I recall a trip I took to Chicago, it was 1977, almost 15 years ago, and my first unaccompanied business trip. I was 29 then, and my career was just taking off. My schedule called for three days of meetings and seminars. But, I had my own room, with my own king size bed, and I was looking forward to two evenings of uninterrupted privacy.
Almost six years had passed since I felt the touch of a woman. I hadn't acquired the skill of meeting other women, or in seduction. I lived in a small community, none of my friends had approached me, and I couldn't just come out and ask them. Not that there weren't women around who excited me! If they only knew what they did to me. There was a girl in my office just out of school, tall and lean. She wore simple suits and dresses, very tasteful, but I'd seen her in the ladies room, fixing her clothes, with the most sensuous lingerie. There were others too, even some of my neighbors, Enough to keep my pants wet and fingers busy all the time. I masturbated often, imaging it was the fingers of some woman I knew. I imagined her coming on to me, seducing me. Like in the videos my husband brought home. I fingered myself, alone or while my husband watched. Anxious for the day I'd meet my next female lover.
I had just taken charge of our sales office, and the boss asked me to go to Chicago for further training. At the end of the first day of seminars, and a quiet dinner, I locked my hotel room door, kicked off my shoes, and propped some pillows up on the bed. I turned off all but the reading lamp over the bed and poured a glass of wine from the bottle I picked up in the lobby deli. I felt warm and secure as I stretched on the bed, admiring my long legs encased in sheer stockings. There were some very attractive women in the course I took that afternoon, and I examined them in my mind, their faces, their clothes, their bodies. I felt very sensuous, my body alive with growing passion, and I imagined what they might look like in sexual arousal, how they might touch themselves for pleasure, as I knew I would be doing soon. I'd brought some favorite magazines with me, as familiar as long time lovers, and equally satisfying. With photos of beautiful women, in various stages of undress, and sexual positions. Using fingers, tongues, toys. I lived in many of these pictures, especially the clothed, or partially clothed women, kissing, fondling, humping, bodies side by side, or one atop the other.
During a coffee break, I walked outside for some fresh air and saw a row of newspaper vending machines. One said "Singles Scene," and in smaller letters, " Articles, Personal Ads, and Adult Entertainment Listings." I had grabbed a copy and stashed it in my bag for later. I remembered it and fished it out, certain I would find something to add impetus to my growing sense of arousal. Flipping through the paper I saw an ad for a bar. It was a drawing of two women, facing each other, breast to breast, with their lips just touching. It said, "For women only, Les Ms." I looked at the street address and noticed it was right near my hotel. How exciting. I'd read about such places, but there were none I was familiar with. In my head I visualized this bar, where a woman might go to meet other women, in search of a prospective lover. Eyeing each other, dancing, flirting, touching. With this vision in my head, I felt the a pleasant warmth all over and dampness growing between my legs.
It was Wednesday night. I was staying till Friday. I reclined, sinking into the pillows, and looked at the drawing in the ad. This bar, Les Ms. A room filled with women, strangers. Gay? Bi? Would they be there otherwise? I got hotter. "What goes on in a place like that? Is it dangerous? Would I have the nerve to walk in there?" I found my fingers in my lap, stroking myself gently, through my skirt, my lace trimmed slip sliding against my panties. I slowly lifted the hem, caressing my thighs through the nylons. My fingers searched under my skirt. My panties, damp already, became saturated as I pressed the crotch into my labia. I dropped the paper, and rubbed the free hand over my breasts.
My eyes closed partly, and lost their focus. And I felt that I was on the dance floor, in the bar, with a lovely women in my arms. I opened my blouse, released the front hook of my bra, and pinched my firm nipples. The hand in my lap pulled the panties aside. I gently parted my lips, and entered myself with two fingers. They were quickly coated with my juices, and I drew them up to my clit, circling, teasing. I needed a quick release, I saw the bar, beautiful women, hot strangers acting out their lust. I rubbed the fingers in a circular motion, faster, harder. My body trembled, stiffened, and exploded as the urgent tension was released. I felt good, but I wanted so badly to feel a soft, feminine body under mine again. I pulled the bedding together in a heap, and rolled myself on top. I hugged the soft bundle to myself, and wrapped my legs around it, thrusting my pussy in fucking motions. My passion peaked again, and I stopped counting the times I came. When I looked at the clock it was 3 AM, and I found myself there in my clothes. On my belly, with the skirt hiked up around my hips, the bedclothes still balled up tightly between my legs. Soaking wet.
All day Thursday I couldn't stop thinking about it. Les Ms. I had another free night, my last. As I sat through the final seminar I found myself becoming damp again. I thought, "I could actually go there tonight, but would I have the nerve?" After the meeting broke, I had drinks, with my colleagues, in the lobby bar, two margaritas, three. Then fond goodbyes, hugs, and kisses. By myself again, my mind drifted back to the fantasy. Would this be another night of my own fingers, or perhaps, another woman's fingers? Les Ms.? What a naughty thought. Me, in a gay bar, surrounded by other women. There's a first time for everything? Right? I was so excited, and it was there, waiting, accessible. I ordered another drink. As I held the icy glass, temptation overcame anxiety.
I returned to my room. I felt turned on, excited. I was going on the make for the first time in many years. I started with nice hot shower. Like being single again, I was hot and free! I wondered what to wear. I hadn't planned for anything like this. What kind of outfit would attract attention, and feel sensuous? The best I found was a tailored suit, gray, with a jacket and slacks, Excellent for business, but cut with style, to wear in a man's environment, but it could be feminine, especially with soft lingerie underneath. Stockings first, and a garter belt. But tonight, no panties. Under the slacks, the stockings felt wonderful. The fine, soft material of the slacks against the cool nylon. And nothing covering my vagina, the seam of the slacks caressing my trimmed pubic hair, touching my sensitive lips. A nice white linen blouse, cut low, over my finest lace bra. low pumps. Single breasted jacket. My red hair swept back, over my shoulders. I studied myself in the full length mirror. Turned, and turned again. There were butterflies in my stomach.
I walked the few blocks on a well-lighted street and turned to walk halfway down a side street. The impression I had walking through the stained glass doors will remain with me always. The room was narrow, but it went far back. Along the right wall there was a bar, with maybe twenty stools, and a series of booths opposite, lining the left wall. The back bar was mirrored, bevelled, very ornate, with well stocked glass shelves. Three women were tending bar, dressed in hot pants, stockings, boots, and tank tops. Women were scattered at the bar, and in the booths in groups of twos, threes, fours. Mostly well dressed women, some casual, some in business clothes. A few very dressed provocatively, in tight jeans, low cut tops, boots. And a few whose clothes and manner identified them clearly as butch.
As I entered, I felt eyes on me. Some were just glancing at the newcomer, and returning to their companions. But others lingered, appraising me, a fresh face and body. I walked slowly rearward, between the bar and the booths. Women were chatting, gently touching one another. I felt some eyes follow me as I passed, looking from my red hair to my black heels, and back again. I looked closely at them. I found some very attractive. I returned their stares, and was stunned by the sensations that the eye contact, mutual and deliberate, caused in my nipples and between my legs.
