For the Love of April French

by Penny Aimes

  He laughed again, and it made her feel warm and loose; she rolled her shoulders a bit. She always hunched up like this and then suddenly realized she’d given herself a headache. She could see he was relaxing, too, some of the wary tension that had made him stand out to her as a newbie seeping away.

  He smiled, and said, “So am I going to be in trouble if I say I don’t really like barbecue?”

  Dennis

  She looked scandalized, then suspicious. “Hang on. You’re from Illinois. Describe barbecue to me.”

  He chuckled a little. He knew he was in for it now, but there was nowhere to go but forward. “You take some beef, and you cook it, and you chop it up and mix it up with sauce. My grandma used to make it for Christmas.”

  “No. Wrong. Disgraceful,” she said. “That’s just chopped beef. In fact—what cut of meat?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, chuck roast I think.”

  “No, no, no, no. No. No, Dennis.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Dennis. I have such wonders to show you.”

  He could feel the warmth of her hand through his clothing and he liked it. He wrapped his hand around her wrist, feeling her pulse leaping there, and leaned towards her. Her hand pressed into his shoulder as he tightened the distance between them. “I would love that.”

  She tilted closer until her pink—very pink—lips were inches away from his, and said in a low, sensual voice, “Barbecue...is not when you cook in the backyard with your friends. And it’s not, I’m sorry, whatever your grandma made.”

  “Makes,” he said, stifling a smile. “She’s still alive.”

  “Well, thank God,” she said, not missing a beat, and he laughed again. He couldn’t help it. “Barbecue is a special miracle that happens to a cow or a pig—most places it’s a pig, but in Texas they like cows—over the course of several hours. Brisket. Sausage. Pulled pork. Short ribs. The sauce is optional. The smoke does the work. There’s also—” The voice, somehow, was still making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “—potato salad.”

  “I see,” he said, matching her bedroom voice. Her teeth caught her full lower lip and worried it. The pink stain didn’t move, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her lips or stop thinking about kissing them. All he said was: “Haven’t you only lived here three years?”

  She raised a finger, then deflated, blowing her hair out of her face, and drifted away, leaning back the other way on her stool. “Yes, but it’s been an instructive three years.”

  “Apparently so.” He inspected her closely. She seemed a little giddy and loose, but not drunk. He saw her twist slightly on her stool, reacting to his gaze. Positively, he thought, if he knew anything about reading women. (And a shadow flickered over his mood at that thought—had he ever really known Sonia?—but he pushed it aside easily.)

  “So.” She fidgeted with her drink, then set it to one side. “How did you find out about Frankie’s?”

  “A friend recommended it,” he said. She seemed to be waiting to see if he would say any more about his friend, and when he didn’t, she moved on. Privacy was important in these settings, which was exactly why he didn’t mention Jason. He should be here soon anyway, and could introduce himself.

  “Well, welcome,” she said, another warm smile spilling out over her face. She gestured at the space as if it belonged to her. It wasn’t much compared to others he’d seen—an L-shaped room, bar and dance floor and a few tables and booths—but she seemed proud of it. “This is the main room. Sometimes there’s a DJ. Sometimes there’s...people.” She laughed—she seemed to laugh easily, and he found he liked the sound. Like her voice, it was unaffected, with no artificial attempt to retune the deeper qualities. Instead, she had a musical lilt, bouncing naturally between extremes. “I’ll admit, this is slow even for a Wednesday. But we got a few folks. It gets busier on Saturday...or when there’s theme nights.”

  “What kind of themes?” he asked. His experience with these clubs didn’t involve theme nights, either.

  “Oh, like, ladies’ night for us sapphics, or leather parties or what-have-you,” she said easily. The part of him that was still wary of misreading the situation clocked sapphics, a careful word choice to include bi and pan women. She wanted him to know she was into women; she wanted him to know it wasn’t exclusively women. Good news. “Sometimes there are demonstrations or shows.”

  “In here?” he said, looking around the room again.

  “No, silly.” She laughed and gestured towards folding doors along the back wall. “There’s more space, but they only open them up on the weekend.”

  Now, that was interesting. He looked more closely now. “How big is this place?”

  “Two or three times this big, altogether,” she said. “With the roof, too.”

  “And it gets full?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes. Hey.” She put her hand out on his shoulder again, and he felt warmth bloom in his chest from her touch. “Can I show you something?”

  Was she proposing a demonstration of her own? He wasn’t sure how to take someone saying can I show you something? in a kink club. But he wanted to see where this went; see more of her. Whatever this was, he felt sure it wouldn’t be boring.

  He finished off his drink and set it down. “Of course.”

  April

  He still seemed calm, unperturbed, and it was hard to imagine what could perturb him. A hungry part of her wondered what he’d look like when he came undone, and she swallowed it.

  She liked this guy. She definitely liked him. That wasn’t strictly required, but it did wonders for her self-respect afterwards. “Come with me.” She beckoned him to one of the doors, one that wasn’t locked, and up the stairs to the roof of Frankie’s.

  “Pretty soon it’ll be wayyy too hot up here, but right now it’s just...perfect.” She did shrug out of her jacket, though, and so did he, and they draped them over their arms while he bought her another drink. There was a second, smaller bar up here, where Manny looked deeply bored. He roused himself enough to tip her a wink and give Dennis a once-over, which Dennis acknowledged with a brief smile but did not return. He replaced his Jack and Coke; she just got a Sprite. “Estrogen wrecks your tolerance,” she said confidingly. “Unadvertised benefit.”

  They settled on a chaise under an unlit heater and looked at Austin’s endlessly multiplying skyline. Some of Austin’s oldest skyscrapers complained about losing their views to the new high-rises, but Frankie’s had always been low to the ground and the lights of the city were the view here. The more hotels and condos they put up, the prettier it got. The other buildings on the block, built up to the sky, towered beside them and sheltered the rooftop from the wind.

  She looked out at the glimmering skyline. “In the winter it’s almost too cold to breathe up here sometimes, but this is still my favorite.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he said. His arm slid around her perfectly and she twisted the soles of her sneakers against the rooftop to ground the thrill that ran through her.

  She wanted, desperately, to ask what he was looking for, what he was into, if this was going to happen and if they were at all compatible. But, she told herself, she’d done enough. She’d started the conversation. She’d initiated coming up here. If he wanted her, let alone wanted her in the way that brought them both to this club, he’d take it from here. All she had to do was surrender to the moment and be honest. Wasn’t that what had attracted her to the submissive role, even when she hadn’t known she was April yet?

  Say something, she willed. Say anything.

  He didn’t at first, just let her nest in the crook of his arm, and then his hand, large and warm and well-manicured, moved from her waist to the back of her neck and squeezed; not forcefully, but tenderly. “You’re tense,” he said, in a low voice that kicked her in the libido with steel-toed boots. “Do you need some space?”

  She smiled; h
er face tight at first, but it loosened with the rest of her as he continued to rub her neck. “I know how to say no.”

  “Of course you do. But there’s a difference between yes and the absence of no.”

  So he knew that one already. Thank God. She let her eyes flutter closed as her heart rate picked up and arousal sluiced through her. “Yes. I mean—no, I don’t need space. Yes, I want to be here with you. It’s just—”

  “This is the tricky part,” he filled in.

  “Yes,” she said again, and felt another electric zing from his hand to the center of her. Was he going to actually make this easy?

  Dennis

  Dennis took a deep breath. He decided he was glad she’d closed her eyes; she couldn’t see his face. But how would he ever regain his confidence in this if he didn’t do it?

  “When I came here tonight,” he said, “I just wanted to see the place my friend recommended. Have a drink and get the lay of the land. But, you know, it crossed my mind—I might meet someone and go home with them tonight. I mean, I think we all think there’s a chance of that whenever we come to a place like this, right?”

  “Yes,” she said, tipping her head forward and sending an avalanche of hair over her face. Something about it sent a pang through him.

  “Yes, there’s always a chance, or yes, you hoped you might meet someone, too?” he pressed. The distinction did matter.

  “Yes... I did hope,” she admitted. Her shoulders rolled, and finally she uncurled. He couldn’t help noticing the motion pushed her breasts up and out, and since her eyes were still closed, he let himself stare. “I was...looking.”

  “But it’s trickier finding a one-night stand in a place like this. More compatibility questions than a normal pick-up. Or maybe we just worry about them more.”

  She laughed. “Yes.”

  “I love hearing you say that,” he growled. What did they say? Consent is sexy? Vanilla people had no idea. He knew he was probably more assiduous than he needed to be, but he didn’t want to make any wrong moves, and every yes told him she was with him, she was onboard, she wanted more. There was a purr and a promise in the way she said it that was driving him wild, as if he was reading her mind.

  Her lips moved, inaudibly.

  “Hm?” he said, tilting his head towards her.

  “I said, fuck you’re good at this,” she laughed, and inwardly he preened a little. Negotiating the hump between chat and leaving together was a skill he’d been good at once, but that had never been in a kink space. It was nice to know he still had the knack.

  “So we talk about it,” he said, more easily than he felt. “If we aren’t compatible, I’ll be disappointed, because...well, because you’re hot.” Even as he said it, he realized he’d be more than disappointed. He’d been trying, yes, but this was the quickest he’d felt a real connection to someone in a long time. And without that sense of connection, there was just...not much for him, in casual sex. But now he felt engaged, present and drawn to her, and along with that came arousal and hunger he hadn’t felt in a while.

  His voice was still light, still under control. “But that’s just how it goes, right?”

  He felt her tighten up again and wondered what it was. “Right,” she said, taking a deep breath and lifting her head; opening her eyes to look into his face. “We talk. Have you been with a trans woman before?”

  “No.” He’d known some trans people in the course of his life, especially in college and in Seattle, but he’d never hooked up with one. “Is that a problem?” he asked, suddenly wary of a new way to fuck up.

  “That’s a ‘you’ question,” she said, with a brave little smile that just about broke his damn heart. She seemed like she was waiting for something, but he didn’t know what. Finally, she sighed and said, “I mean...”

  “Is this about your genitals?” he said, as lightly as he could manage. Did she seriously expect him to start firing questions about her medical history at her? Did people do that? “Because you’re not going to chase me off that way. I can work with anything.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve got to be hoping for something, right?” He could feel the mood slipping. It seemed like she’d had a script in mind; maybe he should’ve let her go ahead. But it didn’t feel right. Instead—

  “Hey.” He fixed her eyes with his. “What if you let me worry about that?”

  Her sudden mounting brittleness seemed to melt just as quickly. “I’d like that,” she said quietly.

  “I know I’m asking for you to trust me,” he said, thinking it out even as he spoke. Working without a safety net. “In fact—that’s exactly what I’m doing. Do you trust me? Will you trust me, for tonight?” Because if not...this can’t happen.

  Her smile came back. “Yes,” she said once more, and that admission of trust, the gentle web of connection building between them, set him on fire.

  Maybe it affected her the same way. She closed her eyes again, briefly; when she reopened them again, she was more focused. She tapped his shirt front. “We still have to talk about limits and interests. And I can’t be all subbed up for that. It’s bad enough I’m as horny as I am.” She gave a little demonstrative wiggle, and he laughed, but there was an edge to it.

  “Maybe we ought to carry around laminated kink sheets so we can’t edit them on the fly.”

  She smiled back. “Maybe so.” She was waiting for him to lead, so he launched into it, let his hand slip away from her neck. In the past comparing notes like this had sometimes felt like an interrogation (hot in theory, felt shitty in practice) or begging for permission (not his thing at all). But it was necessary.

  “First, do you have preferred safewords?”

  “Can’t go wrong with traffic lights,” she said cheerfully. “A classic for a reason.”

  “Do you like dirty talk?”

  “Oh hell yes,” she giggled. “Get creative. I’ll let you know if you misstep.”

  “I like lingerie and dress-up,” he admitted.

  “What girl doesn’t? But it’s a Wednesday night and some of us have work in the morning.” He nodded in concession. He hadn’t really expected they’d get to that tonight; just information. He didn’t care what she wore, because he was increasingly focused on tearing it off of her.

  “I’m a big fan of discipline—” he said, and she laid a hand on his arm.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I could tell that about you.”

  He felt that warmth and energy spreading up his arm again from her touch but continued. “—and while I don’t enjoy punishment as much, it has its place.” He put some weight on that and enjoyed seeing her eyes darken. She got a little less chatty.

  “Let’s talk about punishment,” she said, in the same voice she used to talk about barbecue. “I actually love impact play.”

  “I’ll be honest,” he said carefully. She seemed like she may have been doing this longer than him. “My experience is limited to spanking, mostly. Some experimentation with nipple clamps.”

  She smirked mischievously. “On you or others?” She wasn’t quite a brat, she was just...having fun. At first, he had felt a little wrong-footed, as she seemed to have totally dropped out of role. Yet he found he enjoyed laughing with her like this almost as much as he had enjoyed watching her melt.

  “On others,” he said firmly. “I’m more experienced with bondage.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Yum,” she said, then regretfully, “But not on a first date.”

  “That’s very reasonable.” Regrettable, but reasonable. She was so mobile, so alive, a flame dancing on a candle, and he ached to pin her down and make her scream with pleasure.

  “Do we need a flag for when the scene starts?” he asked. Most of the time, kinky experiences had a defined beginning and end, with one set of rules during the scene and one the rest of the time. It was always important to have clarity on which set of
rules applied.

  She bit her lip again, and again his eyes zeroed in on her mouth. “For tonight? Let’s say it starts the first time you kiss me.” So she did know what she was doing with that little trick. He nodded his agreement, and she leaned in closer.

  “So...do you want to hear the good news?” she said, almost humming with controlled excitement.

  “What’s that?” he asked. His jitters were trying to come back, but when he remembered each trembling, whispered yes, his pulse picked up. This was what he was meant to do. This was sex, for him.

  She grinned. “I live just down the street from here.”

  He grabbed his jacket. They could finish the conversation on the way.

  April

  “I like orgasm control, too!” she admitted, as they walked down the street. “But I don’t think we have time for that.”

  “You’ll come tonight,” he said confidently, and she laughed even as sparks sizzled through her.

  “The estradiol giveth and the estradiol taketh away. But we can sure as hell try.” She felt nervy and charged; felt like she was talking too much. There’d been a moment—one clean, perfect moment—where she’d hit exactly the right subby vibe, but then the inevitable crushing reality of her body had shattered it. He’d recovered well. God, he’s good at this, she thought once again. He was new in town and he might be inexperienced, but he was a goddamn natural, and for tonight he was all hers.

  Word’s going to get out and he’s not going to need the welcome wagon anymore, said an unkind part of herself. But I got there first, she snapped back.