LipstickLeslee

by Titania Leslee

  And the orgasms. Mm yes, I couldn’t deny that a climax satisfied me more while holding a warm, soft body in my arms than it did with a hairy, arrogant man—or at least trying to get to an orgasm with a man. Or using a plastic buzzing toy held to my pussy while all alone in my big bed night after night after night.

  That evening when I’d forgotten about Tom, I’d found him still waiting at the restaurant. All I had to do was look at him in all his geekiness and I’d known he wasn’t for me, especially not with Leslee’s flavor still on my tongue and her scent surrounding me like a misting of perfume. The relief that had washed over me when I’d broken it off with him had been so freeing.

  So right.

  But what was I? A heterosexual woman who at twenty-seven just hadn’t met the man of my dreams yet, the man who could bring me to orgasm? A confused bisexual woman who had yet to experience mind-blowing sex with a man but had found it with my first woman? Or was I really a tried-and-true lesbian like Kaydee and Savanah?

  And most of all, did it really matter? Was it even necessary to label myself one way or the other? Either you fit with a person or not. What difference did their gender make, or your preferences?

  The questions plagued me minute by minute, week by week. The engulfing despair grew larger and colder, dragging me into its dark pit. I shut off my phone and refused to answer my door—I was certain the distant knocks were Savanah and Kaydee, and I imagined my voicemail overflowed with concerned calls from them. But I simply couldn’t claw my way out of the abyss. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t pack worth a shit. When I did muster any energy, I tossed things in boxes without regard for organization or neatness, making Saucy scurry off and hide. I’d become a pathetic robot with no future, a present that surrounded me with surreal misery, and a past I couldn’t bear to reflect on.

  But even amid all the mental chaos, my thoughts kept shifting back to Leslee and our amazing lovemaking. I couldn’t deny that it had felt right, that I had never experienced such exciting closeness with anyone in my entire life, including my ex-husband during our pre-marriage days. All I could recall with him was awkward, anticlimactic intimacy that never failed to disappoint me. What a fool I’d been to ignore that very important red flag and allow myself to say “I do”.

  Apparently, the “trauma” of finding Kaydee and Savanah in bed together after leaving Will behind on our honeymoon had jolted my subconscious into denial mode. From that moment on, I’d made a point to date unattractive men to give myself a valid reason to avoid intimacy with them. All the while I’d kept a curious eye on Kaydee and Savanah’s growing, loving relationship and fought the envy and loneliness that resulted from it. I could look back now, even as I sat here curled up on my sofa in my cold apartment, and admit that I’d loved my job simply because I looked forward to spending time with Leslee. I thrived on the attention she gave me, and while I never would have admitted it back then, I could see now that she’d been drawn to me from the start, and in a way that transcended supervisor or friend.

  “Oh my gawd.” I slapped my hand over my gaping mouth, muffling my voice. “I knew she was falling in love with me all along. I allowed it, even encouraged it. And I got off on it.”

  I swallowed a thick lump and whispered, “Have I really been denying who I am all this time?”

  Still, I couldn’t be for sure. On a whim, I shot to my feet and eyed the entertainment center. I dodged boxes, made my way to the cabinet and searched for a porno DVD—specifically one that I knew had both women and men in it with scenes of a male and female making love, as well as separate scenes featuring women only. I slid the movie in the DVD player and grabbed the remote.

  Will had bought the flicks and often brought them over, insisting our sex life was suffering and we needed to spice things up. I let the movie previews play while I recalled those dreaded nights of endless sex void of emotion on Will’s part and orgasms on mine. The only time I could ever come was if he did oral on me while I fantasized and replaced him with a hot chick, just like in the videos.

  Immediately afterward, I’d bury my humiliation and overcompensate with enthusiastic lovemaking that still ended with an empty hole in my soul and heart. I closed my eyes when a thought occurred to me¼

  Though Will’s infidelity on our honeymoon had been shocking and unforgivable, maybe I had contributed to it? Could it be that I should take at least some of the responsibility for our marriage failing before it had barely begun?

  I fought off my natural reaction of outrage and pity and knew it was true. Will had always been a player, but my sexual-identity confusion had been there too.

  I laughed out loud. “Ha. We didn’t stand a chance from the beginning anyway. A narcissistic playboy and a sexually confused, selfish woman hiding in her big damn closet.”

  I shook my head and accepted the weight of it as the movie began to play with the usual cheesy music and stilted dialogue. Let’s see how my heart, emotions and body react to it¼

  It started off with a man kissing a woman. Their clothes were gone within a minute flat. I’d learned there were two typical male porn-star types—the kind where he had the beginnings of a beer belly and a corny mustache, or the undeniably handsome type on steroids who could manhandle and flip the chick over one-handed.

  This man was definitely the latter.

  His swollen cock was impressive in size, intimidating to any woman. I focused on his erection and his body and his aroused reactions to her.

  But it did nothing for me.

  Nothing.

  Just indifference coupled with a vague sense of repulsion.

  Why had I not seen it before, or admitted it?

  I continued with my self-testing. My gaze shifted to her.

  Curvy, soft, beautiful.

  Her skin shone golden beneath the set lighting. Now that I’d had a real taste of a woman, my palms tingled at the remembered sensation of my hands dragging over silky flesh. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her back. Layers around her gorgeous face framed it, emphasizing the contorted expression of ecstasy. Her nipples were erect and the fullness of her breasts bounced as he pounded into her from behind. Close-up shots of his glazed cock slipping in and out of her perfect, shaven pussy had my mouth watering, my own pussy warming and getting wetter by the second. I propped my feet on the coffee table and slid my hand down my belly until I reached my wet cunt. I had no problem picturing myself in place of him with a dildo strapped to my waist and hips, my hands gripping her hips and fucking her, the smell of her juices wafting up to tempt me.

  “Ah yes, that’s why I didn’t see it or admit it before now.” Because my lackluster arousal with men, contrasted with my swift fascination and arousal with women, had always been too stark, too obvious for my ego to accept.

  So I avoided it and women, and compensated by constantly dating men, sleeping with them and searching for that one person who would prove my subconscious wrong and prevent me from accepting the truth. I looked for a man who could turn me into a nympho and bring me to orgasm. Yet after my traumatic experience with Will, I had always migrated toward boring men like Tom, ones who would prevent my heart from becoming obligated to anyone.

  Meanwhile, I’d let my eyes rove to women.

  To Leslee.

  My boss—another defense mechanism that had kept me from admitting to the truth.

  I circled my hard clit with my fingertip, keeping my gaze on the woman in the video. But the camera kept flipping to the man and putting out my fire, so I forwarded to the chick-on-chick scene. A naked strawberry blonde and brunette embraced and kissed each other with tender tongue explorations and lip sucking. Nipples grazed nipples, their pussies grinded together, eliciting moans and growls from both women.

  “Mm-hmm, yes, there we go.” My lower belly quickened and warm cream trickled out of my pussy. I circled the opening with my finger, transferred the moisture to my clit and gave the nub a quick flicker of rubs, causing my breathing to turn to short panting. I lifted my hips and
thrust in a swivel motion against my finger. An animal-like moan escaped my throat. It didn’t sound like the me who had been with men.

  It sounded like the me who had made amazing love with Leslee.

  I could admit that now, and the admission, along with the unfettered tone of my voice intermingling with the women in the video, sent me to that same level of excitement I could only reach in the past when fantasizing about making love with a female.

  My gaze remained on the hot chicks—hell, I couldn’t look away even if a bomb dropped. But as they did a sexy maneuver into a sixty-nine position, my mind replayed the time weeks ago when I’d engaged in the same with Leslee. I licked my lips and could almost taste her juices, feel the satiny folds on my tongue, smell her musky scent.

  The women curled together in a similar side-lying clench, hungrily eating each other’s pussies while receiving oral pleasure. I could now relate to the bliss of it. I didn’t have to imagine it as I had before hooking up with Leslee. That knowledge sped up my pleasure and brought me to the pre-threshold of orgasm faster than any toy ever had. I slid my feet wider on the coffee table when the women started finger-fucking each other.

  I curled forward, slid two fingers from my free hand into my dripping cunt and pumped myself deep and fast. In my mind, it was Leslee’s pussy I fucked and her clit I rubbed in a frenzy, yet at the same time, it was Leslee fucking and playing with me. We were wound together in that never-ending circle of pleasure again, just like we’d been that night, just like the women in the video.

  “Oh god. Oh my god¼” My teeth grinded together. I struggled to keep my eyes open and on the TV. But I sucked in a hiss and squeezed my eyes shut as the orgasm pulsated through my system and racked my entire body in nearly unbearable ecstasy. My pussy spasmed around my fingers, cream oozed onto my palm and the aroma of sex drifted up and teased my nostrils.

  “Leslee, mmmm Leslee¼” I screamed out her name before I realized it was me.

  I want you, I miss you, I need you.

  The orgasm ebbed and I slumped on the couch, trying to catch my breath. Wow. Not only had I accepted the weight of having hidden in that closet, but now after watching this video and fantasizing about Leslee for the first time since that night weeks ago, I realized I’d opened the door. And opening the door did the opposite—it lifted that weight from my soul.

  Light slanted through that metaphorical door and filled my heart with brighter, clearer days ahead. My eyes stung with tears of relief and happiness. I stood and hit the remote button to eject the movie from the DVD. The TV switched to a local affiliate reporting the news. I gasped at what met my eyes and ears.

  “Our sources confirm that Bard’s Holdings has purchased the controversial lesbian bar and grill, Pussycat’s, co-owned by former husband-and-wife team Charles Snyder and Leslee Franks.” The reporter’s brown bob hairstyle didn’t move when she lifted her chin and tilted her head. She pursed her lips. “Bard’s has been known in the Louisville and surrounding areas for their anti-gay stance and plans to buy out all gay businesses.”

  A short clip of Leslee and I on stage played through as she relayed the story. It changed to Leslee emerging from the courthouse front doors. My heart flipped over in my chest. I stepped closer to the TV, placed my hand on the screen and studied her. I thirsted for the sight of her and drank in every detail. She wore a sleek, dark business suit with an unbuttoned blazer and hip dress pants beneath a long black coat. She held her head down. Her hair fell in a curtain across her shoulders and around her face. She gripped the railing and descended the stairs, emitting femininity and grace. Reporters badgered her with questions, scurrying down the stairs with her, thrusting microphones in her face. It wasn’t until the last seconds of the clip that she raised her head and looked directly into the camera. They zoomed in on her and I pressed a hand to my aching breastbone.

  Her eyes were red and her face pale. So beautiful yet beaten down.

  Sad.

  Lonely.

  “Leslee… Oh, Leslee,” I whispered. My eyes stung. I longed to take her in my arms and comfort her, to turn that despair into hope and happiness. I gritted my teeth. “This is all that son of a bitch Charles’ fault.”

  I punched the button on the remote and turned off the TV. Guilt pierced my belly out of nowhere. I pressed my hand to my stomach and groaned. “But I’m to blame too. She needs someone—hopefully me still—to lean on and to get support from. And what did I go and do? I abandoned her, refused any direct or indirect contact from her and pouted like a selfish frigging baby. God, I make myself sick.”

  Yes, it was time to grow up. I’d worked through my jealousy at Kaydee and Savanah’s close relationship, I’d fought my own gay prejudices, which made me no less culpable than Charles, I’d accepted the truth about my own sexuality and now realized a whopper of truth.

  I’m falling in love with her.

  “Really? Wow.” I grinned and started for the shower. It was time to scrap my cowardice and move into the next phase of my life. A fluttery sensation bloomed in my belly along with the resurgence of that delicious, horny heat. I couldn’t wait to see her. I couldn’t wait to hug her and kiss her and make wild, passionate love to her.

  I’d make up for all my mistakes.

  I paused at a sudden thought. Idiot. Just because I’d decided to accept myself for what I was and change my ways didn’t mean Leslee would welcome me with open arms and door. Maybe she’d already moved on with another woman?

  That dark cloud of depression moved toward me again, but I mentally cast it aside.

  “No. I refuse to think of my future any other way but with her.” I ignored the tightening knot of dread in my gut and turned on the shower. It steamed up within seconds and I stepped into the sizzling heat and pulsing spray of water on my back.

  As I shampooed my hair, excitement raced through my blood. I wondered where we should meet. Her place or mine? A coffee shop, or dinner at a nice restaurant?

  I rinsed my hair and sighed at the hot pelts of water massaging my scalp.

  Maybe the farm? If she hasn’t already visited Savanah and Kaydee, Leslee and I could take a Christmas hiatus there and I could show her where I grew up.

  I reached for the soap, picturing my deceased father’s gorgeous property Savanah had inherited upon his death. My mind raced so quickly, I gasped out loud at the sudden thought that occurred to me.

  A solution to everything, to Leslee losing Pussycat’s, to Charles and his prejudiced strong-arming and to my relationship with Leslee.

  “Aha, that’s it!” I rushed through the remainder of my shower and phoned Savanah, starting on my plan as soon as I finished dressing.

  But I refused to feed that lump of dread clogging my heart and throat, the one that nagged at me and said, “Leslee’s moved on. She’s done with you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Leslee: The Switch

  I’d seen the pictures of Will—Melanie’s ex—on her Starling Hotel desk in the past. There was no mistaking that that man standing next to her booth at the coffeehouse had to be him. I’d received a cryptic text from her an hour ago asking me to meet her here for a four p.m. coffee and pastry. Could she really be that cruel? Lure me here just to rub her flip-flopping in my face and make me insanely jealous?

  Damn, I was such a fool. Why’d I give in to the temptation to see her when I knew she’d just break my heart yet again?

  I clutched the handle of my purse and tried to calm the butterflies in my belly. The pleasant aroma of cinnamon and coffee wafted around me, along with the pungent scent of a nearby Christmas tree decorated with lights and coffee-themed ornaments. At this moment, I swore I’d never again get hooked up with another sexually confused woman who had men in her past. Never mind the fact that I’d also lived a chapter in my life that included men. Hell, a lot of lesbians did. It was called brainwashing and societal strong-arming.

  Only the fierce and determined would survive and emerge true to themselves.

  Find thei
r souls.

  Grow up.

  Be happy.

  Even now as I gazed at her, I knew she was one of the weak. She’d give in, refuse to be viewed as a “freak”. She would and always had opted for obedience to society rather than bucking their rules. And as I watched the former man and wife converse, I knew without a doubt that she’d prefer the cloak of marriage with a man over living with prejudice, being ostracized on almost a daily basis and crashing into that wall that divided “us” from “them”.

  No, Melanie would never be caught dead on the “us” side of that wall.

  The holiday carol I’ll Be Home for Christmas played on the overhead sound system, making me feel melancholy. I wondered where I’d be in a few days, who I’d be spending Christmas and New Year’s Eve with, if anyone at all. Every muscle in my body tensed, most especially my heart, as I poised to turn on my boots and flee. Wash my hands of her and move forward with my life, that’s what I’d do.

  But my curiosity got the better of me. No matter what, I needed to see how this played out, and I had to find out why she’d texted me after three weeks of silence and loneliness without her. So I stood behind a partition topped by an iron-filigreed panel lined with multicolored Christmas lights. I could peer through the holes and see them while remaining discreet. Melanie couldn’t see me unless she glanced to her right and happened to catch a glimpse of me through whorls of iron. But I could study both of their profiles, their body language, their voices and the way they looked at each other.

  Will shuffled his feet and dragged a hand through his dark, GQish hairstyle. “Seeing you on TV like that—whoa. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Melanie looked up at him and stirred her steaming latte at the same time. The clink of the spoon against the ceramic cup picked up tempo until she dropped the utensil on the table. She tore her gaze from him and stared straight ahead while she sipped the coffee. I adored the way she left the foam on her upper lip.