I can't believe that night may never have happened. I nearly didn't go. I'm shy, and I never seem to fit into the loud, barhopping scene. But it was my best friend's birthday and she begged me.
So there I was, sipping on my sixth Strawberrry daiquiri, trying to melt into the dark wall behind me. My head was spinning, with the effects of the alcohol and the strobe lights. And that's when I looked up and saw her. Our eyes made four and my pussy pulsed. I looked away almost immediately but I was so aware of her presence. The short dark hair and fade, the way her male-cut shirt fit snugly on her broad shoulders, showing off her muscular arms. The sleeve tattoo, the long slender fingers wrapped around her glass, promising things I had been taught were sinful. The small, subtle swell of her breasts that showed she was comfortable enough in her identity, not to strap them down into non-existence. I fought my feelings, refusing to look again in her direction.
But my self-conscious was betraying me. I found myself signalling to my friends that I was headed to the bar. They were all pretty wasted, swaying away to the music. They just grinned and waved me on my way. I knew my plan but the 'church girl' version of me refused to acknowledge that she was about to sink into oblivion.