It was a long day and night. Classes til noon, then lunch and an afternoon and evening of Parent conferences. My first year teaching, but I came to the profession later, after a life in sales, and just knowing I needed to give something back. I have a full schedule of History and Economics to a thoroughly unappreciative gaggle of freshman students in a public high school
After the evening session I went for a drink with some other teachers to a local bar, and as we had no classes the next day decided to continue the evening at a lesbian club about 10 miles distant, unfortunately, alone.
The place was half empty, but I had been there before and nodded to a couple of women I had spoken with in the past. No sparks, and no quickies, life does not always imitate what passes for art in the erotic fiction world. Kim ran up to me and placed my hands on her hips then broke into a spirited half cha-cha as she gave me a slow hello kiss.
My spirits perked, but she ran off and did the same to the next two women who came in. I just laughed and settled into a seat at an empty table. I ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio and settled back to watch the parade of life.
My skirt rose above my knee and slid up my thigh, I slipped my heel off my foot and let it dangle thoughtlessly. Couples danced, stayed together, flowed apart, traded partners. Others, like myself were sitting quietly, waiting, throwing glances, some of which connected and there were waves of movement throughout the evening. I danced and flirted, but none of my partners particularly appealed to me just then, nor I to anyone especially.
Finishing my second glass of wine, I saw a hand on the table, a woman’s left hand, there was the dull flash of gold on the ring finger.
“May I sit here?” a solid voice asked.
It is not that unusual for married women to come here, though most manage to remove their rings. The honest ones will tell you, but the ones who keep their rings on are making a statement. “You may be fun, but I am going home to someone.”
I followed the hand upward with my eyes, a professional smile etched on my lips.
I looked at her face, familiar in a vague way. Her blonde hair framed her smiling face in ringlets, an incongruous string of pearls adorned her throat. I could not recall her last name.
Her son was in my History class second hour. An innocuous lad, somewhat pudgy, affable, cheerful, but seeking approval There had been nothing to really tell her at conference, especially as the sessions were held in a crowded cafetorium with lines of eager parents jammed together. I had not really noticed she was attending the conferences alone
“Miss Archer, right?”
I laughed, “I think you can call me Dee in this informal setting, Mrs. ........?”
“Well, then, I think you should call me June,” a cheerful smile splitting her full lipsticked lips.
She placed her drink down and sat, her silk blouse swelling to allow the outline of a cream colored soft cupped bra with prominent nipples showing clearly.
“I hope you don’t think me forward, nor a stalker. Actually, I am quite surprised to meet you like this. I also hope you are not embarrassed.”
“Why should I be? I don’t hide my sexuality, though I would never flaunt it, especially professionally.”
She laughed again, “Not for yourself, surely. But it can be uncomfortable meeting someone from that other life. You may be assured, I have been involved in this part of our world long enough to realize anyone I meet here will surely not be prudish, nor judgmental.”
That had flashed through my mind. A married woman in a lesbian bar, not far from her home. She must be very secure. It also went through my mind that she may be fishing for a third to ‘spice up’ her marriage. She was obviously bisexual. I recalled several instances where her son, Theodore, had mentioned his father. So it was safe to presume an intact marriage.
“No, I am hardly a prude, I laughed, “Just your run of the mill single lesbian woman,” hoping I had put a stamp on my statement. No men. I hardly felt I needed a sign, but if this town was as close as it seemed to be, perhaps I needed a little more tacit method of telling where I draw the line.
Actually, several of the fathers had flirted quietly, and I have developed a limp enough hand shake to perhaps have discouraged them.
June again smiled, and placed her hand over mine as the waitress replaced our drinks with fresh ones. Alice, the waitress, grinned and chuckled as she noticed just who was the seductress in the tableau.
My mind drifted back to feel June’s stockinged toes running up and down my calf as our fingers entertwined.
I asked her if she cared to dance, and she shuffled into her heel as we rose to walk to the postage stamp sized dance floor. I had my hand on her hip over her black pants, her perfume must have been refreshed before coming out.
I stopped her at the edge of the dance floor and stood behind her. I took her wrists in my hands. The sound system launched into Taylor Dane’s album “Can’t Fight Fate” Remixed, the first song was “Heart of Stone”, we moved sinuously to the fast beat of the driving music and lyrics. The second song was “With Every Beat of My Heart”, by that time I was pressing to her back, rubbing my silky skirt against her, sliding, kissing her neck. I ran my tongue over the edge of the string of pearls, inhaling her now heat heightened scent.
