by Shawn Luther
Pandoras Box
Written by Shawn Luther
Story Date Sun 26 Jan 2014
Copyright 2014 by Shawn Luther
Chapter 1
It was March 21
That’s when I first met Sabra at The Cat House.
The local lesbian dive was small and dark. The walls painted in pride colors and covered with the compulsory posters of various females in sexy poses.
There was a small dance floor, a single pool table and dartboard.
It looked and smelled just about like any other small lesbian bar in America.
The Cat House was having an Eoestre’s celebration honoring the vernal equinox on this evening.
There is a large pagan community in Denver. I am not a pagan. I had done some research in the past because I do have pagan friends.
They had explained the spring equinox as sacred to dawn, youth, the morning star and the east. The Saxon goddess, Eostre is a dawn goddess, like Aurora and Eos. Just as the dawn is the time of new light, so the vernal equinox is the time of new life.
New life sounded good so I decided to go hang out and have a few beers.
I had been coming out of the rest room when she barreled into me full steam.
I grasped her by her upper arms to keep us both from falling over.
That’s when I noticed she was crying.
She looked me straight in the eyes and through her tears growled, “Women SUCK!”
I simply agreed, “Yes sometimes they do!” Releasing her so she could continue to the privacy of the rest room.
I knew right away that this young woman had gotten her heartbroken by some fast ass femme.
I went back to my seat and sipped my beer, my eyes scanning the room for the offending femme.
There were only a few in the bar and they were all with their partners.
I assumed the guilty party had left already.
I gave it fifteen minutes, knowing she needed to compose herself in private.
When she still had not come out, I went in to check on her.
She bent over the sink splashing cold water onto her red, swollen eyes.
I leaned against the wall and studied her while waiting for her to look up.
She was cute in her acid wash, close fitting jeans. She wore an old concert tee and checkered Vans. This woman is baby butch from head to toe.
When she finally did look up the eyes that met mine in the mirror were full of pride and pain.
She dried her face and hands. Then she turned toward me leaning back on the sink to steady her.
She looked down finally with a sheepish expression on her face.
“Sorry about all that” she said in a low voice. “I did not mean to run you over.”
I assured her that it was all right. I pulled a flask from my back pocket handed her.
She took a drink, coughed then squinted her eyes at me, “What the hell you got in here?”
I laughed gently and said, “Tokillya.” She smiled briefly handing the flask back questioning, “You bring liquor to a bar?”
I explained, “Lesbian bars charge triple what straight bars do for liquor so I bring my own”.
I took a drink and returned the flask to my back pocket before asking her, “Are you alright?”
She did not answer at first and I could tell she was trying desperately to “Butch it up” and failing miserably. As fresh tears welled up in her eyes I moved over to lean against the door.
“If it is any consolation I know what you are going through,” I told her softly.
She shocked me by stepping towards me and collapsing against my chest as fresh sobs tore out of her.
I stood there, hands up not knowing exactly what to do.
This wasn’t in the old school dyke handbook; butches slap one another on the back and sock each other on the shoulder.
When it looked like she was going to continue to sob I put my arms around her and held her as if she were a small child.
We stayed this way until some drunk asshole banged on the door.
I let her go and she dried her eyes, “I'll hold the door, you splash some more water on your face.” I reassured her. I knew she did not want anybody seeing her like this.
So, while the irritated pounding on the door continued, she got herself together.
When I saw she was ready I jerked open the door and growled into the face of the woman standing there, “Keep you’re fucking pants on”! She jumped back in surprise as my young friend and I exited. We made our way back to my table. I pulled her chair out which made her smile and shake her head.
I motioned for the waitress to bring her a beer and sat back, taking a long swallow from my own.
We sat there silently drinking for at least a half hour before she finally began to talk.
She stuck out her hand and told me her name, “I’m Sabra”, she said, smiling at me while her other hand pushed her curly black bangs out of her bright blue eyes.
I shook her hand and told her, “I’m Jo”. She lifted an eyebrow in question. All I said was, “Yes It is short for something.” She wisely let it go.
She wasn’t from around here. She had met the woman she was upset with online. Sabra told me her name was Tiffany.
It seems Tiffany made all sorts of promises. Sabra fell hard for the promises of love and affection.
They had talked for hours on the phone. Tiffany had soon convinced Sabra to quit her job and come to Denver.
As she opened another beer she slapped the table hard enough to rattle the empties sitting on it. “How could I have been so fuckin stupid?”
I simply nodded knowing it was a rhetorical question.
She went on to tell me how she had been living with her abusive alcoholic father in Valparaiso Indiana.
Her father worked at the local meatpacking plant. Sabra had worked delivering auto parts.
Her mother had died when she was young.
Sabras’ father had raised her as if she were the son he had always wanted, all tough and no love. So with promises of love in her heart and wanting desperately out from under her fathers’ roof she quit her job. At 21 years old she decided she needed a change. She sold everything she owned and bought a bus ticket to Denver.
She hadn’t even bothered to tell her father she was leaving. He would have just beaten the crap out of her anyway.
The bartender was bellowing last call. I looked at the clock on the wall. We had been talking and drinking for hours. I did not want my time with Sabra to end.
“Do you have any place to stay”? I asked.
She looked down and shook her head. I could tell her pride would not let her ask, so I offered her my couch for the night.
It was a good I only lived a few blocks from the bar because we were lit.
As we walked to my place we were both silent, concentrating on walking straight.
I lived in a small house with only four rooms, a kitchen, bathroom, living room and a bedroom. It wasn’t the greatest of neighborhoods but it was affordable.
“This is it!” I stated unnecessarily as I fumbled with my keys, leaning against the door so I would not fall.
Sabra started to giggle drunkenly while I tried unsuccessfully to put the key in the lock.
“Hey!” I barked playfully, “I’m almost forty and I’m drunk, give me a fucking break!”
“I can’t find the damn hole!” I said, stating the obvious.
At this she laughed even harder and took the keys from my hand saying, “Maybe you should put some hair around it.”
“Wow, that’s original!” I replied sarcastically.
Putting the key in the lock on the first try she stuck her tongue out at me as she opened the door. I caught her by the collar like a disobedient puppy and pulled
her backward.
“Smart ass!” I grumbled as I stumbled into the living room.
She was bracing herself in the doorway while I slapped light switch on.
As light filled the room she came in and replied, “Yup, It follows me everywhere I go.”
I was already pulling off my boots when I noticed that she had stopped in the middle of the room. I followed her eyes as they went around the room, studying the pictures on my walls. “Are these yours?” She asked, while continuing to make her way around the room. “Are you a photographer or something?”
I answered her with a “or something” while going to the fridge to get us a couple of cold beers.
When I looked up from the fridge I saw she had left the room. I figured she had to pee and had gone to find the bathroom so I sat down on the couch.
As I opened both the bottles the bedroom light came on.
I had to remind myself she was a curious kid. Her minor invasion of privacy should not irritate me. I joined her where she stood gaping at the walls of my bedroom. “You know, It is rude to just go wandering into a woman’s bedroom uninvited,” I admonished, handing her a beer. She looked at me for a sec to see if I am serious. Then she cocked an eyebrow over one of her beautiful blues eyes at me. The expression made me laugh out loud and she knew that I wasn’t upset for real.
“Are these records?” She asked, gesturing to the framed albums on the wall with her bottle. “I have been a collector for years” I explained. “These are just some that I liked the album art on.” I stood with her for a moment looking at my sparsely furnished bedroom.
I had decorated my bedroom with albums, music memorabilia and posters from floor to ceiling. Starting just inside the door is a concert poster from the Indigo Girls “Honor the Earth Tour” signed by both Amy and Emily. One wall dedicated to rock with AC/DCs Album “For Those About to Rock,” Led Zeppelins’ “Stairway to Heaven,” Genesis’ “Duke,” and Kiss “Alive.” The remainder ranged from Azia to The Village People.
My queen-size bed, covered with a thick burgundy blanket, was in the middle of the room. There were two windows with burgundy curtains. There was a wooden nightstand with a lamp and alarm clock. I tossed my keys onto it. There was a dresser on the other side with it's top covered in little figurines made of different kinds of rock I had collected.
I stood there for a few minutes as she looked at each album cover on my wall.
She looked at me grinned “I do not know many of these bands.” She said, “But the artwork is cool.”
I smiled, “These bands were around before you were born.” I was suddenly aware of the 18-year age difference between us. This troubled me and I did not know why. We were not dating or anything. I shook myself mentally.
Walking past her I flipped off the light switch signaling the grand tour was over. I fell onto the couch and put my feet on the coffee table, she sat, Indian style, facing me. She began to finish the story that last call had interrupted.
Chapter 2
Sabra told me she had been in Denver about a month. Her and Tiffany were outstanding and she had finally found a job.
A power failure sent her home early today with her first paycheck.
She had stopped on the way home and bought flowers for Tiffany. She arrived home with a big smile on her face.
Sabra climbed the stairs and let herself into the apartment. Her smile faded when she heard muffled moans coming from the bedroom.
Putting her ear to the door she listened long enough to know what was going on.
Tiffany was having sex with another woman!
Sabra burst into the bedroom only to stop dead in her tracks.
There was a man on top of the woman who had whispered words of love in her ear just that morning. Sabra threw the flowers at them and left the apartment slamming the door so hard it splintered the frame.
She did not know where to go so she wandered around until the bar opened.
That’s where Tiffany found her four hours after she had caught fucking a guy.
We were both drunk by now and I popped off with, “You should have kicked his naked ass!” Then I added drunkenly, “Sometimes you got to kick some ass my baby butch friend.” I looked up at Sabra to see a confused look on her face. “What?” I slurred.
“I am not a baby butch, I am not a butch of any sort!” She insisted, “You are old school huh?” She asked.
I shrugged that off with a “nope just old”.
She gave me a funny look then continued, saying that Tiffany had hunted her down at the bar.
Tiffany told her that she was getting back her boyfriend. Sabra had known nothing about a boyfriend.
After dropping this bomb she just walked out of the bar, leaving Sabra sitting in stunned disbelief.
That had been right before she had barreled into me.
When she finished, she looked at me as if she expected me to tell her some magic words to make it all better.
I patted her on the leg and told her congratulations on having been screwed over by her first bi-curious female. She did not respond to this, she just sat there playing with the shoestrings of her checkerboard Vans. She was not crying anymore at least.
I went into the bedroom closet and got her a blanket and pillow.
I muttered a goodnight as I gave them to her. I stumbled off to bed telling her to make herself at home.
I passed out the instant my head hit the pillow. If I had been awake I would have heard this beautiful young woman sobbing into her pillow until the early hours of dawn.
I awoke with a gruesome hangover the next day at noon. I went into the living room and stood there staring down at Sabra as she slept. She had stripped naked sometime after I had left her the night before. I tore my eyes away but could not make my feet move.
I would lie down with her but I’m thinking that would be definite bad judgment.
She is only 21 for God’s sake. I think to myself, I’m not an old fart yet at 39.
Shaking my head forcefully I try to and clear these thoughts.
Perhaps it was the smell of spring coming from the open window causing me to feel this way.
I can’t help myself; she is so beautiful laying there. Morning sun playing in her dark hair. I guess you could describe her as a “baby butch” or “soft butch”. Personally I have never gone in much for labels.
The urge to brush her hair out of her face is overwhelming.
As I watch her sleep I think to myself, “She’s just a baby.”
My sane side tells me she may be young, but she’s not stupid.
Hell on earth was no stranger to this young woman. In her short life she had seen plenty of pain but she had survived.
She will make it fine.
I need to wake her up and tell her she has to go.
She has to find somewhere else to stay before I do something I will regret.
Still I can’t bring myself to disturb her sleep.
She looks so peaceful lying there on sofa. Tanned well-shaped, bare legs tangled in the sheets. One of her well defined thighs peeking out of the sheet. It begged to be caressed.
I sat down and study her closely.
My eyes travel her five foot five well-built frame. I paused briefly on her sheet covered breasts gently rising and falling with each breath.
The sight of her hypnotizes me.
Her beautiful black hair is short in the back with longer unruly bangs.
Behind her now closed eyes are a shocking bright blue.
Her face softened with sleep, soft full lips slightly parted.
There was long scar that started at the middle of the cupids’ bow of her upper lip and ended just under her right nostril.
The scar, I would find out later, was a gift her bastard father had given her in a drunken rage when she was six.
The urge to kiss that scar was strong.
I wanted to kiss away all the pain and sorrow she had ever felt.
I stood and went into my bedroom. Those kinds
of thoughts were not helpful. No sir, not helpful at all.
I closed the bedroom door so I could shower and dress without waking her. After my shower, I dressed in my usual weekend clothes, cut off shorts and white T-shirt. I stood there studying myself in the mirror. I’m definitely “butch”.
I sighed heavily and went into the kitchen to make coffee. I was quite to not wake Sabra.
It did not matter because the smell of coffee starting to brew woke her up.
She sat up not caring a bit the sheet had slipped revealing more cleavage that I could ignore.
Seeing me blush she pulled up the sheet.
Grinning sleepily at me she said, “good morning.”
I answered with a hearty, “Well good morning sunshine, you look like hell.”
She pouted at me, “thanks a bunch.”
She did look like death warmed over so I suggested that she take a shower.
She gathered her clothing and followed me into the bedroom. I got her a towel from the closet.
Handing her the towel, I told her apologetically, “I do not think I have any clothes that will fit you.” She glanced down at the sheet around her with a sly grin. Her eyes twinkled with suggestion. She was trying to embarrass me. It was her face that turned ten shades of red. I grinned at this.
She is shy this morning.
“I’ll just put the clothes I wore last night back on,” she replied so softly I barely heard her.
I went back into the kitchen closing the bedroom door to give her some privacy.
I heard the shower start as I cracked eggs into a bowl and began scrambling them.
The best hangover cure in the world, scrambled eggs with a ton of hot sauce poured over them.
As I watched the eggs cook I stared to think of what Sabra was going to do now.
I wondered if she would have enough money to rent a room. I cringed at the dingy dives they rent out here. I must have seen them all when I was looking for a place of my own.
It is expensive to live in Denver. I did not think she would want to go back to live with her father.
I have always had a soft spot for lost puppies. I decided to tell her she could stay here for a little while. She would have to save enough money to get a halfway decent place.
