This Girl Roars

This story is a work of fiction. A figment of the author's imagination. Thus, all characters are fictitious. At the same time, they are all over 18...

Tip: Read Parts 01 through 04 before this, to get the background.

***

'So, why the sudden change of plan?' Jola asked. 'We thought you were staying in the UK.'

'No, I always thought I might go to the continent at some point. I just suddenly fancied it. It's been an eventful trip so far.'

I explained what had transpired in Hay, going back to my first encounter with Judy and bringing her right up to date, with what had happened with Kim.'

'Oof, sounds a bit heavy, Becks. That Judy must be a stunner to snag you like that at 45.'

'She is,' I glazed over, a little wistfully.

'But not Kim?'

'Oh, there's nothing wrong with Kim. If you saw photos of them you'd say she's much prettier. Hang on, I have one...' I went into my phone's gallery and sent her a pic I'd taken of the Lez Ride group outside the Old Black Lion. 'That's Judy, far left, with Kim next to her.'

'Mm. I can see what you saw in Judy, but yes, Kim is much prettier. Quite beautiful, actually.'

I looked at the pic again and zoomed in on Kim's face. 'Yes, I guess she is, but I just didn't respond to her, you know? Mind you, she certainly got my juices flowing when we were in bed. Judy said she's a little tiger, and she is. Totally uninhibited.'

I told Jola about the encounter with Kim as I was about to leave, and how it had put me through the wringer, emotionally... 'Well, you know Becks, this has all happened very fast, and it was completely dominated by your attraction to Judy which, let's face facts babe, was never going to go very far. Kim had no chance against that background, but it's a shame. With more time, who knows? Sometimes things take time to develop. She's a lovely looking girl, and she sounds quite delightful.'

This was Jola cutting through the fog and slapping me back to reality, as all good friends should.

'Oh my God, Jola. I'm so glad you are here to give me your insight.'

'Don't be sarcastic.'

'No, no, I wasn't. It's so good to get your view. Sometimes you can't see things clearly when you're too close to them. Thank you.'

She chuckled. 'It's what mates are for...'

'I'm not sure I'll ever see her again though, so it's a moot point really.'

'You will if you want to...' Jola - spot on again.

'So, Carly not around I take it?'

'No, she's away again. Only two days this time, in London.'

'Not TOO much deprivation then...'

She grinned. 'No, I'll manage. So, where are you at now?"

I'm in a B&B in a place called Monster, I kid you not. I'm heading to Amsterdam tomorrow.'

'Ah, shame Carly's not here. She'd be able to tell you all the best places to go in Mokum.'

'Mokum?'

'Yeah, it's the local nickname for Amsterdam. It's Carly's home town. She took me there last year for a week and it was brilliant. We hired bikes and cycled all over, just wearing normal clothes -- even skirts! Nobody there dresses like a cyclist. They just come out of the house, dressed for town, and get on the bike.'

Her enthusiasm was on a roll now. "Mokum" had obviously made a big impression on her.

'You can just leave your bike outside a shop or cafe, and nobody touches it. And there's no racism. Or none that I saw, anyway. Being black, I'm never far from racism here, but in Holland I never encountered any at all. Oh, Becky, you're gonna love it there.'

I was grinning broadly. 'Ever thought of working for the Dutch tourist office, Jola?' I chuckled... 'I'm really looking forward to it now.'

I was so glad to have Jola to talk to. After an experience like I'd just had, it would have been easy to sink into introspection and perhaps feel quite lonely, but being able to talk to her like this just lifted the mood and made me think more positively.

We signed off with kissy faces, puckering up and pretending to kiss the screen, then I got into bed, feeling ten times better than the previous night. Thank heavens for Jola.

There was no doubt that Jola and Carly were prominent among my reasons for heading to Holland. Carly's story about her unconventional upbringing, and the Dutch reputation for sexual liberalism, was a powerful attraction, and I wanted to experience it first-hand.

This journey was supposed to be about discovery and exploration, and I'd decided that one of the things I really wanted to explore and discover more of was lesbian sex. I thought Amsterdam would provide opportunities for that.

I'd chosen the B&B in Monster because it mentioned "a welcome for bikers" and it proved a very friendly place to stay. The couple who ran it fussed around me at breakfast, making sure I had EVERYTHING I wanted, and that it was JUST how I wanted it, and they were interested in what I was doing and where I was going. I told them it was 'fluid.'

'Nice' they said. 'Freewheeling.'

The husband, Henk, came with me to get Storm out of the garage, and he took the dust cover off his extremely rare, Dutch-built, Van Veen motorbike. 'Made in the 1970s. Wankel engined,' he said.

I'd never even heard of it, so I said 'It's a beauty. Must be valuable'

'Oh yes, lots of dollars, but I'll never sell.'

He was a big fan of Storm. 'Looks wonderful, that motorcycle. It's called a Tiger?'

'Yes, but I call her Storm.'

He grinned, then unexpectedly patted Storm's seat and spoke to her. 'Look after this girl, Storm. She's precious.' That brought a tear to my eye. I hugged him, and then rode off with a wave, thinking once again how beautiful some people's souls are.

In Amsterdam, I was booked into a hotel called The Flying Pig, a cheap place on the edge of the city, with a secure underground car park nearby for Storm. I intended to stay here for at least a couple of days, and I didn't expect to use her at all during that time.

'Here is a key for the front door,' said the manager. Come and go as you like but please try to be quiet during the night.' Hmm. OK. I'll try.

I was there before lunchtime and spent a few minutes taking all my best girly glad rags up to my room, then I changed into a knee-length flared skirt and vest, with some not-quite-flat sandals, topped off with a wide-brimmed sun hat.

I looked in the mirror and debated going braless. With boobs like mine, it would be a bold move, especially with just a vest on. I took my bra off, put the vest back on, and looked in the mirror again... Even if I say so myself, it was a traffic-stopping look, but in the spirit of liberated Holland, I decided to go with it. For the first time since I left Hay, I felt my libido stirring again.

I caught a tram into the city, and it was amusing to see some of the reactions I got. I sometimes think it's a bit cruel to men to go out looking like this. Some of the poor things didn't know where to look. They knew where they WANTED to look, but their attempts to avoid staring were sometimes comical. I'm such a tease.

As a brand-new lesbian though, I was a complete novice. I had no idea how to recognise the signs in other women, and I certainly wasn't giving off any gay vibes. I just looked like a very sexy straight woman, perhaps out to pull a guy, which would have been ridiculously easy.

I didn't want a man though, I wanted a woman, and that was going to be much more difficult.

It was surprisingly warm for early April, and I didn't need anything extra over the vest. I was able to walk about comfortably, and sit outside cafes without having goosebumps, or nipples that were in danger of poking someone's eye out.

It was a new experience, and quite good fun actually, trying to spot which women might be gay, I was well aware that a tomboyish appearance was not a reliable guide. I knew from meeting the lezzy 'bike club, and from my own friends Jola and Carly, that many lesbians are quite feminine; you wouldn't think they were gay unless you actually saw them being intimate with each other and, after all, I was in that category now.

My first possible glimpse of the Lesser-spotted lezzy, was when I was sat outside a cafe in the sunshine, with sunhat and shades on, with my bare legs crossed, drinking the best iced mocha I've ever had in my life, and two women sat at the adjacent table.

They were both about 30, and dressed similarly, in cropped trousers and stylish tops. One wore trainers, while the other had very nice strappy block-heel shoes. Both had shortish haircuts, though not at all boyish, and neither had much makeup on. There was just something about them.

They clocked me straightaway and we exchanged smiles. I deliberately made a bit of a show of licking the cream off my top lip after each sip of my mocha, and they were definitely finding me interesting. They were full of furtive glances, whispered comments, and giggles, though of course they could just have been two straight women, marvelling at the brazen hussy they'd ended up sitting next to.

There were no overt shows of affection between them though, and after a few minutes (they only had a fruit juice each) they left. Hmph. Inconclusive.

I wasn't looking for a lesbian couple though. I was looking for a single gay girl. There must be some of those around in Amsterdam, surely?

I went for a late lunch in a cafe/bar called The Pint, which was a bit like an English pub -- including the food -- but that place was pretty coupley as well. I got plenty of attention, but not from anyone who I was interested in.

The Pint was very close to the main red light district, De Wallen, but I had no interest in visiting that cesspit. All I know about that area is that it's infamous for its criminality and exploitation. It's mainly just a centre for women to hire out their bodies to men, some of them not entirely willingly. A concept I find repugnant. When I came out of The Pint, I turned sharply in the opposite direction and headed out to more salubrious areas.

Over lunch, I had been searching lesbian bars, and had found one with good reviews, called Saarein. Most of these places were billed as gay, or queer bars, or even LGBT+. I was extremely wary of that, but this one was apparently well-known for being mainly lesbian. I decided to check it out.

I walked there in fifteen minutes, and found it was a homely, cosy kind of place. As I'd hoped, it was mainly populated by women. A wide variety of women. There were the expected boyish-looking lesbians, but also many that were, like me, quite femme. I thought just going in there was a statement in my new-fledged gayness, though of course, not everyone in there was a lesbian -- it was open to all.

I ordered a drink, then found a place to sit, which was not easy as the place was crowded. There was a tall table with three stools, and one of them was free, so I asked if I could join the two women who were sitting there, and got warm smiles, and a 'Sure' from them.

They were both a bit older than me, one of them a little overweight, the other quite petite, and quite obviously a lesbian couple. The larger girl had multiple piercings, and a bizarre and unattractive chest tattoo disappearing into her cleavage, while the small one was by contrast completely unadorned, with just the tiniest of sleeper studs in her ears. I immediately knew which of them was more attractive.

They continued to chat in Dutch for a while, and I sat, looking around and feeling a little uncomfortable. I didn't see anyone else who seemed to be alone, as I was. Everyone was in a group or a couple.

After a few minutes, when I was already contemplating leaving, the larger girl said, in English, 'Sorry, we're being rude. Hi, I'm Gilda, and this is Leena.'

I smiled. 'Hello, I'm Becky.'

'English?'

'Yes. How did you know?'

'I'm good at it. See those two over there?' She pointed to a couple sat at the bar, 'I bet they are English too.'

'They are! I heard them talking when I was getting my drink. You ARE good at it. What is it that makes us stand out?'

'Oh, I don't know. A certain look, I guess. Hard to put a finger on.'

'So, what brings you to Amsterdam, Becky?' Leena asked.

'Errm... Well I was recently divorced and I'm on a voyage of rediscovery. I'm exploring.'

'Uh huh,' Gilda was nodding, knowingly, 'and you're looking for some girl action because that's something you want to explore.'

Either this woman was extraordinarily perceptive, or I was extraordinarily transparent. 'Have I made it so obvious?'

'Well, you are in a lesbian bar, for a start,' she smirked.

'Good point' I said, feeling rather foolish.

'Listen, this place is great, but If you are looking for something casual, I know a private club where you are 100% sure to find it '

'100% sure?'

'Of course,' she gestured to me with her hands. 'Look at you.'

'Yeh, something casual would suit me just now.'

She scribbled on a beer mat. This is the address. You'll have to ring the bell and tell them that Gilda P sent you.'

I took the mat. 'Thank you.'

'Always happy to help someone make the crossing,' she grinned.

'Don't go too early, said Leena 'It only opens at nine.'

I had five hours to kill, so I wandered about the town, which is incredibly picturesque in places, with narrow colourful buildings, and canals everywhere.

I nearly got run down by bicycles more than once because I wasn't used to the subtle way bike paths are segregated from footpaths and I kept accidentally wandering onto the former. Luckily, Dutch cyclists all have bells and are good at using them. There was no anger from anyone though, even when I blundered into their paths. It all seemed very calm and friendly. A vision of the future maybe? I'd like to think so.

On one occasion, a female cyclist swept by me as I wandered, and she gave me, not a ring of the bell, but a wolf-whistle, turning her head as she passed me with the most beautiful grin. I was wishing I was on a bike so I could give chase.

One of the things I noticed in Amsterdam was how many tall people there were. In England, I tend to tower over most people, male and female, but here, I was pleasantly surprised by how many women I encountered who were almost as tall as me. I certainly wasn't so unusual.

I stopped off on the way back to the hotel, to sit in the sunshine outside a canal-side bar, drink an Oranjeboom, and watch the boats go by. It was a very pleasant occupation indeed, and I wondered why Carly hadn't brought Jola here to live, instead of settling in gloomy north-west England. It would be to do with jobs, of course, and I suppose nowhere is gloomy if you're in love.

Back at the hotel, I lay on the bed thinking, as I do...

I had no idea what this lesbian club that Gilda had recommended would be like, but the fact that she'd basically said it was a sure-fire place to pick someone up for casual sex, suggested it was pretty dissolute and libertine, and I found that a bit scary.

I had no experience of anything like this. I mean, the sexual culture around rock gigs can be pretty full-on and loose, but this was something else entirely. The Dutch attitude to sex is pretty unique in that it isn't viewed as something dirty or sinful. It's seen as a perfectly normal activity, an integral part of everyday life (which it is) and that can take some getting used to.

I lay on the bed and wondered what to wear. Obviously, I only had a very limited wardrobe with me, but I did have a couple of shortish skirts and some makeup, because I had anticipated that I would possibly go out on the town at some point.

I decided to stick with the vest top and no bra -- sure to get a reaction - but put on the shorter skirt (above the knee) and the only pair of shoes with a heel that I had with me. Then I made myself up in a quite sultry way, with dark eye makeup and lipstick, and wore my hair loose with a black velvet Alice band.

I looked in the mirror and decided I did look bloody hot. I knew that, however far I went into lez world, I'd always be a femme lesbian, and that I'd always be attracted to femme lesbians. The tomboyish look just doesn't do it for me. I realised that it was the femininity that attracted me. I liked girls, and I liked girls to be girls.

I hoped that I would find someone like that at the club. I really didn't want to find myself surrounded by a roomful of bulldykes. Not that I have anything against bulldykes per se, but that image just doesn't attract me, sexually.

I went down for a bite to eat in the hotel bar, and the manager's face was a picture. Last time he'd seen me, I'd had a motorbike touring suit on, and flattened helmet-hair, and now I was in full vamp mode. A hell of a transformation.

He wasn't the only one. I noticed other people, both male and female, checking me out with slack jaws. Had I overdone it? Well, we were about to find out.

The address on the beer mat was nicely within walking distance of the hotel, even in 5cm heels, and I set off at 8:45, clicking along in the twilight, but hopefully not into the twilight zone.

Being so tall, I don't often wear heels, and I can't wear REALLY high heels or I'd be knocking myself out on door frames on a regular basis, but a couple of inches is fine, and I enjoy wearing them sometimes. They make my gait more slinky, and they definitely increase the amount of tit-jiggle, which is a bonus in my book. I just like how I feel in them. Sexy.

I arrived at the door, which was squeezed between other doors, in buildings that were already improbably narrow. I checked the number and contemplated the bell, which was a chain hanging out of a hole in the door, with the word "pull" (in English) above it. Apart from that, and the number, there were no other markings on the plain black door, just a grille about 10 centimetres square, closed by an internal cover. It was all very strange and clandestine. Gilda had said it was called The Two Lips (get it?) but it didn't say that anywhere.

I pulled the surprisingly heavy chain, and there was the sound of a clanging bell from somewhere quite far off. A small red light came on above the door and I was reminded, uneasily, of the red light district. I began to feel quite uncomfortable, and fleetingly thought 'What the fuck am I doing here?'

It took a long time before the internal cover opened and a dulcet voice said 'Yes?'

'Oh, er, Gilda P sent me.'

'OK'

She undid the latch, and the door opened to reveal a very pretty young woman with dark curly hair, cut short at the back and sides, but worn quite long on top, with a stray curl hanging attractively over her forehead at one side. She was wearing very faded jeans, and a quite glamorous silver sequin top, which really showed off her very nice cleavage.

She smiled warmly, 'Come in, join us, I'm Vibeke.'

'Hello Vibeke, I'm just Becky.'

'Welcome Becky.'

She led me downstairs into a basement, and a whole new world.

The room was big -- at least three times the width of any of the street frontages above -- with a low ceiling and slightly subdued lightning. There was a small bar at one end, with a tiny dance floor (four people, max) and a number of irregularly-arranged low-slung sofas and chaises longues. Subtle ambient music was playing, and artistic images and paintings of the female form adorned the walls. At the opposite end to the bar, there was an almost full-height TV screen, which was (slightly shockingly) showing explicit lesbian sex films.

There were perhaps twenty women in there, two swaying smoochily near the bar, a few standing in groups with drinks in hand, some sitting talking, and a couple sitting near the massive TV, unashamedly playing with themselves as they watched the lurid images on the screen.

Despite its overtly sexual atmosphere, it all seemed quite stylish and urbane. It's surprising how much less sleazy things seem when men aren't involved.

'Let me get you a drink,' said Vibeke, 'the first one is on us.'