It was a given that I was nervous. I had been divorced for nearly four years and had moved from Virginia to San Francisco. It was a long, daring trip but I was determined to put some space between my ex-husband and my adult children because I'd made a decision that I knew they wouldn't agree with.
After 23 years of marriage, I decided to become a lesbian.
I didn't have any idea of what I was doing, really. All I knew was that lesbian scenes in the porno movies that we'd bought together made me hotter than hell and I found myself wishing that I could suck on the succulent pussy lips that I saw on the screen. I knew that I loved watching Queer As Folk and The L Word and found myself watching a lot of Logo programming. I knew that when I masturbated, I envisioned my pussy being sucked by a woman with beautiful lips and an agile tongue.
I admit that I knew nothing about being a lesbian. I knew even less about myself but I didn't discover that until I landed in Frisco and went out to my first club. I chose a mixed club for my first foray, thinking that since I'd had plenty of gay male friends while I was married and had visited lots of clubs, I would feel more comfortable there. I couldn't have been more wrong. Most of the ladies came as couples and I found myself having wonderful conversations as the third wheel.
I went out three successive weekends in a row and once I discovered the problem, I went home and sulked for the next weekend. In between times, I met some of my apartment mates. The building I was renting in had six huge apartments, two on each floor, and the landlord had explained to me that all of the occupants were professionals like myself. While I was the manager of an advertising firm, Tom and Bob on the bottom floor were engineers and had rented the entire floor.
Jessica was a model and was rarely home and Henrietta was a real estate saleswoman and they occupied the second floor apartments, separately. Besides me on the third floor was a British gentleman named Nigel and he was a pilot. The weekend I was sulking, I was surprised to hear a knock on my door and even more surprised to find Tom and Bob standing outside. Tom was the top of the couple, tall, dark-haired and very attentive to his tow-headed mate, possessively touching his shoulders.
"Hi, I'm Bob Donaldson and this is my husband, Tom Turner."
"Hi."
"We noticed that you moved in several weeks ago but we've been too busy to properly welcome you. Is this a good time to have a couple glasses of wine?"
They were so cute. I stood aside and let them enter, ushering them into the kitchen and stowing their warm bottles in the freezer. I was glad that I had another couple of bottles of Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio already ice-cold and I poured three glasses while they gave me a short history of their relationship. They had been together for nine years and had been married when the mayor, Gavin Newsom, had circumvented California law and had allowed same sex couples to marry. We made small talk for several minutes before Bob broke the ice by asking about my past. I refilled our glasses and let loose the dogs of divorce.
"Wow, that sucks!"
