Lonely Is The Night

Hardly seems fair to put this in Lesbian Sex category since there is so little sex. Hope you will read it anyway since it's by far the most honest thing I've ever written. And I promise to make up for it with lots of sex in the next one.

I gazed at the dimly lit sleeping body next to me for several seconds before deciding it was time to go. He wasn't going to want me there when he woke up. Truth is, I didn't want that either. I caught a glimpse of the nearly burned-out candle on the night stand as I swung my legs out of bed. It only had a few minutes of life left and then it would be dark. And I hate the dark.

What was up with the candle anyway? Romance? Not what I was looking for. Just wanted to get laid, to have a couple hours of fun with another human being. OK, maybe there was more to it. Maybe I needed to know that someone -- anyone -- still found me attractive. At least I got that from Justin ... Dustin? ... Jason? ... whatever his name was.

So basically I guess I was OK. Or thought I was. Got in the car, punched buttons until I found Judas Priest doing "You Got Another Thing Coming," lit up the speakers, turned onto Van Ness and headed for the freeway that would take me back home to the Peninsula. I've always loved old metal -- it's not trendy, it's not feminine, I don't care -- but that night even Rob Halford's voice couldn't hold my attention. That sort of thing had happened a lot lately. Just drifty, y'know? And I knew where that drift usually led. To Jessie.

Her face popped into my head just before my headlights caught the O'Farrell street sign and my 12-year-old Acura was halfway through the left turn before I'd even made a conscious decision to do that. One block later I pulled up more or less in front of the self-proclaimed "World Famous Mitchell Brothers O'Farrell Theater." That's where Jessie works ... where I used to work ... where we met. It never occurred to me to look for a parking place. I mean, c'mon, this is San Francisco. You have a better chance of finding a drag queen with a bullwhip than you do of finding a place to park. Anyway, I just wanted to look for a minute. I don't know why. Sure wasn't going to make things easier.

We've been broken up for nearly four months now -- and it was no "Ohmigod, she's the love of my life" thing to begin with. So how come it still hurts? Maybe because she was only like the third person I'd ever let get that close to me. Maybe because I missed the way she made me laugh. Maybe because it was nice for a change to be with somebody who was cattier than me and had a worse mouth. Or maybe I could admit to being more than a little shallow and say it was because she was the best-looking lover -- male or female -- that I had ever had. Sure wasn't because she was a blow-your-doors-off bed mate. I mean, she was fine there, just never seemed to totally let go -- though she did seem to get inspired sometimes when we found someplace other than the bedroom.

Like the time we went to a hot springs spa for the weekend. It was one of those "clothing optional" places where everybody's option seemed to be spending the whole day with nothing on but sunscreen. You hang around long enough with enough naked people and it reaches a point where nobody even looks. But they looked at Jessie. Hell, even I looked at her. A lot. Even though between work and our private lives I'd seen every inch of her body from every imaginable angle.

So anyway, we were up there in the summer and it was hot enough during the daytime that you felt like heaven must be close because you were doing your time in purgatory. If that doesn't make sense, find a Catholic to explain it to you. But the nights, wow. The nights were bliss. Warm with a breeze that felt almost tropical, and more stars than a city girl could imagine.

There were three big wooden tubs to soak in that went from hot to hotter to call 9-1-1. The same mineral springs that fed the tubs also flowed into the pool so it was like a lukewarm bath filled with those delightful bath beads you get when you splurge on an expensive B&B. And the whole area lit with just a few torches.

Well, there was a time that I did look for romance and this place had it. There were only four couples in the pool, including us, so we all had a little privacy. Combine that with the stars and the glow of the torches and the silky feel of the water on our bare skins and we couldn't resist rubbing up against each other a little. All right, more than a little. But we weren't the only ones. Everybody was enjoying their own little erotic corners. That's when Jessie pointed to the only other couple close enough to really have any idea of what we were doing underneath the water. Damn. Seemed like they were more interested in what we were doing than in what they were doing to each other. It's not like I'm shy so I kinda enjoyed the attention. For Jessie though, it was a whole other gear.

Instead of little soft nibbles at my lips, she was exploring my whole mouth with her tongue -- and with the kind of passion I had sorta given up expecting. Her fingertips that had been teasing my thighs got a lot more personal. And it didn't take long before the silkiness of the water was replaced by a totally different kind of silkiness between my legs. Y'know how sometimes you're in a situation where part of you is saying "I shouldn't be doing this" and another part is saying, Fuck that!"? This was one of those. And "fuck that!" was winning.

Her fingers felt great and I figured nobody could really see what she was doing. Besides, I can cum fairly quietly if I absolutely have to. And did I mention that it felt great? So I was just gonna let it happen and enjoy it. In fact I was probably about six seconds away from letting it happen when she took her fingers away. Couldn't do anything but make this pitiful little whimpering sound, and while I'm trying to claw my way out of confusion and frustration she gets her hands around the backs of my thighs and starts lifting. Now, I'm barely over 5'3 and weigh 118 while Jessie is nearly 5'10 and about 140. With the added buoyancy of the water, I popped out of the pool like a champagne cork and landed with my ass on the edge of it.

If I hadn't been so damn close to cumming I probably would've stopped her. But I didn't. I knew the other couple was watching and I didn't care. She didn't tease, didn't give me any chance to refocus -- just opened me with her thumbs and slid her tongue fully into me. Maybe my eyes were open and I was looking at the sky, maybe they were closed and I was seeing stars anyway. Who knows. All I knew is that she was doing this fluttery thing with her tongue inside my pussy and nothing short of death was going to stop me from enjoying every bit of it. And oh God did I ever! When her tongue wasn't fluttering inside me, it was circling under the rim of my hood. When her lips weren't kissing the whole length of my opening, they were sucking on the tip of my clit. I said I could cum quietly if I absolutely have to? Not that time. It was one of those "Top Ten of All Time" orgasms and I just couldn't hold back. Maybe I was too loud and scared the other couple away. More likely, they just left to a find a more private place.

So that's the memory that was playing in my head as I sat in my car outside Mitchell Brothers that night. You can imagine it didn't do much to make the hurt go away. Eventually drove off, half kinda warmed by the reminiscing and half kinda pissed because I could feel my eyes tearing up. OK, I cry a lot. Always have. At movies, listening to music, talking to friends (on the phone only -- I don't let people see me cry). Doesn't bother me. But this bothered me. So I went to my secret place.

Half a mile down O'Farrell I turned the wrong way onto a one-way street. Since at that hour of the night there are probably half a dozen felonies going down on that block I wasn't real worried about a cop. A lot of them are sorta friends of mine anyway. And the hookers and dealers sure wouldn't care -- as long as I didn't run over a customer. It's a trashy neighborhood but it's where I go when I need advice and want to talk to Mom. It's where she was shot to death when I was 16.

I guess everyone has a moment that changes their life. That was mine. Before that, I was like something out of a '70s sitcom ... a college-bound little good girl who had never let a boy do more than touch her breasts (and not even much of that). Maybe I would have stayed that way if she had lived. Maybe would have never lost count of the number of boys and girls I slept with or gotten so fond of powdery substances that I spent three months in rehab or made taking my clothes off a career choice. Doesn't matter now, because I can still talk to her -- especially when I come to my secret place -- and she doesn't judge me, just somehow tries to help.

So there I sat, my car a little island of what passes for normalcy in my life, while the johns and the junkies drifted by. And at some point I sorta realized -- maybe Mom told me -- why I couldn't get past Jessie. It wasn't just that she broke up with me, it was that it didn't seem to faze her at all. There was no soul-wrenching like when I was separated from the only person I was ever love with. It was just ... over. No warning, no talking afterwards.

Just like when I was 16.