A Slow Hand and a Woman's TouchbySusanJillParker©
"Have you been to the new club?" Pauline whispered her weekend plans to her friend in the next cubicle at work. "I want to go there, so bad, this weekend. I heard it's awesome. Do you want to go?"
Here we go thought Amanda listening to the two airheaded young women discussing what and who they did over the weekend and who and what they want to do next weekend.
"Yeah. Don't bother going," said Lisa standing to talk to Pauline over her cubicle. "I went there a couple of weeks ago and didn't like it. Trust me, you're not going to like it either," said Lisa with a little laugh.
"I dunno," said Lisa with a shrug of her pretty shoulders, "I just thought it was weird."
"In what way was it weird? I heard it was great place to meet someone," said Pauline suddenly looking disappointed.
"Yeah, for sure, it's great place to meet someone, if you're lesbian. There's no men. Men aren't allowed inside," said Lisa laughing.
"No men! Really? How can they have a club without men?"
"It's for women only," said Lisa with a laugh. "Duh? Get it? The name of the club is For Women Only," said Lisa laughing at her friend's ignorance.
"Really? That's the name of it?" Pauline looked at her friend with surprise.
"That's the name of it," said Flora from the next cubicle. "For Women Only. Indeed, I heard it is the place to go," she said with a pause, "if you're lesbian."
"Have you been there, Flora?" Pauline stood to look over in Flora's cubicle.
Suddenly feeling embarrassed for Flora, Amanda couldn't believe the stupidity of Pauline's question. A woman with an obvious physical disability, the last place she'd frequent is a crowded club, never mind a lesbian club. The stupidity of her young co-workers never ceased to amaze her. Even when she was their age, she wasn't as dumb.
"Me? At a lesbian club? No," said Flora looking up at Pauline with a laugh. "Even if I was a lesbian, for obvious reasons, I don't go to clubs anymore. Those days are over for me," she said with some sadness.
"Sorry," said Pauline suddenly looking uncomfortably embarrassed.
After overhearing Pauline and Lisa talk about the For Women Only club, reconsidering her plans for this weekend of doing nothing but sitting in front of a television with her cat, Miles, and muting commercials, Amanda was suddenly excited about checking out the new club. Afraid of how she'd be perceived in her work environment, no one knew she was lesbian. Yet, now that she knows that she won't run into her silly co-workers, the coast was clear for her to possibly meet a woman at a club that was designed for women only, women who were just like her.
"Instead of naming the club For Women Only, in my case, they should have named the club, For Women Lonely," she said to herself with a sad, little laugh.
* * * * *
Having just walked in the door, the thump, thump, thumping sound of the body humping beat of the too loud bass assaulted her senses, as if it was a continual explosive echo of a pile driver laying the steel beam foundation of a skyscraper. Feeling as if her head would explode, the music in the club was so loud that Amanda already had a headache. With wall to wall women talking at the same time in a magnified state of continual, high frequency, static distortion of female voices, impossible to have a meaningful conversation, even with herself, she wondered how she could meet anyone here. Looking around at the mob of women, the place was just too crowded and too noisy to be any fun, and she was already set to leave.
Giving it another chance and hoping to spot someone within the crowd, someone who interested her, she took a slow second look around the huge room. This time she looked more closely at all those who made up the mass of loud women, before relenting to stay and taking a seat at the bar to order a drink. Turned off by seeing so many woman, too many women, women who looked too much like her, made up, dressed up, fed up, and desperately looking for love, feeling like another one of the herd, she realized she had made a mistake coming here. The packed house was filled with lonely and unfulfilled women hoping to make the same romantic connection that she hoped to make and, seeing and sensing the hopefully expectant look on their faces staring back at her, a reflection of her own sadness, was like looking in the mirror. Here for the same physical and emotional reasons that everyone else was, instead of feeling excited by the huge selection of women from which to choose, she was just another fish in a big bowl. She felt pathetic. Even though she was one within a crowd, she felt lonely.
Difficult to single out one woman, when there was so many of them, thinking she was unique, the sight of so very many women just like her, alone and lonely, was depressing. No doubt, she'd have a better chance at winning the lottery than making her love match here. Desperate to find someone, she didn't want to go home alone and be so alone for another night. What she did, so long ago in her college dorm room with her roommate was fun but, having gone so far beyond that since then, she didn't want another uncommitted relationship of empty sex again. She didn't want another relationship of wondering where and who her lover was with that night. She wanted to be in a committed relationship. She wanted a monogamous partner. She wanted love.
After college her fling with lesbianism ended. Rejecting the notion that she was lesbian and trying her best to prove otherwise, she lost herself in alcohol and drugs, and traded her self-respect for promiscuity, until she realized that it wasn't a man she wanted but a woman. Yet, more than wanting just any woman, she wanted one special woman. Someone there at night to cuddle with on the couch, while watching a movie, she wanted someone she could call during the day, when at work. Not having one now, she wanted a reason to look forward to coming home. She wanted love.
After experiencing this For Women Only club for the first time, not believing that she could find love here, whenever she thought of love, she thought of violins, roses, and candlelight and not a few hundred women dancing to heavy metal and rock 'n' roll with an outdated disco ball in the middle of the ceiling. Wanting to run out of the club screaming, suddenly wishing she followed the path of least resistance that her mother and grandmother had taken, wishing she had a life like her friends, filled with husbands and babies, suddenly, she couldn't think. Having an anxiety attack, she couldn't breathe. Suffocating with remorse and regret that her life was so empty, except for her cat, Miles, for the choices she made early in her life, clubs like this never worked for her. As if on a timed game show of musical chairs, clubs like this made her feel so pressured to find someone, before the buzzer buzzed, the music stopped, the lights came on, and she was out on the sideward and declared a loser, when the club closed and she walked home alone.
Clubs like this gave her a headache. Instead of feeling excitedly hopeful of finding her special someone, clubs like this magnified her depression and loneliness with hopelessness. Clubs like this made her feel that she'd never find anyone. Clubs like this made her feel that there was something wrong with her, a woman looking for another woman to love, especially when it was so much easier to find a man. For sure, in the sexy way she looked with her long, blonde hair, big, blue eyes, and shapely figure, she'd have an easier time finding a man to fuck her, love her, and support her than to make a real love connection with a faceless woman from this huge crowd of noisy females.
Overwhelmed by the music and by din of everyone talking at the same time, it was difficult for her to see the crowd of women as individuals, instead of as an entire mass of self-centered, chattering females. With the music a mask to make everyone think they're having a good time, she spotted dozens of women just like her, sitting alone and pretending to have fun, while sipping their drinks and waiting for someone to approach them. She wished she had confidence enough to approach other women, instead of hiding out by the bar with her back to the crowd. For sure, if she was more outgoing, she'd approach those women sitting alone. Only, seeing herself in them, when even she wouldn't approach them, why would anyone approach her? Trying her best to act perky, instead of slouching, she sat up on her barstool, while trying to appear fun loving, lively, and happy. Bobbing her head to the beat of the music, when she'd much rather bang her head on the bar, this place wasn't for her. Yet, not even giving this club a chance, wanting to go as soon as she arrived, she decided to leave, as soon as she finished her drink.
Thinking that she should try one of those online dating sites, by using the crowd of faces as her photo gallery, she tried to formulate her ideal woman, tall, short, fat, or thin, by scanning the crowd. With the outside appearance no longer mattering as much to her as the inside beauty now did, unless the woman looked Godly and piously saintly or slutty and trashy, she was unable to see the beauty within from a mere look. Feeling so much like a lesbian bachelorette in a skewed, never to be seen on TV, dating game, with so very many woman from which to choose, what physical features she liked about one woman, she rejected on another. Besides, speed dating at its fastest by just a look, just as they can't possibly know who she is by a glimpse, how can she possibly know the real person by just looking at them for a second within a crowd?
Now thinking more of online dating than wasting any more of her time at this club, she could write a profile that highlighted her professional accomplishments. She could describe herself and the type of woman she's looking for at length. Then, thinking more with her pussy than with her head, she thought of the sexy photos she had of herself that she could post to her ad to attract her perfect mate. There was the one taken of her in Mexico in her barely there bikini, she liked that one. Tanned and thin, she looked hot. Then, giving mixed signals, mixing sex with inner beauty, suddenly she felt sad that she was no better in treating other women than how men have treated her, as a sex object. For someone so smart and educated, wishing someone would somehow find her, instead of wasting any more of her life alone, while trying to find someone, she had no idea how to cut through all the bullshit to find her perfect partner.
A hopeless romantic, who was now more interested in the small pool of water that collected on the bar beneath her glass than the hundreds of loud, pretty, and obnoxious female patrons that jammed the place, even if she was, she didn't believe that her little Miss Perfect was here. Preferring a natural blonde with big, natural tits, and a tight, little ass, with one hot blonde looking like all the other hot blondes, if her perfect match was here, how would she ever find her? Without even giving this club a chance, being that she was already here as her only concession to stay, if she gave up and left now, she'd never find anyone. She'd go home alone to flip stations, while eating ice cream and having a drink. Boring.
She surveyed the crowd of women again with hopeless despair and anxious desperation, while wishing and so wanting to spot someone who interested her. Destined, no doubt, to leave alone and be alone for the rest of her sad, little life, but determined not to be, she suddenly realized that she'll never find her one and only, at least, not here, anyway. Believing more in fate, destiny, and in kismet, than in clubs, blind dates, and online dating sites, this huge gathering of mostly lesbian and bi-sexual women felt too forced and too desperate to work for her. Preferring to meet someone in a random elevator, on the subway, in a supermarket, or at the library, she didn't want any part of being like the collective mass of women here, alone, lonely, and frantic for love, but she was.
Then, as if there was a grizzly bear breathing down her neck, she felt a heavy presence, an unmovable force behind and beside her to her right. The tall, plus sized woman standing next to her barstool invaded her space and rudely leaned into her, as if trying to reach over her to get the attention of the bartender to order a drink. Amanda tried leaning out of her way but, with the three rowed, shoulder to shoulder crowd at the bar, that was just as dense as the crowd on the dance floor, there was no place for her to go. Hoping she'd just get her drink and leave, she was stuck between the bar and this discourteous person that smelled...oh, so good.
What is that fragrance, she wondered? It smells vaguely familiar. Not wanting to call attention to herself, playing it cool, as the diva she imagined herself to be, she hoped that the woman would just order her drink and leave. Knowing just by the imagined weight of her what the woman looked like without even having to turn to see her, she wouldn't be interested in a BBW woman. Acting as rudely disinterested in her as the woman was rudely obnoxious for leaning into her, she didn't even turn her head to acknowledge the woman.
"I noticed you the moment you walked in the club. I knew then that I had to have you," whispered the woman in her ear in the way that she imagined a female Barry White would personally recite a love song to her. "As if you were a timid deer, I could hear the trepidation in your little footsteps descending down the entrance stairs. Better than any decadent desert, sweeter than any ice cream, and wanting to lick you and lap you all up, you smell so sexually delicious. I can only imagine what it must feel like to be with you, to hold you, to touch you, to feel you, and to kiss you."
Transfixed on the barstool, mesmerized and listening to her every word, as if lying in bed and receiving pillow talk from her lover, she was as shocked as she was excited, by all that the woman said. Wishing that someone would approach her, while not expecting that anyone would, she was surprised that she was immediately chosen. Noticed from such a huge crowd of women, as soon as she entered the club, she was excited that someone finally wanted her enough to come up to her and whisper her lustful thoughts in her ear. So glad she didn't leave the club, maybe something good would come from this.
Suddenly giddy with sexual excitement by the sheer thought of getting lucky and being lapped up by her, Amanda imagined the woman whispering in her ear everything she'd like to do to her in her deep whiskey voice, while stripping her naked. Instead of turning to respond in kind, delaying her response by playing it cool and hard to get, not even turning to look at her, not wanting to be surprised, she tried imagining what she'd look like first, before turning to see if she was right. Unfortunately unable to make the physical connection enough to see her in her mind's eye, unable to put her sultry voice with a face, she couldn't envision what she'd look like. All that she could tell was that she was a big woman.
She had a husky, albeit sexy, upscale and, no doubt, educated, upstate New York voice. Reminiscent of the raspy voice her friends have from smoking, she had the type of voice that Amanda gets, when she awakens in the morning, after licking her lover too long the night before and her mouth and tongue gets too dry. Having not had sex in a long while, saving herself for the right woman, so very horny, the mere tickle of the woman's breath in her ear and the warmth of the her body pressed against the back and the side of her made her wish they were both in bed naked. From having been so horny for too long, as if the woman had hit her power on button, the sensation of her warm breath filled her mind with raw lustful emotion. In the way she surprised her by confessing to her that she had to have her, something she's never done before in her protective aloofness and disinterested manner of a supermodel, Amanda suddenly wanted to step out of her box and turn to surprise the woman, with a long, soulful, wet kiss.
With the woman lingering her lips close enough to kiss her, Amanda refrained from returning her lust by turning her head in her direction to share her sexual excitement. Not taking no for an answer, if only by her silence, the woman continued breathing her desire in Amanda's ear.
"Better looking than Faith Hill, you are the most beautiful woman in the room. Only, just like in Sammy Kershaw's song, She Don't Know She's Beautiful, I don't think you realize how beautiful you are," she said pausing, as if waiting for Amanda to say something in return. "A slow seduction, I'd undress you with my teeth."
With her mouth so close to her ear, after being undressed with her teeth, Amanda imagined her mouth being that close to her pussy. Always the submissive one, the one so afraid to show her real emotions for fear of embracing lesbianism, she quivered with the thought of a stranger, a powerful woman taking her, holding her, kissing her, undressing her, licking her, and making love to her, before telling her that she loved her. Always secretly wanting to be used and abused, pressured and forced, maybe even slapped around a little, spanked, and tied to the bed, at least once in her life, she swooned at the thought that someone noticed her, wanted her, and had to have her, in that sexy way. Then, as if she was sitting bareback in a fine, English leather, soft, handmade saddle, as if she was just claimed at auction and tattooed with a hot iron brand, she felt a big, warm hand plastered to her backside.
Had the woman been a man taking such aggressive liberty with her ass, she would have slapped his face, before kneeing him in the nuts and telling him to go fuck himself. It was then, when men so abused her that she was glad that she was a lesbian. Nonetheless, crossing the line, whether man or woman, how dare she grope me, thought Amanda? At first she was shocked by the feel of her hand on her ass. Immediately, she was angry that this woman dare touch her in such a sexual way. Then, feeling the stranger's desire flow through the palm of her hand through to her buttocks, she felt excited.
Because her sexual assaulter was a woman, without even so much as a squirm or a word of protest, and unlike her not to take exception to being so manhandled or, in this case, woman-handled, she allowed the woman to be so familiar with her so soon. Then, when the woman's hand didn't move, just stayed there in place, she didn't feel as violated, as she felt owned. As if the woman's hand was a claim on her buttocks, as if Amanda's ass belonged to her, she felt sexy to be so aggressively desired.
With the curve of her firm, shapely ass in the woman's big palm, somehow the feel of her warm, powerful hand centered her soul, relaxed her being, soothed her loneliness, and made her feel safe from harm. With just the feel of her hand on her ass, with her mouth still so very close to her ear, and with the pressured sense of her shoulder that still leaned into her, she could feel the power of this woman. A force to be reckoned with, suddenly, it was intoxicatingly exhilarating to imagine making love with someone like her, instead of the little, skinny, selfishly self-centered, blonde bitches she's used to bedding, who have personalities as phony as their big tits. Having placed appearance over substance for too long, maybe the reason she hasn't found love is because she's been looking for love with all the wrong women.
It was then that she realized, instead of all the powder puff, fluffy, empty headed blondes she's always been attracted to that she needed someone like this, a real woman, someone who could take charge of her, take care of her, and protect her not only from harm but also from herself. Even though she had never been with one, always wondering what it would be like to be so controlled, suddenly she realized that she was a real sucker for a testosterone filled butch of a female. Something she missed without having a man in her life, tired of being alone, she didn't want to be responsible for making all of her own decisions. Feeling pressured to decide and tired of making all the wrong decisions, she needed someone to help guide her through life.