Rubyfruit

White skin, purple pussy, trimmed enough so that you could see the dark mound under the hairs. She has green eyes, spiky brown hair on her head, pokey red titties, and big raspberry nipples on two dollops on a body that was slightly short and wide and boyish, but soft and not chiseled. Broad shoulders, wide hips and round butt, and thighs. Thick white thighs. She was hot white, bright purple, and unstoppable.

I was sitting by the dance floor at the Rubyfruit Jungle in New Orleans when I first saw her looking at me. I was a a table with this femme girl, who had been chatting me up for the last 20 minutes with her gay-boy sidekick. You're never sure if femme girls are really gay, or just taking a walk on the wild side. Some of them can really fuck the smack out of you, though, because they're sometimes just in it for the fun of it. I wasn't really attracted to that type, because I'm a little femme myself, and, like most lesbians, I usually go for the butchies. I never dress femme to go to the Rubyfruit if I want a date. What kind of lesbian do those green eyes over there like? She has her choice at this table. Cool smile and full of attitude, Butchie from the bar struts right over to our table. Decked out in shiny athletic wear, a couple of small gold chains, cell phone in hand, she sported the modern gay zoot suit look.

So Zoot Suit walks up to us all used-car salesman smiles - at the both of us - a shot gun approach. She seemed determined to take one of us home that night, or both, from her confident attitude. I could see her fitted shirt and no bra under her open jacket. Her hips automatically swinging to the club beat, she hovered over our table, smiling, waiting for one of us to take the bait. She looked into my eyes. I took the bait. I devoured that bait. The dance floor was lit with club dykes and smiles. The Rubyfruit was a lot more welcoming than a lot of lesbian clubs in other cities. Actually, New Orleans was just that kind of city. The lesbians smile more here.

I was out alone in New Orleans for the first time ever that night. I left the friends I was staying with to go fishing for dykes, taking a dive into the night of the city I wanted to taste. I wanted to swim freely here. I couldn't really be myself sometimes in Austin, among my friends. I was expected to be a certain kind of freak. In New Orleans, they let you be whatever kind of freak you want to be. Now I've met a real freak the dance floor of the Rubyfruit. She clubs and dances and smiles and sexes someone up almost every night, I found out later. She sexed me up so good that night...and the next morning...and I ended up coming back for more.

She started to work her game and made small talk on the dance floor. She has this thick Colombian accent - a real player, trained in the clubs in Bogata. "100% pure Colombian," she would say, "Rich in flavor." Confident. I was looking for a strong dyke. I knew that surely, someone in this bold, cosmopolitan town would show out. She was as out as you can get without wearing a rainbow on her forehead. She said that it was her birthday and invited me to her party later. Yeah. Maybe. Alright. We stopped back at the table where she invited Miss Thing and her sidekick and left the bar.

We got into my truck and drove to the coach house behind one of those stately homes on St. Charles Avenue. She didn't have a vehicle, but counted on picking up a date for a ride to her party. She smiled all the way. Wooden floors, white pillars. The stairway above the garage was beautiful. The other two followed in their car. Don't ask me their names, I didn't even try to remember.

It was the turn of the millennium and I was out in New Orleans. The turn of the millennium is different here. Civilization hasn't crashed yet, and the feeling of "Whew! We survived another year here," pervaded. There were no fires, tornadoes, hurricanes, tidal waves, or floods to break the dykes and we are all still here. I caught the balls-out, nothing to lose spirit of the city and was ready for a party. (When I say "party," I mean fucking, not drinking.) La Colombiana seemed to have ten times the amount of balls-out spirit, as I do and HOT, she was hot. Bold. Wanted fuck. She had the confident "I'm going to fuck on my birthday" look on her and she was definitely hosting this party. I wondered what kind of party this would be. I got a little nervous.

Zoot Suit led us up the stairs. Miss Thing acted nervous. Her friend wasn't really into it either. We met a little party of 5 or 6 in this cute little apartment that smelled of good weed. Juana, "It's 'Huana, not Wana," she insisted, spoke in Spanish about half the time, with a couple of her friends there. It was a trendy, metro kind of Spanish I had never heard before in Texas. It was fast and sounded extra sassy. I couldn't keep up with it, though. I quit trying to get it and just watched her animated body. Her body even spoke in an exotic way.

Somebody rolled a joint, while Juana stared me down and grinned. Missy and her boy left after another uncomfortable few minutes. I don't know if it was the pot, or whether she felt left out. She shouldn't have and they could have had fun. Oh well. I must have been just smiling because every time Juana looked at me, because she busted into a smile, or maybe that was just her. We hung out for a couple of hours, smoking pot, drinking spritzers with cherries and listening to music. She danced around the room every time she got up and had these little perky titties that poked out from her tank top. Her nylon sporty pants displayed her round ass, which was always moving. She constantly gyrated her hips when she danced.

She was constantly looking at me and constantly smiling. She fucked like that too. Every part of her body was always moving and I always thought that she was smiling when she made love to me. I was wondering what she would be like in bed, as I sat on the leather couch, smoking a joint with her friends, trying to be funny in bad Spanish and drinking sparkly water. She took a beer to celebrate when we first came in, but when I got water instead of beer, she switched with me. She seemed so modern and hip, but had this old-man gentlemanly politic about her. Which means that she was working me into her bed.

In my skirt, I felt the skin of my thighs on the leather of the couch. I stared that butch down. I watched her speak in her fast spanish to her friend about the music selection. She knew what she wanted for her birthday. I put my hands on my thighs and discreetly rubbed the insides of them. I don't know if she saw me rub my thighs, but she got the vibe and sat down next to me. She put her arm around me and touched my back and my side. She whispered that she liked my outfit.

Then her song came on. We had to get up to dance to this Colombian beat for a minute. Oh my god, it's so sexy and she's so sexy! While we were dancing - and she danced with everybody in the room, whether they were up or sitting - she suddenly kissed me. Not long, but right on the lips, nailing it. We danced a couple of more songs. I kept looking down at the dark perky tops showing under her shirt. I imagined my hands feeling them. "C'mon, let's go." She had bragged to her friends earlier that she was taking me home for her birthday. She took me by the hand and snuck me out while the others were dancing.

She led me to an apartment building off of Esplanade. The building was full of South and Central Americans. She thought her Honduran landlord was immigrant friendly and trying to giver her a boost up after arriving to the States. Later she found out that he had a tiny hole above her loft, from which he would watch her ass while she topped all the girls she brought home from the clubs.

The room was a tiny loft above the office in the large, open, dark lobby. It was really a large closet at the top of a stairwell that led to nothing else but a little Colombian lesbian freak party. I'm not kidding, like all night, every night. A full-sized bed in the corner filled most of the room. It was a real bachelorette pad. It smelled of body lotions and bike tires. Art posters covered the walls. Some people feel proud to decorate, no matter how humble the space. She had this amazing spark of life in her, no matter what.

She put on some Madonna and started dancing with me, sexing me up. She took off her shirt, showing her amazing raspberry points. She danced to "Shining Star," telling me that she started the Madonna Fan Club in Colombia. She turned around to get two toothbrushes and washcloth. She loaded our toothbrushes, then took me down through the dark lobby to the tiny communal bathroom, just big enough for the two of us. She stood and danced close to me, rubbing up on me from behind while she washed my face and neck. She took off my shirt and bra. We looked at my light, almost nippless tits in the mirror in front of her raspberries. I watched her feel them up.

She sang something cute in Spanish as she washed my stomach and tits. She began feeling me up from behind. My tits got hard as she rubbed them with the cool washcloth. She washed my back gently. I put down the brush and held up my arms so she could wash under them, then she rubbed my exposed, cold little light-pink tits some more. I watched her in the mirror. She smiled and hummed and took care of business.

She washed my legs under my skirt. She washed and squeezed my butt cheeks. She put down the washcloth, pulled down my panties and put 'em on the sink, looking at me in the mirror the whole time. She ran her hands under the water and brought her fingers to my pussy to wash it out. Her fingers were cold and my pussy was hot. It was slippery to her wet fingers and she slid them right in. Slipping and sliding her fingers in and out of me, wet and slippery. Up and around my wet belly and tits, sliding back down and slipping back in, and moving her other fingers around and around my clitty.

She turned me around with her hands around my hips, fingers going in again from behind and fingers squeezing my tits. Her mouth on mine and her tongue goes in. Fingers and tongues, wet and slippery. "Let's go upstairs," she says, taking my clothes and grabbing her stuff. She led me, almost naked, but for shoes and a skirt, through the dark lobby to the stairs. I could see the light and hear Madonna's voice from the purple neon slit under the door.

Her little room was like a miniature club: the music, the purple spinning light, the shiny shirts hanging on a rack, the bright posters and her constant dancing. A bike hung from a hook by the door and there was a little dresser with drawers that touched the end of the bed when opened. There was also table, and enough room for two people to stand (or dance). Three people could be in there together if they were touching each other.

We started touching. She started touching me while still dancing. She kissed and licked and sucked on my tits before she just laid me on the bed, which was right there. I didn't even take a step, she just laid me down. She had the reddest raspberry nipples, peaking these little rises on her broad, white chest, She put them against me, pinned me to the bed with them. I felt their fleshy points. I thought about mounting them, riding them, feeling my clit rub gently over one. I would blow on it and suck it until it was hard, and then I would straddle her and hover my crotch over her and set my wet pussy lips around it and ride it, big raspberry nipple. That would have to be some other time as she already had plans for me.

She felt up my thighs. They were hairy. It was still spring and the air was cold still. I hadn't started my summer shaving-of-the-legs cycle, but that didn't slow her down. She felt me up all over. She got between my legs. She had on these blue running pants, slick and fitted around her broad hips. She held onto my knees, spread my legs and stood and looked at me, smiling, of course. She slipped the pants down and climbed onto the bed, kneeling. She took off a stripy athletic thong and got back in between my legs. She had wide hips in my thighs. She put her fingers back in me. Oh! I could see her purple pussy lips as she knelt on the bed over me, then it was all tits on tits, hips in between my legs, tongue in my mouth and full-out getting it on.

I felt her manicured pubic hairs and her skin was so soft. It was so-o soft. She's always used lotion. She kissed me and it was all tongues going at each other. Tongues and fingers. She took her fingers out and with both hands just squeezed my nipples and squeezed my tits. She had a method.

I'm tall and thin and she was short and broad. She was at my neck and at my tits and rubbing herself on my thighs. My skirt was around my waist. She rubbed my mound with her full hand. She moved like a man, spreading my legs apart. She mounted me until her clit met mine, and with the seeming anticipation of the grand entry that guys have, she went off right away. She came almost at the first touch of her clit. She shuddered. She moaned. She rubbed her body against mine. Oh, man, I thought it was going to be over with. The great thing about women is that we can keep going and cum some more.

She came for a while or she had another orgasm - I couldn't tell - but she kept on moving with this hypnotic rhythm. Her heart was beating really fast. She kept moving her pelvis on mine around and around from top to bottom and around. I was getting excited, her heart seemed to calm and maybe she was focusing. She used the same moves, but suddenly changed her rhythm to this sexy slow, oh-so-slow and sexual pace. Wow, that's going to get me. I gasped and moaned in a little animal voice and she felt me get excited . "God," I must've said aloud, so she pressed herself against my tits, her swollen, hot clitty, her titties on mine, her heart beating on my chest. I was savoring the moment and it was taking me a while to cum. It was like three or four in the morning, too. She turned her head and kept going and kept going and never gave up on me. Her face in my neck, determined, she went on fucking like a guerillera hiking up the Andes, loaded with a backpack.

I was looking up at a wild, colorful poster when I finally came, riding a flashing ocean wave. Oh, I'm cumming! She kept on moving me in waves so I could keep on cumming. She kept that amazing slow rhythm and press harder into me. God, I came - full out. It was so great. Oh wow. We just laid there and she moved around every now and then. Her face still in my neck. I could see her short butch hair. What a player. She fucks like a soldier. Go straight to task and do whatever it takes to get the job done. It was great. It got me off. It was so hot. It didn't really last that long, but I felt so relieved. I felt like I really had the night out away from my friends. I got my freak on.

The next morning she got me up early. I still had my skirt on, but she gave me a clean t-shirt that matched and was tighter and cuter than the one I had on the night before, in her opinion. When I came back to New Orleans to stay with her, she would dress me every day. She took me back downstairs to the bathroom with our toothbrushes and a fresh washcloth and put me against the sink. She loaded my toothbrush, handed it to me, smiling, saying that I should pee first. I squatted and peed while she washed herself and brushed her teeth.

When I pulled up my panties, she turned around and pulled it back down. She lifted up my shirt to see my tits again and started rubbing me all over with the luke-warm wash cloth that cooled my skin. My tits wear excited again. My pussy was still wet and hot and slippery when she washed that too. She was sure to wash my armpits and my ass. Then she bade me to brush my teeth.

She had her thong and her pants pulled down around her thick thighs and she pushed up against me again and pushed me against the wall. She rubbed her mound against me, my back against the wall. She was shorter than me, so she could angle up and touch her clit against mine and go and go and rub and move around and around. "Mmmmm," I managed, smiling. She didn't say a word, but I could see her face in the little bathroom light. She faced the ceiling, smiling the way she does. Her eyes were closed tight, so tight Her eyebrows cringed on her forehead. She can cum so easily. She's so fucking wild.

She took her bike and we walked to a corner store. She got us drinks and we walked for a long time towards the Quarter, where she said she had to work and where we could eat. The Wok was good Chinese. I devoured my food, smiled at all the staff, kissed the hot dyke the sexiest, most passionate kiss I could muster, to remember me by, and meandered around the Quarter while the morning was still cool.