A Great Way to Get Ids

Although 90% of you won't believe it - I wouldn't - I feel obligated to tell the truth about this story. Although all of the details are embellished or imagined, the basic facts and relationships between the three main characters are absolutely true. They still exist today somewhere East of the Mississippi River in the United States.

********************

I'm Lisa Wattmer; I used to be Lisa Watson until I married my true love, Brenda Merkel, now Brenda Wattmer. We decided that we wanted to have the same surname, but didn't just want to adopt the other's name especially since neither of us is even remotely close to butch - we're both Lipstick Lesbians. Therefore, the melded last name.

I dated only guys from the ages of 18-20, and Brenda from 18 to almost 22. It was OK for me; I mean sex with some guys was enjoyable, but not entirely fulfilling. I started to recognize my inner lesbian after my junior year of college and I guess that I was bisexual for two years before I had to admit that I was a lesbian, and particularly a Lipstick Lesbian. For those of you not familiar with that term, a "Lipstick Lesbian" is one who is very feminine and enjoys fashion, flowers, perfume, sex and the city, lingerie, and makeup, and is typically only attracted to other Lipstick Lesbians - and never a "butch" or "dyke."

Brenda came to the same realization that I did just before we met, at the age of 22, in graduate school. We really clicked right from the start, and after we had a marathon sex session one night, the first half of which we were both drunk, we quickly became exclusive.

The only way that I'll describe what we look like is by reference to stories about us and two fairly well known actresses.

When I was twenty one I was visiting a friend in Los Angeles. While she was at work I wandered around Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, more window shopping than real shopping. With all modesty I had on a bitchin wardrobe including an exotic sundress, sparkly two inch heel shoes, and a classy hat.

I noticed two guys on motorcycles with cameras, often taking pictures with the lenses pointed my way. I looked around to see if there was anyone famous nearby, but didn't recognize anyone. After they were with me for about three blocks I got the uncomfortable feeling that they were taking photos of me. I came across a couple of cops on foot patrol and complained to them.

The cops were very pleasant, and approached the guys on motorcycles and talked to them for a few minutes. They returned to me and with smiles and said "They admit that they're paparazzi but say since your famous they have the right to photograph you in public."

"Famous," I laughed.

"Yeah, they say that you're Amber H and you sure do look..." the youngest cop said with a smile before I cut him off.

"I'm not her," I laughed, this time even louder, "but thanks for the compliment." With that I walked over to the paparazzi with a big smile on my face and showed them my ID. The younger of the two paparazzi said "This could be a fake ID; I don't believe that you're not her. Actresses try all the time to fool us."

"Well are you guys real familiar with her?" I asked, with a big grin.

The older one said, "Yeah - I think that I am."

"Well does she have any tattoos or distinguishing marks?" I asked.

I could see both guys feverishly playing with their smartphones. After about half a minute the younger guy said "She has a wordy tattoo on her left ribcage."

"You sure?" I asked with a giggle.

"Yeah," the older guy said, holding out his I-phone so that I could see the screen.

She certainly did. "OK," I said, and then nonchalantly lifted up my sundress and turned my left side to them. Fortunately I had panties on that day since a third of the time I don't have any underwear on; I don't know for sure what I would have done if I were commando that day.

The younger guy's eyes got wide. The older one had sunglasses on, but his eyebrows rose.

"Sorry to disappoint guys," I laughed, as I lowered my dress and turned to walk away.

"No disappointment at all," the older guy yelled.

"Would you like to go to dinner tonight?" the younger one chimed in.

"Sorry, I'm meeting Johnny D," I said, turning toward them with a big smile on my face. They both laughed and drove off. The cops had been watching this and had big grins on their faces as I passed them. "Thank you so much, officers," I said, making eye contact with each of them and with my smile still plastered on my face.

"Our pleasure," the younger one said, tipping his hat.

As for Brenda, we went to a charity costume party together when we were in graduate school. It was underwritten by Mars Company, and 100% of the admission price and drink purchases went to a very deserving local organization. Brenda dressed as Wonder Woman. She was spilling out of her costume, which was a size too small, especially her ample boobs. She had to be six feet three with her Wonder Woman boots on. She honestly could have stepped right out of the old TV show. At the party, seven people earnestly asked if she was the actress who played WW, and two of the people who asked were actually sober.

"Her daughter," Brenda teased, causing six of the seven to ask for her autograph. She gladly signed a program "Love, Brenda C, young Wonder Woman," and they were as happy as pigs in shit.

"What happens when they find out that WW's daughter's name is Jessica A?" I giggled.

"I'll be long gone," Brenda giggled back.

I pulled out my I-phone, goggled "Jessica A/Images," then I showed the first image that popped up to Brenda.

"Holy Shit!" Brenda exclaimed. "Maybe I am WW's illegitimate daughter because that woman looks more like me than my mother or sister do!"

She was right.

*****************

The state that Brenda and I moved to after we got our Masters Degrees in Business Administration allowed same sex marriages. We got married about two months out of graduate school, and had a small ceremony. My parents and brother, though not thrilled, were OK with it and attended and were as pleasant as I could have hoped. Brenda's parents and sister refused to come, but her brother did and he was completely cool with it.

We had what we thought was a good business plan for starting or taking over a company to make a "new technology" product, one that we got on a favorable patent license from an Engineering student who invented it and went to the college where we got our MBA degrees. The medium sized city that we located in seemed to be the perfect place considering the labor force, location with respect to projected markets, and availability of capital.

We were disappointed by our initial reception. Even though legally same-sex couples were accepted, socially we had a hard time. Well over 50% of the population seemed to have animosity toward lesbian couples, and each of us encountered at least two dozen guys who grumbled "What a waste," or words to that effect, when we rejected their advances by pointing out that we were married lesbians. We couldn't find a bank or entrepreneur who was interested in loaning us any money for our business either; I'd like to think that that was not due to prejudice or because we had a shitty business plan, but of course I don't know for sure.

We both had to get part-time jobs to pay our bills while we looked for a way to start our company, and were more than slightly discouraged at the time that we decided to go to a bar we had never been to before to drown our sorrows one Friday evening.

Although the bar was high class, unfortunately there were a couple of loud drunks. They tried to hit on us. We tried our best to discourage them without revealing our sexual preference. but to no avail. Finally Brenda told them that we were married - and to each other - and held up her hand and mine with our matching distinctive wedding bands.

"You just need a real man, bitch," the bigger of the two guys said, grabbing Brenda's arm.

Suddenly a guy appeared from the drunk's left. He squeezed the big drunk's hand, causing him to release Brenda's arm. "Guys, it's time for you to leave. Do you want me to call you a cab?"

The guy who intervened was also a big guy, but obviously older than the drunks. He was dressed in an expensive suit, had blond hair with a touch of gray that any woman over forty would die to have on her head, and a ruggedly handsome face.

"It's not for you to say, grandpa," the big drunk yelled while massaging his hand.

"Actually, it is. I own this establishment. I'm asking very nicely that you leave and will even pay your cab fare," the handsome older guy said.

"Fuck you, asshole," the big drunk said and then pushed the older guy.

In a flash the older guy had pinned the drunk's hand to his chest, dropped down to one knee, and bent forward. The drunk yelled in excruciating pain, "You broke my fucking wrist!"

As soon as the older guy stood up the second drunk rushed him and swung at him with his right hand. The older guy blocked the punch then head-butted the second drunk obviously breaking his nose as blood spewed out all over and the drunk was knocked prone.

The older guy calmly pulled out his cell phone, dialed a number, and said "Hi Chief Tilden, Rob Brinker here. There are two drunks at my place on 34th that were harassing some of my customers and are in need of medical attention and a night in jail. Could you have someone come over and pick them up?...Thank you."

Then the guy we now knew was Rob Brinker turned to us. "I'm really sorry ladies. Please enjoy another drink on the house after I get these guys taken care of."

I think that Brenda, as stupefied as I was, mumbled "Thanks."

Two cops were there within ninety seconds. They were completely deferential to Rob Brinker, calling him "Mr. Brinker" and asking him exactly what he wanted them to do, and quickly rushed the drunks out of there.

The rest of the bar patrons gave Rob a round of applause as the drunks were led away. He smiled and waved, and then turned to us again.

"What are you having?" he asked with a big smile.

"I'm drinking a Mascato and my friend, here, is drinking a Cherry Bitch," Brenda said with a smile, "but you really don't have to comp us one. We're just grateful for your intervention."

"Sorry, I have to do something to make up for the harassment of you two classy young ladies," Rob smiled. He went to the bar and returned with our drinks in less than two minutes. We looked upon him with awe the whole time. "He makes me wish that I was straight," I giggled under my breath to Brenda.

"Me too," she giggled back.

When Rob returned he asked if he could sit down and talk for a while. We readily agreed.

Rob was a charming conversationalist. He was also an expert interrogator. Only the next day did we realize how much information he got out of us by skillful questioning, such as "I see that you have the same really elegant rings on," and then just letting us talk. He must have chatted with us for two hours, all the while refreshing our drinks with free new ones, until we were plastered. We told him about our unsuccessful attempts to start our business and he gave us a card with his name and a phone number on it and insisted that we call him and make an appointment to bring our business plan for him to look at some time within the next week. Then he had a limo take us home.

We were flabbergasted the entire trip home. Once there, we turned our curiosity and amazement into sexual energy and fucked each other comatose with a double dildo.

When we awoke the next morning the first thing that we did was to Goggle the hell out of Rob Brinker. We quickly found out that he was likely the richest and most respected man in our medium-sized city, used to be a practicing attorney but now owned at least three dozen local businesses, was a fifty five year old widower with two grown children, one who lived in town the other out of state, and that he was the chairman of the board of at least three charities, including one big national one.

"Sounds like a good guy to know," Brenda deadpanned.

"You think?" I laughed.

The next week we called the number on the card that Rob had given us. The apparent administrative assistant who answered set up an appointment for us at lunch on Thursday, and asked what we would like brought in for lunch.

"What will Mr. Brinker be having?" I cautiously asked.

"A small order of chicken parmesan, a Greek salad, one glass of white wine, and blueberry crisp for desert," she replied, "but you're welcome to order anything that you want."

I told Brenda what the admin said, and then told the admin "Uh, actually, that sounds good to both of us too, so three orders would be great."

"That's wonderful," she responded. "See you at noon on Thursday. The office he will be at is..." and then gave us the address.

From another Google search we determined that one of Rob's companies owned the building that we were going to, and found that it was as high class as he was. We got there five minutes early and had to wait only a minute or two before we were ushered into his office.

"Lisa, Brenda, I'm so pleased that you took me up on my offer," he warmly greeted us, gently shaking our hands. Although we realized at the bar that he was a big man, we were a little surprised in the light of day how big. He had to be at least six feet six inches tall and an athletic two hundred twenty pounds.

We sat down at a table with white tablecloth and linens, crystal glasses, and sterling silverware. A guy in a white coat came in and served us our food and wine, which was delicious. After lunch we moved to chairs in front of his mahogany desk. He made sure to point out to us that the mahogany was reused from other pieces of ancient furniture, that everything in his office was made from either reused or recycled material, and that the building had a Leeds Gold Certification.

The luncheon table and settings quietly and seamlessly disappeared as we gave Rob our business plan.

Rob must have been a speed reader since he looked over our quite voluminous business plan in about five minutes and asked us intelligent and probing questions for twenty minutes after that, obviously marking up our business plan with a red pen as we answered. Finally he said "Brenda, Lisa, you have a good idea. Your business plan needs a little work. There are two major changes that are necessary and six minor ones. I've marked them on this copy of your plan."

He handed the marked-up copy back to me, then continued while writing something on a business card; "If you feel comfortable making those changes take the revised business plan to John Jensen at Third Island Bank on 31st street with this note and he'll lend you $200,000 at three percent interest, secured by the patent license on the main product featured in your plan."

We tried not to be flabbergasted as we thanked him and looked at the card that he had given us. I foolishly asked "Are you sure that Mr. Jensen will loan us the money?"

Rob chuckled. "He'd better, or I'll fire him."

Once we got outside the building Brenda almost screamed "I can't fucking believe it! We beat our heads against the wall for three months with nothing to show for it and we meet a guy at a bar who saves our ass and then gives us more money at a lower rate than we even asked for."

"Let's not get too excited until we review his comments and changes," I cautioned, although inwardly I was as excited as Brenda.

"Unless he suggested that we open up a cat house on the side, we're going to go along with it," she giggled.

We looked over Rob's changes after we got home from our shitty part-time jobs. All except one was either insightful or brilliant; the one that we weren't thrilled about we simply shrugged off. "He knows more than we do," Brenda chuckled, "who are we to reject it?"

Within a month we had quit our part-time jobs, rented a factory, hired our first employees, and were ready to start production.

We got another surprise when Rob called my cellphone and asked for four units to show to a CEO of one of his companies. I hand carried them to Rob myself, and was again greeted warmly. A week later Rob showed up at our small factory with two other people. "Lisa and Brenda, meet Jim and Austen. They are interested in your product with a few cosmetic changes."

Brenda met with Jim and Austen while I gave Rob a tour. When we returned fifteen minutes later Jim called Rob and me into our small office - we didn't have enough chairs so I had to stand.

"Rob," Jim said, "Brenda says that they can make the changes but don't presently have enough capital to retool and we might have to wait another three months for delivery."

"Won't work," Rob said stroking his chin. "How much more money do you need, Brenda?"

"Uh...$75,000, Rob," she sheepishly replied.

"Go see your buddy Jim Jensen," Rob responded, writing on another card and handing it to Brenda. "The loan will be secured by the purchase order Austen has."

As I stood there with a lump in my throat and with my eyes popping out of my head, and while Brenda tried to keep her cool, Austen pulled a document out of his briefcase, made a few notations and interlineations on it, and handed it to Brenda.

Everyone was all smiles as we said goodbye to our three visitors, who left in Rob's chauffer driven Tesla. Brenda and I almost swooned when we got back to our office and I looked at the purchase order for the first time. It was for $450,000 worth of product.

"I'd fuck that guy if I wasn't gay," Brenda giggled.

***********************

Over the next three years our business thrived, and we easily paid back our loans to Third Island bank. Our relationship with Rob continued to grow, both business and social. Rob was thrilled when Brenda and I organized a lake outing fundraiser for one of the charities that he was chairman of, and he introduced us to all sorts of other business owners and city socialites. It appeared that once people knew that we had Rob's imprimatur of approval any prejudice that they had against a lesbian couple magically disappeared.

After we knew Rob for about nine months, since I'm an excellent cook I was confident enough to ask Rob - and a guest - to our house for dinner. He graciously accepted but said that he'd come alone. We had a great time, and actually opened up to each other after polishing off a couple of bottles of wine. We told him what it was like to be a lesbian couple, and he shocked us when he told us about his problems with finding appropriate female companionship.

"What the fuck, Rob," a slightly buzzed Brenda less-than-tactfully said. "You could have any straight woman in this city that you wanted. You're smart, handsome, fit, rich, and compassionate. How could you possibly have a problem?"

"Well thank you for your support," Rob uncomfortably chuckled. "My main problem is that I can't find anyone that doesn't almost instantly want a commitment. The only woman I ever loved is my departed wife. I'm not looking for marriage or an exclusive relationship - I just want a companion - who is fun to be around and who wants to fuck with no strings attached."

Both Brenda and I laughed at his language - he had never used the word "fuck" in our presence before.

"Sorry for the French," he sheepishly said.

"Yeah, I never heard that word before - oh, wait; I just said it myself a few seconds before," Brenda laughed - so hard that tears came to her eyes.

We really did become good friends with Rob. He invited us to poker parties and cultural events, we invited him to theme and costume parties, and in general we really enjoyed each other's company. Even though Rob was more than thirty years older than we were, and we were younger than his daughter, we did not have a father-daughter type relationship with him. He was always almost flirty with us, and we with him.