The Dangers of False Advertising

We got out of the car and Janine assured me for the millionth time, "It'll be fun, really, I do this all the time!"

'This' was going to a dyke bar, pretending to be a lipstick lesbian and cadging free drinks from the bulls all night long. What the fuck, I thought. Why am I even doing this? We had been on the Cape for about 6 days out of a 2 week stay when Janine suggested we go to P-town, Provincetown, and pull this idiotic stunt.

"It'll be a kick Liz, c'mon!" she implored.

"Why the hell would I want to go to a dyke bar to get free drinks?" I asked. "I can get guys to buy me drinks at the regular bars we go to. I like GUYS Janine."

"Well so do I," she said, "but you've GOT to see these places, they're totally wild. C'mon, you've got to see P-town at least once before you die!" she laughed.

I don't know why, but I agreed. Provincetown MA is at the very tip of Cape Cod. We were in Dennis, so we had to drive about an hour and a half to get there. The scenery was certainly beautiful, rolling dunes, windswept coast-line. This was the Cape you saw in professional photos, it had nothing at all to do with the Mid-Cape honky tonk shops and hotels found along Route 28.

P-town itself was as advertised; a trip. Picture a quaint New England town. Cape style houses, gray cedar shingles, primrose bushes - with a guy in butt-less leather chaps walking down the street holding hands with a bearded guy in drag. Janine was right, it was a hoot.

The town was mostly gay men, but there were a fair percentage of girl-girl couples strolling around, maybe 2 to 1. We parked the car near a bar called Fish with a Bicycle.

"This is it," Janine told me. "This is a lesbian bar, wait'll you see it!"

We went in and, honestly, it wasn't much different from a hundred other bars I had been in. The décor was possibly a little more subdued, lacking in the usual testosterone laden sports images, but a bar none the less. About the only thing different in this was the clientele; all women.

They ran the gamut from 'normal' looking, sundress clad girls like Janine and me to cropped haired bulls and everything in between.

We went to the bar. No one offered to buy us a drink in spite of Janine's promises. I bought my own Apple Martini.

It was strange in there, but once the initial shock wore off, not unpleasant. The bar was comfortable, unthreatening. The music loud, but not so loud as to prevent conversation. Janine and I chatted and it was kind of nice not having to fend off male attention. Look, I'm not a supermodel or anything, but I can say I'm fairly attractive without fear of contradiction. When I go into a bar, I get noticed. I'm not bragging, I just do.

Anyway, Janine went to the ladies room. She was gone for a minute or two when I heard someone say, "Hi," from behind me.

I turned and a woman smiled at me. She was about my height, about my age, twenty-something, with dark brown hair crew-cut short. No make-up but that didn't mean she was nasty or anything. She was actually quite pleasant looking. Slim, ok, ok, 'boyish' – ha, how cliché, I know. Jeans and a white tee shirt. She reminded me of nothing so much as a 15-year-old boy. A delicate looking, kinda cute 15 year old boy.

"Hi," I replied.

"I haven't seen you here before," she said. "I'm Billie."

"Liz," I replied with a sardonic smile. I stuck my hand out and we shook. She had a firm grip but it was far from 'man-ish'. "No, this is my first time here. Are you a regular?"

She laughed, "Yeah, I guess so. I live here year round, I'm one of the few that braves the Lower-Cape winters."

"Must get quiet," I said.

"You have no idea," she laughed again. "I saw you come in with another girl, is she your lover?"

"Janine?" I replied, "No, no, we're just friends." Changing the subject as quickly as possible, I asked, "So what do you do here in the winter time?"

"I'm a painter, I show my work here in the summer, in Providence in the off season," she replied, sitting on a stool next to mine.

"Wow, that's neat," I said, rather inanely. "Um, do you do well at that?"

She laughed again, she had a rather infectious laugh and I found myself smiling along with her, "No, I don't starve, but I certainly don't do 'well'. Still, I'm my own boss, I have enough to eat, I'm doing what I love and I live on one of the most beautiful places on earth. I can't complain."

Janine came back and I introduced them. We all talked a bit and Billie bought a round of drinks. Janine winked at me when Billie wasn't looking. It made me feel like shit. It made me remember why Janine often irritated me. I insisted on paying for the next round. Janine looked at me like I was nuts. A short time later, Janine was chatting with another woman, accepting a drink from her.

"Do you dance?" Billie asked me.

A decent song was playing. "Sure, why not," I said.

Billie was a good dancer. Nothing too fancy, but she moved well and didn't look too silly while she was doing it. She's just a girl, I thought. I don't know why I kept expecting these women to act like men with boobs. She dresses a little differently, but that's about it.

We danced for several songs. A slow one came on. I didn't want to slow dance, but I didn't know how to get out of it. I was here on false pretences. It would have been easier if Billie hadn't been nice, if she had been a guy with boobs. An insensitive, slobbering Cape Cod drunken guy. She wasn't. She was a nice girl, struggling to make a living and here I was, invading her territory, pretending to be something I wasn't, letting her spend her scant pay on me. I slow danced with her.

It was weird. It was like dancing with a guy, but it wasn't. I put my arms around her shoulders, she put her arms around my waist. She pulled me close, but not obnoxiously close. I was, however, close enough to notice the absence of bulges in one place and the existence of bulges someplace else. Billie was smaller on top then I, but she had enough to present a disconcerting softness into my own chest where I was used to hard muscle. It wasn't unpleasant at all, just different. I think the fact that it wasn't unpleasant bothered me the most.

She led. We swayed to the song, Melissa, naturally. It was that Come to my Window song. I listened to it and it hit me that she was singing to a woman, I guess I had always pictured her singing it to a man, even though her orientation was no secret. I really listened to the lyrics, the pain, the naked longing, 'Lover, I burn. Let me in.' I got a flutter in my stomach.

It was at that point I felt, butterfly soft, Billie's lips on my neck.

I stiffened. Pulled back. "Um, I need to use the ladies room," I stammered as I fled.

I walked quickly, purposefully to the ladies room and shut the door behind me. I was alone, two stalls, one sink, no feet. I stood at the sink and splashed water in my face, looking at my reflection. I didn't like what I saw, a blond bitch. This had gone way too far, it was a stupid idea from the start. Janine was a user, I wasn't. I no longer felt comfortable with this, Billie was a nice girl, I liked her. I didn't want to lead her on, to use her. To make promises I had no intention of keeping. I would grab Janine and we would leave. Now.

The bathroom door opened and Billie walked in.

"Are you all right?" she asked, concern in her voice, on her face.

"I'm fine," I replied.

She stepped closer, "You don't look fine, you went pretty pale there."

I took an involuntary step back, "No really, I'm OK, I just…"

"You just have never done this before," she finished, taking another step towards me.

"I…no," I answered, looking down in embarrassment. "Look, I'm sorry of I gave you the wrong impression," I began.

Billie laughed, was that a tinge of bitterness in the laugh? I looked up. No, she seemed amused.

"No, I kind of figured that out. I recognized your friend. She's been in here before. She's got the reputation among the regulars of being a tease."

"So why…?" I began.

"Did I talk to you?" she finished. "You looked nice, pretty." Laughing, "Mostly you looked uncomfortable and that made me think you might be a bit nicer then your friend."

I laughed too, "I don't know about the 'nice' part. I was just thinking I'd been a bitch."

Billie stepped close, very close. I backed up and hit the stall door.

"You're only a bitch if you made promises you had no intention of keeping. You didn't make any promises to me," she said softly, so close to me. My pupils dilated, my heart rate rose. I held my breath without realizing it. "Actually, when we were dancing, I thought there might be a spark of interest," she whispered, "a…curiosity."

Her eyes closed as she leaned in the extra half inch. Our lips touched. Hers were soft, warm. Dry, but not unpleasantly so. We touched at no place else, an invisible force-field held us apart for a timeless moment. With no conscious thought, I opened my mouth slightly. The force-field collapsed, Billie pressed against me, our teeth banged into each other and I groaned. Her tongue pushed into my mouth, her arms on the stall door on either side of my head, her body pressed into mine. Abandoning myself, I met her tongue with my own.

We kissed, exploring each other's mouths, lips. Her skin was soft, no stubble, she kissed so well, better then most guys I had kissed. Guys just seemed to kiss you as a prelude to something else, Billie kissed me like she meant it. A kiss for the sheer sensuality of kissing. Slow, demanding yet non-demanding. Tasting each other. Up until that moment, the idea of actually kissing another girl – and I mean kissing, not pecking – kind of gave me the willies. Actually doing it was something else all together.

Still, I broke the kiss and gently pushed her away by the shoulders.

"Billie, I…" I started.

She smiled and said, "No."

Reaching past me, she pushed the stall door open and pushed me inside, closing and latching the door behind her. It was a handicapped stall and fairly large. She kept pushing me back until I hit the wall behind me. Her faced pressed into mine with a kiss, stifling my protest, her hands pinning my arms to the wall. I could have broken free, she was holding me, but not hard. The restraint melted me like a candle in the sun. Being pinned against the wall by her turned me on like nothing ever had before. Naked dominance. A man doing it would have evoked fear, a flight or fight response. The fact that she wasn't strong enough to really compel me to do something made it different. Emotional, psychological rather then physical.

I groaned my submission into her mouth.

Billie released my hands and cupped my breasts, finding my nipples through the dress with her thumbs. My head reeled, she pressed against me hard, insinuating her knee between my legs, pressing it up against my mound. I whimpered as she ground her thigh into me.

She pulled the shoulders of my dress down over my arms, pulling my bra down with it, exposing my breasts to the hot, moist air. Her hands on my bare skin were electric, her head bent, she captured a nipple in her mouth.

"Oh God, Billie," I moaned. "Please no. I'm not ready for this, please." I cried softly.

Her hand stole under my dress, pressed against my sex, dug under the leg opening, touching my wetness and I moaned.

"Oh please, please, I can't do this, I'm not ready."

Billie removed her hand and put her finger against my lips, wet with my juice.

"You're not ready?" she said, deliberately misunderstanding me. "You're a liar," she crooned. "This says you're ready. Suck it, suck my finger. Taste yourself."

Staring into her brown eyes, so intense, so self confident, I had no choice but to obey. I sucked her fingers into my mouth, tasting myself on them. Slightly salty, slightly sweet, different from a man, less ammoniac. I felt I had crossed a bridge. I flicked at her fingers with my tongue.

She smiled, "That's my girl."

Taking her fingers from my mouth, she bent to kiss me again. I put my hands behind her head and drew her into me. Her own hands fumbled at her waist, undoing her jeans, pushing them down. She captured one of my hands and drew it to her, placing it on her mound. I felt coarse hair. She pushed it lower and I encountered softness, wetness. Her lips were full, soft, very, very wet. Feeling committed, I found her slit with my finger, pressing it into her, stroking gently as I liked to do to myself when masturbating.

"Oh yesss, that's nice," she hissed.

Her own hand slipped under my dress again, tugging my panties down over my hips. I felt them fall to the floor. Her hand stole between my thighs, pushing, demanding I open them more. I complied and she began exploring me, stroking my clit with her thumb while her finger probed my opening.

It felt like heaven. We stopped kissing, staring into each other's eyes. Breathing heavily, panting as our excitement grew. Her finger slipped into me, the thumb still circling my clit. I felt her pussy press against my hand, I stroked faster, rubbing my finger over the thick bud of her clit.

"Yes, yes," she whispered. "You've never been with a girl, have you Liz?"

"No," I moaned. Oh God, this was feeling too good.

"I'm gonna make you cum little girl, gonna make you moan, gonna make you mine," she whispered. "Make me cum, make me cum too."

"Oh yes," I groaned, "Oh yes, cum. Make me cum. Oh God this is so perverted."

It was becoming overwhelming, I was close, very close. I was terrified someone would come into the ladies room. Come in and find us. Come in and stop us.

"Oh Goddd, I'm going to cum!" I cried.

Billie smiled, I saw her smile through the haze of my own lust. She stroked my clit harder, faster and slipped a second finger into my hot cunt.

"Ohhhhhhhhh!" I shrieked, "Ohhhhhh Godddddd! Ungh!" I gasped, writhing as I came. God it was good, I came hard, thrashing moaning.

I felt her grind against my hand hard as she moaned too," Ummm, unnn, ohhhh!"

I saw her eyes closed, teeth gritted and I stroked her quickly, little short flicks across her clit.

"Oh yes, ummmm!" she groaned out. I felt her cunt twitch, her muscles contracting, spasming. She flooded my hand with her juices, cumming wetly against my hand.

I kissed her. For the first time that night, I initiated the contact. I leaned in and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

"Come home with me," she asked as we broke contact. No longer self-assured, she seemed terribly vulnerable.

"I…I told you, I'm not ready for that. For this." I stammered.

"You seemed plenty ready," she replied.

"That was my body. My mind needs some time to catch up," I replied.

She stepped back from me, pulling up her jeans. I caught a glimpse of a startlingly dark bush against her pale skin before her pants covered it up.

"Fine, I understand," she said, cold.

I got a little angry, hell she had practically raped me in the ladies room.

"Look, I didn't say never, I said I'm not ready. I need to think about this. If you have a problem with that too bad!"

"Seriously?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes seriously. Look, if I want to get in touch with you, how do I do it? Have you got a phone or something?" I asked.

"You can pretty much find me here every weekend," she said with a speculative glint. "When you decide your ready, come back. But don't bring your friend."