The bar wasn't strictly a lesbian bar, but a lot of queer women frequented it. It was also close to my condo on my way home from work, so I tended to end up there at least a couple of times a month, more when I was between girlfriends. That was my situation when I walked in on a Friday night after a long week. I wasn't even particularly looking to get laid, just have a few drinks without guys hitting on me.
Unfortunately Claire was there, looking like she'd just gotten off work, her hi-vis vest hanging off the back of her chair. Her back was to me as she sat at a table with friends, so I hurried over to a seat at the other end of the bar where I'd be out of her line of sight.
An hour later I was starting my third glass of wine having just finished chicken Caesar salad when Claire sat down beside me. She'd just come in from having a smoke and the smell clung to her, along with a hint of stale sweat. She had obviously come to the bar straight from work without bothering to shower. She caught the bartender's attention and ordered a double Maker's on the rocks as she placed her hand on my thigh.
"You've got this, right?" She asked as she squeezed. I sighed and nodded to the bartender who added Claire's drink to my tab.
"We're not doing this again," I said. "I told you that last time."
"Sure we aren't," Claire responded with a laugh, taking her bourbon and walking back to her friends. "Come find me in a few drinks."
Claire and I had hooked up a few times, always when I had too much to drink, and I always felt disgusted with myself afterwards. She couldn't be more than 22 or 23, more than twenty years younger than my 45. My tastes run to femmes like myself, and Claire was a hard butch with a blue faux hawk. She always smelled of cigarettes which I couldn't stand, had out of control body hair and never showered after working on a city road crew all day. Unfortunately she was also a monster in bed and it had been four months since I last had a girlfriend. I downed the last of my wine and ordered a vodka Diet Coke.
I spent the next two hours trying to find a woman my age-or at least a femme-on the pull, but no luck. I was well past tipsy when I saw Claire step out for a smoke. Hating myself, I followed her. She was standing alone by the butts can and had just lit a smoke. She took a long drag then handed me the lit cigarette as I walked over. I took a tentative puff and started coughing as she pulled out a second cigarette and lit up. Claire didn't say anything, just watched me smoke and occasionally exhaled a big puff of foul tobacco into my face.
I finally finished the cigarette she had given me, and still without saying anything we walked back into the bar. I went to the bar to pay, and Claire followed me. I asked for my tab and Claire chimed in with, "Mine too." I paid both of our bills, even though Claire's was much larger than mine. She had been drinking top shelf whiskey all night; I don't think she ever intended to pay for it herself. If I hadn't ended up paying for it, she probably would have found someone else from her harem of older women.
While I paid, Claire went to grab her stuff and say goodbye to her friends. I ended up standing by the door and waiting while the other girls and token twink at Claire's table laughed and shot me glances that were a mix of amusement, disgust and pity. When she finally came over, Claire took me by the hand and led me out the door. We walked hand in hand for a little over a block before she let go, showing off her possession of me. Still walking she pulled out and two cigarettes, handing them to me. Knowing what she wanted, I stopped walking. Claire didn't. I quickly lit both cigarettes, puffing them at the same time and coughing. I hurried to catch back up with Claire and handed her one, reluctantly sucking smoke from the other. She saw my lipstick on the filter and laughed before taking a drag. I had quit smoking more than fifteen years ago and I was feeling a little nauseous as we walked.
"I love to look at your oh so prim and proper ass," Claire said, pushing me ahead of her as we walked and I could feel her eyes on the back of my suit skirt as she followed behind me. I knew the way to her shitty basement suit and led us there, gagging on the cigarette. Claire lived five blocks from the bar, and for the entire walk I was torn. On the one hand was an intellectual desire to get the hell out, and on the other hand was a very different desire focused below my waist. My panties had gotten so damp that it was uncomfortable to walk by the time we arrived at the rundown bungalow that she rented the basement of. I tried to convince myself that I'd rather be home alone in my much nicer condo. It didn't work and Claire unlocked the side door and led me down the stairs.
Her living room was a sty, with books, empty pizza boxes and discarded beer cans covering most of the surfaces. "Grab me a beer and one for yourself," Claire said as she walked into the washroom, closing the door most of the way behind her. I opened the fridge in the tiny kitchenette, which was full of bad beer and old takeout and grabbed two cans of Lucky. As I did I heard the hiss of Claire's pee hitting the toilet bowl, followed by a couple of heavy plops. Claire came back out, not bothering to turn on the fan or spray to cover the smell. I opened and downed half my can of terrible beer. I wasn't sure if I was looking for courage to stay or to leave.
Claire sat down on her ratty couch and turned on the TV while I handed her her beer. I started to sit beside her, but before I could she commanded, "Skirt off." Humiliated, I set down my beer and pushed down my skirt and panties.
"Panties stay on for now," Claire snapped. I pulled my cream coloured panties back up, wet spot on the front obvious as I stood there, unsure of what to do. Claire flipped through Netflix, drinking her beer, ignoring me. Finally, as she started some stupid TV show I made to sit again, only for Claire to finish her beer and hand me the empty can.
"Another," was all she said.
