“What is it?” asked Alex.
We were at a straight club (or normal club as Alex referred to them to get a rise out of me). Both of us were single and both of us were sick of being single, so we would go out every Saturday night, alternating between straight and gay bars. Heck, sometimes we went out Friday and Saturday night. And maybe Thursday. Okay fine. We went out a lot. As I said, we were sick of being single.
And who would have thought…
Guess who had just walked in…
To the straight club…
“It’s Isla. From my evening class.”
I knew I was getting old when I had forced myself to sign up for evening computer classes. Run by a teenager. Well, I was 25, but it sure made me feel old. It wasn’t even a cute female teenager (not that my hopes had been high). It was a dorky, spotty boy who claimed to be a freshman at college but looked suspiciously like he still let his mother dress him.
Isla was a cute female. Even though she was a straight cute female. I found her to be one of those people who wouldn’t instigate a conversation, but would happily talk to you if you initiated it. Which, at this particular evening class, was quite a good thing. I don’t like talking to people if I don’t feel like it. It makes me impatient and I am sure I start twitching like a dog that wants to be let off its leash. So, you see, Isla and I had a symbiotic relationship. When my computer would send me into a silent, internal rage, I wouldn’t talk to her, out of sheer frustration. If she had happened to talk to me at one of those specific moments, I would probably have lassoed her with my mouse wire or shoved the keyboard down her throat… Wow, computers really do make me annoyed. I am not usually a psychopathic, maniacal tantrum-throwing person.
Isla was very confusing. Once, a few girls from the evening class were having drinks at a flat, and invited Isla and me. I had never really talked to them, but they must have enjoyed my witty and/or sarcastic retorts to the computer nerd (I cannot refer to him as my teacher – he is younger than me!) enough to feel as though I would be a good addition to a party. And they thought Isla was pretty cool. Even though she only spoke when spoken to. I must try that one day people obviously like it.
So, I went to this party, right?
Cool. It was a good party, I talked to some nice people. Met some nice people for the first time who were actually in my evening class but I had just never spoken to them. This made me feel a wee bit bad, but oh well.
So it somehow ended up that I was drunk (how the hell did that happen?) and Isla and I had a wrapped-up-together-in-a-blanket-on-the-couch conversation. You know, one of those heart-to-heart discussions you have when you are drunk to someone who you hardly know. That sort of one. But we were entwined under a blanket. And then suddenly our faces were close. All I remember thinking as our cheeks were pressed together with lips dangerously close was:
No way. I am not hooking up with a straight girl. Too much drama. Way too awkward.
And all I remember thinking in the morning was:
Bugger, I should have just done it! She was so obviously keen!
My gaydar was spinning out of control. She must be gay, surely!
She didn’t mention it in the next evening class. It was like it had never happened. No strange looks, no bashful eye-contact avoidance, nothing!
That annoyed me.
I was determined to figure this girl out.
I kid you not, I joined Facebook solely to stalk this girl. It took a lot of effort and some frustrating phone calls which invariably included, “What is the You-Are-Elle bar?” but I finally got myself a Facebook account.
Unbeknownst to my computer-retarded self, I could not stalk this girl for numerous reasons.
a) I was not friends with her on Facebook.
b) I did not have any mutual friends with her. (I had no friends.)
c) I DID NOT KNOW HER LAST NAME.
Nice work, Freddy.
Evening class came and went, came and went. You get the picture. No signals whatsoever from this girl.
In any case, she looked particularly cute tonight, the way the rain had made her hair stick to her face all sexy and…
“Freddy, what the hell,” asked Alex.
“You keep staring at her.”
“I’m not!” I was.
Alex shook her head in disbelief.
“I can’t believe it. We are in a straight bar and you find potential?”
“She’s not potential, she’s dead straight. She’s as straight as the arrow that flies and I am as bent as the bow that sent it.”
Alex rolled her eyes.
“What?” I said, slightly annoyed.
“She keeps looking at you.”
“Duh. She recognises me,” I responded.
And she’s probably sketching the fuck out because she is wondering what the hell a dyke as gay-looking as I am is doing in a straight club.
“Whatever, you’re the one with the gaydar,” said Alex, “anyway, come on, let’s go and dance.”
Fine. We went and danced.
The mosh pit was pathetic for a Saturday night. There were, like, two layers of people dancing right up by the DJ on the stage. We joined the back one.
Isla came over and said hi, like a normal person.
We talked for a bit about computers, and she made a joke about how she wasn’t even on Facebook. My insides shriveled up and I felt internally embarrassed. I added to my previous list of reasons for failed stalking d) stalk victim is not on Facebook.
Then. She said she had to go to the “ladies’ room” (honestly, who says that?).
THEN. She walked behind me, put her hands lightly on my shoulders and rubbed past me as though the place was packed and she could not get through the crowd without squeezing up against someone.
“Okay. What the heck, Freddy. She’s into you.”
I looked behind me, just to make sure the crowd hadn’t multiplied without me realising it. There were no people within at least a two-metre radius of me.
Alex was right.
Isla had just rubbed up against me totally unnecessarily!
“Freddy!” exclaimed Alex.
“She said she was going to the ladies’ room. Doesn’t that translate to: follow me into the bathroom so we can fuck?”
Hole. Ee. Shit. Alex was right.
“Alex,” I said, grinning, “if I don’t return, will you promise to cab back straight home?”
“I’ll be fine. Go!”
I gave her one last smile, and walked, albeit swiftly, to the “ladies’ room”.
But wait. I didn’t want to do this if she was straight.
I opened the door and bumped into her as she was leaving.
We stood there, the door ajar, in front of each other. Face-à-face.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, quickly asserting my rights to be in the bathroom and getting all I-can-be-here-too-I-wasn’t-following-you defensive.
I tried to push past, probably too aggressively. (Or maybe I freaked out?)
“It’s okay,” she said, and she left.
Moments later, as I sat on the toilet for absolutely no reason, I heard Alex’s voice.
“Okay, I don’t know what the hell just happened in here, but she just left crying. She left! CRYING! What did you do?”
“I just… she was leaving… so I figured that…”
I had it. The epiphany. The one I should have had long ago.
She was a straight gay. She was a closet lesbian who had only ever been with men. She thought I was going to make the move. She had a crush on me! Why was I so stupid? Why was I such a coward? Why else did she come to this club by herself? The straight club that Alex and I always go to!
I was out of that club in a flash.
Where the hell did she go? I thought, along with, Fucking rain. I can’t see a thing!
Wait. There she was, trying to catch a cab.
I yelled. I screamed. No response.
Then I did something I never thought I would do in a million years.
I ran like a motherfucker, in the rain, like men do in all those stupid chick-flicks. To get to a straight girl (who, admittedly, probably wasn’t straight).
“Isla!” I called as I got closer to her.
Isla turned around, saw me, and froze.
No turning back now.
I pulled her soaking body to mine and kissed her. I kissed her like I had never kissed anyone before. I kissed her in a way that I hoped she had never been kissed before. She wasn’t kissing back.
I pulled away.
She stared at me for an age.
I gave her that “don’t act like you weren’t asking for it” look.
“Freddy… Don’t stop. Kiss me again.”
This time she kissed back.
“Take me back with you. Please,” she said desperately.
We waved down a cab, and rolled into the back seat.
I gave the driver directions.
We sat there, awkwardly, both staring out our respective windows. I glanced across at her, and she was fiddling with her thumbs.
This really was her first time.
I paid, and we ran to my apartment.
I opened the door, and we went up the lift, silently.
I unlocked my door and closed it behind me.
Isla turned to me.
“Freddy, that time at the party… I know you were drunk, but I wasn’t. I wanted you. I have wanted you ever since.”
“Your flirting was pretty awful. Wait. No. Non-existent?”
“You are a bit intimidating,” she admitted.
“Really?” I pulled a staunch face.
“Yeah, you are incredibly attractive, and incredibly gay. I find that intimidating.”
“Thanks. But why the gay part?”
“Because,” she whispered, “your gayness reaches right down into me and points to something I have suppressed, a bit of coloured light, way down in a dark corner. It points to this little rainbow and says, you cannot hide forever, you are a lesbian.”
“Okay then. So you are definitely gay?” I smiled innocently, and reached down, placing my hand on her crotch, over her skirt. I gave her a playful stroke, and she managed a stiff nod, whilst trying not to moan.
“Yes.” I confirmed for her.
I kissed her, while simultaneously stripping off her wet clothes. She was only in her underwear. I touched her, with only her lacy briefs in between my fingers and her wetness.
I leaned close to her ear and whispered cheekily, “Can’t blame that on the rain.”
Her breathing quickened even more.
She pulled off my jacket, then my sweater, then my t-shirt. She looked at my bra-less breasts with both fear and desire.
She undid my belt and slid my black jeans down.
I kicked off my shoes and she did the same.
Without breaking the kiss, I pulled her into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
I tested the water with one hand, and teased her with the other.
Steam started to fill the room.
I pressed her up against the shower wall and ran my hands down the sides of her body. My left leg slid in between hers, and I lifted my knee slowly until it was up against her sex.
I smiled at her naughtily, pulled her hands out to the side and onto the wall.
Steam curled around us and hot water ran over my shoulders, down my breasts, and then traversed my left leg…
I kissed Isla again.
She moaned as I deftly moved my leg, clearly enjoying herself.
I slipped a finger inside her. And then another.
I slid my fingers out and pulled my leg up again.
She pushed into it urgently.
“Please, stop teasing me,” she begged.
I kissed her again, and then knelt down.
“Mm-hmm?” I asked.
“No one has ever… gone… down on me before.”
I paused. “Really?” Then I traced the tops of her thighs with my tongue and I felt her body pulse.
I paused again, “Should I st–?”
“Keep going!” she cried.
I laughed, and let my tongue explore this new territory. I loved first-time-new-person sex. It was what all that sexual tension, all that hard work, all that confusion had lead to. It was amazing.
I toyed with her clit, knowing I was driving her crazy.
Then I slipped three fingers in while still sucking her.
She gave one final, long cry after a series of escalating moans, and I slowly returned to upright position to kiss her passionately.
I hopped out of the shower and handed her a towel.
“That was… incredible,” she said, stunned.
“I want to be able to do that to you…” she replied, “I have no idea how…”
I ruffled her hair with my towel and said in my most seductive voice,
“You had better sign up to a new evening class, then.”
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