Meaningless Isses

This story is part of the

Pink Orchid 2023 for Women-Centric Erotica Challenge

.

The spa in this story is real, but sadly first moved their monthly women's night to a Monday and now no longer runs women's nights at all -- it's strictly men only. First Out was demolished as part of building the Elizabeth Line (aka Crossrail) rapid train service across London.

____

The

First Out

café was always crowded upstairs. I balanced my meal and drink on my tray, praying I wouldn't have to resort to seeking a seat in the basement, when I spied an empty chair.

"Excuse me. Is this seat taken?

"No, not at all. You're welcome." The well-spoken tone wasn't what I'd expected from the sullen late-teenage girl, who clutched her denim jacket around herself as she looked up from her popular thriller. I gave her a second look.

"Is that food good?" she asked.

"Yes! It always is. Put it this way, I ate here regularly for about six months before I realised it was all vegetarian."

"Impressive. Could you mind my seat, while I get some, too? Thank you." She gave me a shy smile, transforming her grumpy appearance.

I'm a sucker for a cute smile.

I gave the girl a good long third look while I had a good view of her from behind. A tall brunette, dressed in black, hair drawn back in a practical bunch, deep red lipstick a nod to dressing up. Slim, cute little cleavage and dinky curves of her bum in snug jeans. Nice.

Totally different from my blonde ex, who had just ruined my plans for my evening, by materialising and taking her new squeeze downstairs to the basement bar. That bar would shortly become an intimate nightclub, which I had planned to dance my cares away in.

The girl in black returned, with a plate. "Thanks. You come here often, then?"

She sounded curious, not chatting me up, so I told her. "Yes. I've got a few queer friends in London, but I used to come down every other weekend from uni to see my girlfriend. I'd hang out here until she could escape work. I got to know other regulars -- it's a really nice place. I suppose I won't, much, now."

"You said, 'used to?'"

"She dumped me. Long, complicated story... Basically, water under the bridge, now." I exhaled, trying not to sound too bitter. "It wasn't like we'd ever marry or anything. I suppose. Sorry, spilling my life's woes."

"That's OK. It's not like I'm in any hurry to rush off." She shrugged. "It was my dad's birthday today, so I visited my folks, but I just couldn't take any more of their... disapproval. Of everything." A sigh. "Mostly of me. Actually, mostly immigrants and gypsies, typical Daily Mail shit, but if I object to hearing about that, then it's

me. Again.

My train home isn't until tomorrow -- I'm working in Manchester. Gap year thing. Where are you at uni?"

"Cambridge. Yeah, the actual one. You

asked

," I added, defensively.

"Yeah, of course. Do you find people are really judgemental?" She seemed to be relaxing, her arms less tight to her body as she ate.

"Sometimes. Why? Have you got a place lined up for next year?"

She nodded. "The other place."

"Oh well, you can't have taste in everything." I made the expected insult regarding Oxford. "Sorry, that was rude. You don't even know my name! I'm..."

"Laura," she chimed with me. "You're three years older than me."

I stared at her, but couldn't place the face.

"

School

," she explained succinctly. "My name's Rachel. You wouldn't know me; I wasn't in your house. I only remember your name because of all those prizes and things you got at Speech Day. You had a fabulous dress for your comeback!"

I giggled. "That was a fun afternoon. Particularly meeting Miss Moorcroft again."

"Why? That cow!"

"Exactly! She told me not to apply to Cambridge; I'd never get in. Wouldn't even give me an application form, the bitch. My tutors sorted that. And, well. I'm in my third year, now."

"She didn't like me either. 'I

suppose

you could waste your time applying, if you

really

want,' she went. I think she just didn't like scientists. Probably thinks it's 'unladylike'."

"Or you had an attitude problem." I agreed with Rachel. "Thought I had an attitude problem, rather. I mean, I probably

did

, seeing how many rules I could bend horribly without breaking them. But I think that's a sensible reaction to school! Welcome to the real world -- where being an obedient sheep gets you nowhere in life, and you

have

to shove yourself forward! I'm starting to get the hang of that."

It had got me Andy and Ali, after all. And some excellent times with Richie and other friends with benefits, not to mention a holiday job which had led to my excellent final-year project and, assuming I didn't mess up my Finals, a funded PhD place.

This Rachel laughed. "She definitely thought I had an 'unwelcome attitude', she called it! And was right gobby. I mean, I am, like. I'd tried arguing for our sex education to cover lesbians and stuff, you see, seeing as it's a private school so not legally subject to Section 28..."

"Go you!" S28 of the Local Government Act had made it illegal for state schools to teach about 'homosexuality as a pretended family relationship'. In reality, this meant never mentioning it at all. "I take it, you got nowhere?"

"I was told to keep quiet about my 'unsavoury ideas'. I wasn't even saying anything like if

I

might be queer..."

"And yet: here you are: in the epicentre of queer London!"

She didn't deny it, just smiled a bit nervously, and let her posture unstiffen another fraction.

It made her even more attractive.

I felt a tingling. What my mate Sanj would call 'a bad case of the fanny-gallops'. 'Fanny' is one of the many British euphemisms for 'cunt'. We did wonder if gay American men might use the same phrase, what with fanny meaning backside, there. I'd never met one to ask.

Meanwhile, this Rachel, causing my loins to stir... "You've left school, last July, then?" I checked.

"Mm-hm. Didn't even bother going back for Speech Day in October -- the engineering firm I'm working for were having a pub crawl, which sounded like much more fun. So would hitting my head on a wall, being fair! I wasn't getting any prizes or anything. You know how they see who got top grades in each subject, then give the prize to whoever didn't piss the staff off too much."

"Yeah. They didn't have much choice in my year -- not an academic bunch! I'm just glad there were others who got an A in maths, or it would have been even more horribly embarrassing." I'd collected the prizes for all my other subjects, as well as the main A-Level Prize. No wonder this girl remembered me, trotting back and forth across the daïs, on repeat.

"Mm. So. Words of wisdom. What can you tell me, now you've had three years away from school? You had a gap year too, then?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "I worked for a German chemical firm for a year. My brain nearly exploded, learning the language as well as everything else, but it was fab. Then college. It's... Well, it's all real life. All that shit you get from school, you know? Just

gone

." I grimaced. "Mostly. God forbid you get reported to the housekeeper for puke in the bathroom, or damage to a door -- fines of £100..."

"You drink a lot, do you?"

"It wasn't

my

puke!" I wasn't going to tell her I hadn't noticed, because Will had come back to my room and I'd shagged him to see if I might be interested in men. Answer: probably. He wasn't interested in me once he'd sobered up; the feeling was mutual. I'd escaped the fine by forcing him to come back and scrub the bath clean. He's a total lightweight.

She giggled. She really was attractive, now she wasn't tense. I went on, "And sex and sexuality just aren't a big deal any more. I mean, sure, not being straight is a big deal, in places, but generally colleges are so right-on that any homophobes stay quiet until they're down the Christian Union. Most people don't care."

I went on, "I suppose the lads tend to be kinda 'just don't make a move on me, mate' -- though, actually, a fair few of my male friends seem to have experimented a bit! Don't get me wrong, there's loads of gossip about who likes who, who's shagged who, but it doesn't have that...

priggish?

overtone any more? Everyone assumes that most people

have

had sex at some point, so the basic fact that someone

has

; it just isn't a big deal."

Rachel nodded, thoughtful, slightly red. I guessed she hadn't had sex yet. Not with a woman, rather. Always harder to track down. I figured she'd have found a guy to relieve her of her virginity on her gap year scheme, if not before. Easily. I

really

liked her face. And that armful of long sleek hair...

She spoke again. "Why are you here, then?"

"What do you mean?"

"Either you're here to pass time because you don't have anywhere to go, or you're meeting someone. Which?"

Ouch.

Might as well tell her.

"I

was

thinking of an evening dancing, maybe meeting a few friends, getting over the ex. Find some perky lass to snog on the rebound! But... said ex has just gone downstairs, which rather scuppers that one."

Rachel flickered a reaction when I mentioned snogging someone, then winced. "Was it a bad breakup?"

"Not really. Just... It still hurts." I didn't want to try to explain the pain from having people not think it was much of a relationship in the first place.

Rachel nodded, taking it at face value, which was nice. "I suppose time will help. That's what they say, isn't it? Can I get you another?"

We chatted about this and that for another hour. I flipped idly through Time Out and the Pink Paper, seeing what other women's nights were on. Eventually I asked why she was there, though it was obvious -- a new young queer looking for validation that she wasn't alone.

"Somewhere to hang out, that isn't my parents'. I can take any train home, tomorrow. First one is 6.15 a.m. I'd planned to go out clubbing, but I'm not really in the mood."

"Tired?"

"Suppose. And there's nothing like my mum telling me I'm too fat and unlovable and ugly, to put me off the idea of flaunting myself."

I stared. "But... You're not! You're not fat or ugly at all!" She really wasn't -- tall, slim, small neat breasts, gorgeous. "What's your ma's problem?"

She shrugged. "Menopause? Mid-life crisis? Just can't cope with having a daughter who's not dainty and never wears nice 'pretty dresses'?" Rachel spat out the words. "'How could any man fancy a girl in a heavy-metal T-shirt and clod-hopping boots?'"

"Fairly easily, I'd have thought! Not that your mum would approve of said man, at a guess. Have you tried that?"

"Mm. Didn't go well."

"Oh, well. May as well stick to women, then. Or try them?" She seemed uncomfortable. I bet she

hadn't

ever slept with a woman. "Would you like another drink?"

She nodded, then looked awkward again. "But they're closing, up here. And you said you didn't want to go downstairs where your ex was."

I thought about finding a dodgy lock-in, maybe in Kilburn, but given I felt somewhat responsible for young Rachel, I decided against.

Then I had it. I fought down my conscience and told her. "I do know a place where we could go, that's not a nightclub. Near here. We could chill out, all night. It would certainly boost your body image."

"OK," she said.

"OK." But I had to warn her. "It's a great late night bar. You'll just need to take all your clothes off."

She shrugged. "Sure. Go on."

I got the impression she didn't believe me. Oh, well. She would.

"It's about ten minutes walk. Just north of Covent Garden."

We wandered past the top of Shaftesbury Avenue and Forbidden Planet. Soon we reached Endell Street's 'Health Spa', a large gay sauna, hosting its popular monthly lesbian night. I paid our entry fee, then turned back to Rachel.

The girl was torn between tensely holding her denim jacket close to herself, and attempting to lean nonchalantly on the wall, eyeing up women coming in. She'd clearly grasped it was a women-only night, though the posters on the walls of the staircase, all pictures of naked men in a huge Jacuzzi, might be confusing. A couple men were most unhappy at not being allowed into their usual haunt.

"Come on. Changing room's downstairs." The locker room was crowded. We stood in a corner, waiting for space to perch on benches and remove boots and all.

But it was clear to Rachel I hadn't been joking about the required nudity. Five large butch women put all their clothes in lockers, then wandered into the venue, all stark naked -- barring some necklaces, piercings and their black rubber wristbands with all-important numbers and locker keys. Rachel's eyes roamed all around, lighting on first one woman, then another. She was queer, all right.

"You have to pay your bar tab before you leave," I warned. "I'll get you a drink, but if you get wasted, it's all on you. And yes, I did give them your real name."

"As long as you didn't give them the school's address!"

I laughed. I liked this girl. She had attitude. I wondered if Ali might have been similar at eighteen. "Can you

imagine

the news stories? Or the efforts to keep it out of the news?"

I tried not to look her up and down too lecherously. She'd wrapped one white towel round her waist, exposing a delightful stripe of skin up her thigh and hip. Her other towel was in her hand. No attempt to hide her lovely little breasts. She was proudly topless.

She didn't seem to have any hesitation about staring at me. Mostly at my round breasts, rather than my face. I never bothered trying to wear the towels, myself. "Newspapers like photos of girls, don't they?"

"No cameras allowed, here. You're safe."

Finally, she smiled. "Yeah. Safe. Come on, show me round. Where's this Jacuzzi?"

She strolled ahead of me into the venue, all long tan limbs and neat wee waist under her long brown ponytail.

I swallowed. How bad would it be, to consider her as my rebound fling?

Rachel stopped in front of the bar. "What can I get you?"

"House red, please."

She ordered the same. "Cheers." Our plastic glasses clunked. "Right." We edged round the bar, past the lounge area where plastic-covered sofas were reclined on by many women, towels falling off them. Some chatting, a few enjoying sex. A couple, very enthusiastically indeed. "Wow," she commented.

"Yeah."

"Whoa. This is amazing." Her head twisted in all directions, eyeing up all the nude female bodies. Always an amazing sight. Our school hadn't even allowed showers after PE. It wasted time, they said.

"Yeah." I was tongue-tied.

"But... OK,

why

is there gay male porn?"

Two TV screens hung from the ceiling in the lounge area, both showing men sucking cock and getting fucked.

"I guess, because it's usually a men-only space and it's the only videos they've got? It's only a women's night on the first Saturday of each month.

And

they keep threatening to close it if not enough women turn up."

"Typical."

"And men fucking is pretty hot?" I wondered what she'd think of that.

"True, true. Only those guys are kinda scrawny. Anyway. There's much better things to look at here! That way?"

We entered the main venue space. To our left, the giant Jacuzzi the size of a small swimming pool, a dozen women lying in it, towels piled on the side. It looked like Rachel was looking into the water, at what could be seen. Straight ahead, the opaque glass door of the steam room. Three women stepped out, wiping their faces, their dripping bodies on full display. A few trimmed bushes over dripping wet cunts.

Rachel spoke. "OK, it's official. I'm so gay."

"Were you in doubt?"

She laughed, ruefully. "No, I suppose not. Only, until I do much about it, it's all a bit Schrödinger, isn't it? I mean, the guys I've been with were OK, I suppose... Is it OK to say that, here?"

"Don't get me started on gold-star lesbians and their snottiness about bisexuals! In my experience, the only women who get pissy about anyone not being a pure dyke are the arsy cows you wouldn't want anyway. Well, I wouldn't." I'd encountered a few of their rants. Most off-putting.

"Uh-huh. What's round here?"

"Toilets. There's showers, too, like if you want to get rid of the chlorine before you go home."

Or like the woman being held down on the floor by three women, while a fourth shaved her pubes. One of the three leaned down to suck the victim's nipple. She desperately tried to resist squirming. I supposed it wasn't explicit, but there were blatant sub/dom vibes happening. I wondered what Rachel would think.

"Showers. As you say. Right."

And I thought

I

was good at hiding emotions. She was doing the same, only more so. Which meant, I guessed, that some part of that scene: she'd wanted it.

A gorgeous, kinky virgin. Already naked next to me.

My cunt wasn't going to stop throbbing until I leapt on her. Or she jumped on me.

The only question was, how to make one of those happen?

We clambered into the giant Jacuzzi, towels and plastic wine glasses on the ledge behind our heads, sitting side by side, bare arms touching. I grinned at her, she beamed at me, then round at the twenty other naked women in the bubbly water with us, various breasts visible bobbing up above the waterline.

I always loved the sights here. A hundred or more naked women of all descriptions, none matching the airbrushed figures in magazines, but oozing sexuality. Even the ones not having any sex were chilling and content, enjoying their wine, unbothered about people seeing their skin.

I'd grown up with the usual range of female body-image issues -- our school had had an epidemic of anorexia, even. Suddenly being confronted with this huge range of actual women had fixed said issues almost overnight.

"OK?" I checked in with Rachel.

"Hell, yeah. God." She took a deep breath. "I guess I really

am

gay."

"You like what you see, huh? Not that that has anything to do with whether you like men too, or not." I wanted to pass that wisdom on.

"I suppose not. OK, I won't rule them all out. But I'm not feeling interested in dicks right now."

I sipped my wine, tried to sound casual. "What are you interested in?"

She swallowed, shrugged, and her defensive look returned. "Dunno. Everything?"

"Everything? Kinky!" I tried to keep my tone light. "Anything, if it involves women?"

"Maybe." She hadn't reacted. Interesting. "I mean, not just any woman..." She looked with distaste at a group of shrieking lasses with lots of make-up, who seemed to be on a hen night.

I was impressed by the staying power of their mascara. I suspected they were 'straight' women, claiming they were being daring, honest. Rachel was gazing more shyly round the rest of the Jacuzzi. Big, small, butch, femme, all skin colours, even more hairstyles -- none of those seemed to be deterring her at all.

I told myself it was noisy, which was why I had to move my face closer to hers. I could smell her skin, behind the general air of chlorine and incense. Her chestnut hair was amazingly smooth and glossy as it brushed against my face. "Have you ever had a woman? Kissed, even?"

Her face turned to mine.

It look a lot of self-control not to push my mouth against her crimson lipstick, nor grab her tall nude body to straddle my lap. But I managed it. Just.

She gave a small shrug. "I've kissed a couple girls. That's it. They didn't really kiss back, though."

Those feelings of inadequacy were returning, I could tell. I wanted to cheer her up, but to be honest it was my own selfishness which made me yearn to tell the girl, 'Want to try with someone who will?'