportunity for us to be evacuated presented itself, our mothers shipped us out of the city; off to the country. Devon was like another world, a lifetime away from the grime of London with its bombed-out buildings and the constant air raid sirens. The adults welcomed us with open arms but the local kids resented us. This meant there were constant battles between 'them' and 'us'.

If the local children teased me for being a 'shrimp' due to my diminutive stature it was Maggie who would protect me, wading in with fists flying. Maggie was big for her age and had no fear, as many a boy had found out when they had underestimated her battling prowess.

After the war, we returned to London to find things very different. In some ways I was lucky in that my father had returned from the front. Though the happy boisterous man I kind of remembered had gone; replaced by a man with a haunted look in his tearful eyes. Years after the carnage that devastated Europe had passed, he still jumped at loud bangs or burst into tears for no reason.

Some of his sadness will have been due to what he went through, but a lot will have stemmed from the loss of my mother. A few weeks after I had been evacuated, she had taken shelter in the tube station which took a direct hit. They never found her body, instead, they simply sealed the entrance as a mass grave.

Maggie's father didn't return and her mother never really got over his loss, sinking deeper and deeper into a sea of gin and self-pity. This meant that I ended up becoming the woman of the house to both households as Maggie's mother became less and less capable of looking after herself and her daughter. Maggie was too busy 'having fun' to get involved in chores such as cleaning and cooking.

"Will there be boys there?" I said playing for time, "You know my Dad will go mad if there are boys."

Maggie threw her head back and roared with laughter, "Your Dad won't have to worry about boys pestering you at the Gateways club...anyway you will be with me and you know I always protect you."

She was right about protecting me and she always seemed to be there for me at the right moments. I remembered the Saturday night after my 18th birthday when we went to the local pub and I had perhaps a glass too many. I had gone outside for some fresh air and one of the local 'Teddy boys' decided to try his luck.

At first, it had been OK snogging someone who was smart and mature though his hands seemed to be everywhere, despite my protests. He was touching my breasts and then roving under my skirt. I could feel my pale pink silk panties, a gift from Maggie, cutting into my body as he forced his hand inside them. Then as his finger pushed into my pussy he let out a low whistle as he leered, "Seems you are a tight one., bet you are still a virgin...well it's time to change that."

He pushed me to the ground and lay on top of me between my thighs. I cried out as he tore my panties off me as he unbuckled himself with his other hand. I was crying and knew there was nothing I could do to stop him raping me.

Then suddenly there was freedom from his weight as he rolled off me grunting in pain. Towering over him was Maggie, her eyes aflame with anger as she waved the lump of wood she just used to hit him. He must have said something as Maggie swung the wood again connecting with a dull thud and he collapsed to the floor.

Dropping the plank she pulled me to my feet and helped me rearrange my dress. Then she knelt and picked up the scrap of pink silk that was once my undergarment. Holding it out in her hand she laughed as she said, "Looks like these are ruined so I better buy you another pair," and with that, she tucked them into her bag.

"So are you coming or not?"

Maggie's words jerked me back to the present as she held out her hand to hail a cab. Perhaps if I had gone with her that night my life would have taken a different course, as it was, cold feet got the better of me and Maggie vanished off in a taxi. Her parting shot rang in my ears, "It's 1960 Elsie, you are 21, time to live a little."

From that point on our lives took very different paths for nearly the next 10 years.

Maggie started living with a 'friend' somewhere in the West End and her visits back to the East End became less and less frequent. We did meet up in sad circumstances less than a year later when we both buried our parents on the same day. Maggie's mother's body had finally given up from the abuse she had subjected it; and whatever demons that had been tormenting my father finally won their battle. I came home one evening to find him hanging from the loft hatch, his face strangely peaceful.

"Come on Elsie, come and drown your sorrows at the Gateways club," Maggie said as she pulled me close to her as we stood side by side at the gravesides.

Why I didn't go I have no idea, Maggie was a great friend, and I had no reason not to go, but something inside of me wanted to just curl up in a ball and mourn my Dad.

"Not tonight, Maggie," I said with a sigh.

"I won't ask a third time," Maggie said with a hint of tartness in her voice. "If you change your mind go to this address. Look for the green door and tell them Maggie sent you."

I folded the piece of paper and placed it in my bag before bursting into tears and crying my eyes out as Maggie held me in her arms; letting me sob.

My last memory of her was watching her depart back as she left the cemetery and returned to the West End.

*****

Eddie was so charming at first. He was kind, attentive and funny. A little older than me and if I am honest reminded me of the man my father was before the war. The first warning bells sounded on our honeymoon when Eddie couldn't get an erection. I was a virgin and my knowledge of men was virtually non-existent so had no idea what to do. He took matters into his own hands, forcing me to my knees and pushing his limp cock into my mouth. With the brusque command of 'suck' he proceeded to fuck my mouth until he eventually came.

We did finally manage to consummate the marriage a few days later with me on all fours as he pumped in silence until he ejaculated inside me. That was the pattern from there on, once or twice a month with me on all fours and him behind. The hardest I ever felt his cock was one evening when he decided we should have sex but I was on my period. I thought he would leave it a few nights but he insisted I assume the position but instead of my pussy, he forced his cock into my ass.

I had never experienced anal sex before, in fact, it was something I had never heard of until that night. He was much more animated as he drove in and out of my ass, while I bit the pillow for fear of crying out from the pain.

The other thing was that Eddie started drinking and he wasn't a pleasant drunk. He would come home much the worse for wear and start blaming me for his life but never giving any details. The first few times I would protest but this simply made him lash out. I learnt that it was best to listen to him in silence and feed him whisky until he fell asleep in the chair.

I had to make sure he had enough to drink so that he passed out fully. If he was still able to get to his feet then he would bend me over and sodomise me until I couldn't stand.

That was my life until one day there was a knock on the door and a policeman and policewoman stood there. In a few sentences, they explained that Eddie was drunk and had stepped out in front of a bus. There was nothing the driver could do and death was instantaneous making me a widow a few months short of my 30th birthday.

Of course, there was no life insurance and it quickly emerged that Eddie owed money all over the place. No job and no assets meant I had very few options to survive and chose the only one that seemed viable...I went on the game and became a prostitute.

My time with Eddie meant I had developed two talents that served me well in my new profession. It was surprising how many men became much more interested when I told them that I was willing to do either oral or anal. This also had the added advantage that I didn't have to worry about an unwanted pregnancy.

I didn't normally street walk, leaving that to the younger generation. After all, although it was the seventies, the streets were still a dangerous place for a woman on her own. I had an arrangement with a local pub where the landlord would allow me to discreetly ply my trade in exchange for a freebie. That came to an end when the landlady caught me on my knees sucking her husband's cock as he leaned against the crates of empty bottles.

I am sure the bitch waited until the moment he was about to cum before shouting out. This had the result of him jerking his cock out of my mouth and jetting cum into my face and hair. As his wife towered over me she glowered down and spat, "Now you look like the whore you are."

She didn't need to tell me I was barred, so I cleaned up as best I could with a handkerchief and my compact mirror. Deciding to head up to Chelsea in the West End I tried a couple of pubs I knew where the landlord would turn a blind eye to a working girl, but no joy. The men all seemed to be out with their wives or girlfriends.

Then I found myself standing on a street corner looking at a green door slightly inset and a bell went off in my head. Digging through my bag I found the carefully folded piece of paper that I had kept as my keepsake of Maggie. Sure enough, the address was the same but there were no signs anywhere mentioning the name or even that it was a club at all.

It was just starting to rain and I had the price of a port and lemon in my purse, so deciding I had nothing to lose I knocked on the door.

It opened slightly and I found myself staring into the face of a woman who was dressed like a man. Her hair was slicked back and she wore a three-piece suit in black with a white shirt that was so bright it almost hurt your eyes. The whole ensemble was topped off with a shoelace tie, bright red lipstick and a pencilled-on moustache.

"Yes love how can I help you?" She said, her eyes undressing me as she spoke. It was then that it hit me, this was a lesbian club, which meant Maggie was a lesbian. I was still stunned as she went on, "Members only in the Gateways club."

As she went to close the door my brain kicked in and I blurted out, "Maggie sent me."

The woman paused and peered at me before saying, "Maggie who?"

Praying she still used her old name I said quickly, "Strong...Maggie Strong."

"Well if you are one of Maggie's girls then welcome, come in and enjoy."

She threw the door wide to reveal another woman equally dressed and a narrow staircase leading down to a room filled with women...just women.

As I walked down the stairs, I swear I could feel every woman looking at me. Half of them wanted to ravage me and the other half wanted to tear my hair out by the roots. I wanted to run back up the stairs but a voice behind me said softly, "You will never know until you try."

With my escape route blocked I bolted to the bar and garbled, "A port & lemon please."

The Afro-Caribbean woman behind the bar just looked at me with incredulity before bursting into peals of laughter.

"You don't get to buy the drinks girlie...they do."

She waved her hand at the row of women lining the bar, all of whom were dressed in a variety of men's clothing ranging from suits through to check shirts, braces, jeans and boots.

One of the women, with short hair and a set of dungarees, smiled and nodded to the bar woman. Once we had both been served she looked at me, "I'm Rosie. I haven't seen you in here before are you new?"

I was at a loss for words, I knew I was being chatted up by a woman, something I had never experienced before.

"My name is Elsie and I will be meeting my husband later," I blurted out in a panic.

"Not in here you won't," she laughed, "Women only in here, no men allowed...though you are never sure by the looks of some of these dykes." She raised her voice on the last few words drawing scowls and dirty looks from the others along the bar.

"Why don't we dance?" she said as she held out her hand in invitation.

As we moved around the dance floor to a thumping Motown track, she was close enough for me to smell her perfume. I could have sworn it was the aftershave my father wore but somehow smelt different on her. Her body felt smooth and her touch delicate as we swayed to the music. Every so often her hand would drift across my ass or brush my breast.

"So why are you here? Because as sure as hell you aren't meeting any man."

Deciding to tell most of the truth but leaving out some of it I said, "My husband died and left me penniless so I was looking for work." I didn't mention what type of work but as it was past nine in the evening it didn't take a rocket scientist to work out what I meant.

"Have you ever been with a woman?" She laughed softly.

I shook my head in silence as she tucked a ten-pound note between my breasts.

"It's a meat market here and I think I have just bought myself a nice slice of prime rump."

Taking me by the hand Rosie led me to the toilets and we both squeezed into the stall. I had expected sex to be like with the men with it being transactional and quite sterile but in fact, it was far from it. Even though our movements were hampered by the space and the surroundings weren't the most romantic Rosie made love to me.

Her hands skilfully undressed me as she kissed me with a tenderness and gentleness I had never experienced before. With the top of my dress around my waist, she pushed my bra aside so she could lavish her attention on my breasts. Her talented mouth and lips teased each nipple until they were so erect it was almost painful. My cotton panties were soaked and she supported me as I stepped out of them. She held them to her nose and inhaled deeply before stuffing them into her pocket.

"Would suggest you don't bother with these next time, it makes things easier."

What I was used to was a quick finger to make sure I was wet, almost like a tick in the box before the man presented his erect penis. This was far different as Rosie teased and traced my lips until she was circling my clit, making me stand on tiptoes as the tension built inside my body.

When she eventually drove two fingers into me, I gasped with pleasure, almost cumming on the spot. I found out later that each of the dykes had their own little quirks, Rosie's was making a woman cum with her fingers. That was something she achieved two or three times in the next few minutes as she finger fucked me to orgasm. As I moaned and groaned, she didn't stop but instead kept her fingers pistoning, driving me to yet another orgasm.

As I slumped back against the wall, my body like jelly, she licked her fingers clean, savouring my juices.

"I think you are going to fit in just fine here," she said as she opened the door leaving me to dress myself.

I became a regular at the Gateways Club or 'the Gates' as it was often known and was never short of a dance partner who would buy me drinks all night. In return, I would happily accompany them to the toilets where we would have sex in the cramped conditions. On the odd occasion rather than going in the toilets for a quickie I would spend the night at a dyke's flat and would always be well rewarded for my efforts.

It seemed to be that they either wanted to make me cum with their fingers or tongue, but none seemed to be that interested in me licking them. This was despite me offering on a couple of occasions more out of curiosity than desire.

The other thing I discovered was that most of them loved to use strap-ons, often wearing them like they were real cocks. They would take great pleasure in me getting on my knees and sucking it even though it was rubber and they couldn't feel anything. The great thing about being a plastic cock was I couldn't get pregnant so the need for anal sex diminished, even though on more than one occasion a finger would be inserted as they fucked me.

As I was fucked I would either rub my clit or they would do it for me, resulting in me orgasming loudly on the fake cock. Many a time I would leave the cubicle to looks of jealousy from the other femmes and whistles of appreciation from the dykes.

There were never any formal arrangements made with regards to money but the women knew I needed cash to support myself. The odd note here and there was slipped my way which I always acknowledged with a smile and a blown kiss.

I had managed to get a job in the local pub as the landlady who caught me blowing her husband; had run off with a barman half her age. According to her, he also had twice the cock, which she had shouted for anyone to hear as she left. Alfie, the landlord, wanted blow jobs and more but I made it very clear I wasn't interested in that anymore. To be honest, I wasn't interested in men anymore. When he threatened me with the sack I just laughed as I knew it was an empty threat.

I spent all of my free time down at 'the Gates' after becoming a member. Honestly this was a wonderful world where I felt safe and loved. For me walking down those narrow steep stairs and feeling the soul music wash over me in waves, was like coming home. It was a place where I could be myself without fear of judgement or retribution for being me.

The dykes were on the whole kind and courteous and generally quite generous. I had pretty much stopped asking for money and was happy to give away free for a night of free drinking and sexy company. The one person who was missing from this perfect world was Maggie and although most seemed to know her, none had seen her for months.

One of the things that always fascinated me was their looks. The femmes were easy to spot as they dressed as all females of the time did. Dresses or skirts, never trousers, and hair and make-up immaculate. The dykes varied in style particularly when it came to hair. Some had short hair slicked back like a retro thirties style while others were shaved at the back or sides through to full crops making some look quite fierce.

One night as I sat at the bar waiting for one of the dykes to hit on me, one of them with cropped hair stepped forward and said to the bar woman, "Put it on my tab Alex." Then she turned to me with a smile that was more of a leer as she said, "Want to dance beautiful?"

I should have said no as the woman had the aura of trouble about her. Her hair was brutal in its cut and her clothes were shabby and unkempt, not sharp like the majority of dykes in the club. Her face was mean as she scowled at the world with a permanent look of anger on her.