Most people think hookup joints are sleazy, or possibly sexy, in a purple, fake-leather upholstery with chrome accents kind of way. But, really? They're just like regular bars only there's no TV blaring the latest game above the row of premium spirits. I'd come here for that alone. There's nothing worse than a woman who has one eye on your rack and the other on Russell Wilson scoring a touchdown.
Tonight, when I walk in, I spot her immediately and my heart proves it's keeping me alive by thumping a few extra beats in my chest. The thing is, when you're a woman looking for women, but only on a casual basis, your options are usually limited to ladies who play both sides. I'm not complaining, except I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the feel of a stud above me. Some people would say that's shallow. They'd be right. But getting naked with a stranger is pretty shallow no matter which way you spin it. I figure, if you want a soul connection, then you're better off dating and getting married. Nothing tethers the soul like the good ol' ball and chain.
I find a table in the corner with a good view to watch her. That's something else I appreciate about this place. No one cares if you gawk. It's kind of the point. She's masculine of center and I have to swallow back a whimper. Short hair and ink on her arms, a black button down, and black jeans with boots. All dark this one. She's at the bar chatting up several women at the same time, leaning against the counter like it's there as her personal accessory. She's laughing at something the redhead is saying and, when she turns to look where the girl is gesturing, my eyes drop to her pants. She's packing. I wonder what she's compensating for that she has to walk in here with an extension between her legs?
Not that I have anything against cocks. The silicone kind, at least. They're damn useful for getting the job done when the job involves being fucked blind. I picture her above me, my wrists pinned over my head and held down by her hand. Her weight heavy enough to keep me in place. The dirty thoughts in my head multiply, cloning each other, and make me shiver. I'm glad to be sitting down or I'd be weak at the knees.
There're lots of things to nitpick about my body. What woman doesn't feel that way? But the thing I wouldn't change is my size. I'm small. As in, small bones, small hips, small everywhere. That makes it easy to be pinned by nothing more than bodyweight and attitude.
I like being held down.
I like to struggle.
I like to fight, but only if I lose.
There's a guy behind her rolling his eyes. That's interesting. Most of the guys here love lesbians. I'm always a little amused at the number of dudes willing to part with their wives for a night. Especially if it comes with the promise of a sexy story he can beat off to later. I guess I'm not the only one who thinks there's nothing hotter than two girls together. This guy won't be getting off to her image any time soon. Actually, now that I'm looking at the guys along the bar and not at her ass in those jeans, no one looks too happy but her...and the three, now four, women she has surrounding her like bees worshiping their queen.
That's when I get it. She's a player. A poser. All mouth.
Damn.
I sigh and have a hard and fast debate with my pussy. Could I have sex with a woman I didn't really like? Nothing turns me off faster than look at me I'm so hot self-doubt masking itself as arrogance. Thanks, but if you think you're hot, then I don't. Narcissists need not apply. On the other hand, when will I get this kind of chance again? Her body's definitely my type. Maybe there's a creative way to keep her mouth closed?
My reason and my hormones are at a stalemate, so I get up and head for the bar. Gin and tonic lubricates all my worst decisions. That's when she sees me, and I'm gratified that she drops her hangers-on cold. It's petty, and it makes me a bitch, but I get a rush anyway. Sorry ladies.
"Well, hey." She gives me a very slow up and down. I let her, looking is free, but I don't return her perusal. She doesn't know I've already seen everything on display. I order my drink, and she smiles, cocky and sure of herself.
"Let me get that for you."
I'm already signing the credit card slip so I shrug her off. "No, thanks."
It's a casual statement, but we both know I'm turning down more than her money.
She frowns and shifts her weight. I want to roll my eyes, but even I'm not impolite enough to do that to her face. Clearly Ms. Butch Heartthrob doesn't get turned down very often.
Sorry, not sorry.
"Are you here alone?" she asks. Code for: threesome, or no threesome?
"Alone, but I go for femmes." It's not like it isn't true, even if it's not exactly honest right this second.
She gives me a look like sure you do, honey and takes a gulp of her beer. Her throat works and I watch her swallow while she watches me watch. She smiles again, and I do roll my eyes. It's going to take more than that to change my mind.
"I'm trying to figure out why you don't like me, when you don't even know me," she says.
I make a show of assessing her, forcing myself not to linger on the outline of her cock in her pants. With raised eyebrows and an expression that I hope hints at distain, I say, "Trying a little too hard, aren't you?"
She steps closer until I can see flecks of brown in her hazel eyes. "Protesting a little too much, aren't you?"
"Don't take this the wrong way, but you're a peacock. You think you're hot, and even though you're right, you don't do it for me."
Her eyes narrow. "You think some shy and humble girly-girl is going to fuck you like you need to be fucked?"
I walk away. A question like that doesn't warrant my attention let alone an answer. Shy? Maybe not. But humble would go a long way with this chick.
She grabs my wrist and tugs. Not enough to pull me anywhere, but enough to make me aware that she wants to. "I'm sorry. That was a dumb thing to say."
I send her a bland stare. I'm all for treating people like you'd want to be treated, but she doesn't need to apologize to someone she's not making it with.
"Can we start over? I'll try to bury my ego, and you can maybe give me an inch?"
She looks hopeful, and it's pretty cute. I turn back to the bar.
"I don't think you need any extra inches, Romeo." My eyes fall to her crotch again. I can't seem to stop looking at her cock, and that's just a bit annoying.
I swear to God she blushes. The lighting is dim by design. People are so much more attractive in half light, but I'm convinced I can see red on her cheeks.
"It's just who I am."
That pulls me up short. It hadn't occurred to me that her cock was anything more than a blatant statement. This was getting interesting. "What does that mean?"
"It doesn't come off. Not when I'm having sex."
I swallow. Maybe a little further from center than I'd expected, but not in a bad way. If the pulse between my legs is any indication, she presents in the very best way.
"I prefer she/her pronouns," I say. It's stating the damn obvious, since I'm the definition of the word girl, but it's somehow less awkward than asking directly.
"She/her is fine with me, too. Unless you'd rather call me Sir." She tosses me a wink.
"Dream on." I ignore the rush of heat between my legs. "So, do you fuck with it?"
She gives me a look. "Do you suck pussy with your mouth, or is it just for conversation?"
I almost laugh. My stomach tenses, and I have to work to hold it back.
I kind of like her.
"I do. I'm very good at it. Sure it doesn't come off so I can prove it?" It's an invitation, but not the one she wants.
"It doesn't, but I'm very good too. I promise you won't be disappointed."
I have no doubt. But now I'm stuck. If I say yes, then I'll have to admit I want her to fuck me. I do want her to fuck me. But I don't want her to know that until I bring her down a peg or two.
"Does it come off when you masturbate?" It's a non-sequitur, but I'm curious. How does she orgasm if she doesn't have access?
"I jerk it off and the base rubs against my clit," she says.
I get an instant mental picture: her cock sliding in and out of her palm, eyes closed, head tilted back, hips pumping. Sensation surges down my body like a thousand fingertips against my skin and ends in a pool between my legs. I'm crazy wet which is going to make it harder to pretend she doesn't affect me. It does give me an idea, though. "So, I guess you must like blowjobs then?"
Her jaw loosens and she stares. "What?"
"Blowjobs." I pronounce the word slowly like she's particularly dense. "Do you like them?"
She swallows again, but this time it's not on purpose. "Yeah. When a woman likes it as well."
