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Branded in Montreal
by Janelle

*** The Morning After ***

"Get your lazy ass out of bed before you're late for Church", Mom said while pulling the curtains open. As my eyes attempted to adjust to the morning sun, Mom carried on. "I don't know what's gotten into you? Coming home at 3 in the morning! You should be ashamed of yourself. Your lucky your Father went to bed at 1, if he knew you got in at 3, there would be hell to pay. You went to Canada again didn't you? You know how I feel about that. Too many kids are getting themselves killed over there. I hope Greg didn't drink and drive. God it stinks in here."

"Mom..." I barely utter through my cotton filled mouth while my head continued to spin and my stomach violently protested its contents. I've had hangover before, but this was by far the worst.

"This is what happens when you go out drinking. Not very lady-like, or smart. You do so well in school, why do you have to do this? You do realize your only 18? And what is this?" Mom said while lifting my chin and touching a sore spot on my neck. "Tell me that's not a hickey!"

"Mom!!!" I started to plead.

"Don't "Mom" me. Greg did this didn't he?" She stated more then asked. "That boy had best keep his hands to himself. You can't let your Father see that. There is no telling what he would do. Its too warm for a turtleneck, plus that wouldn't fool him. Dab some make-up over it, wear your collar up and brush your hair down. Hopefully he won't notice. Now get your ass out of bed and try to make yourself presentable."

I knew Mom was upset because she hardly ever swore. "I'm sorry," I said hoping to defuse the situation.

"Sorry is what you will be if you don't get going." She said has she slammed the bedroom door shut.

Almost as soon as the door shut, she re-opened it. "Don't think this is over." She stated while pointing a finger at me. "After Church we are going to have a long talk. Things are going to change." And with that she slammed the door shut for the second time.

Has I pulled the sheets off I noticed I was in my "Pepé Le Pew" nightshirt, a small miracle with all things considered. Mom was right I did stink. I smelt of smoke and beer, and my hair was matted on one side with something caked into it. I hoped I hadn't gotten sick in my hair, but knew the odds were against me.

Has I made my way to the bathroom; I noticed that through each stride I was sticking between my legs. Once I got into the bathroom, I removed my nightshirt and noticed a thin film covering my crotch area and inner thighs. I felt like a glazed doughnut. While scratching the matted pubic hairs free I discovered that I was super sensitive, like after a lengthy frig session.

While reaching for a towel I caught a glimpse of something dark on one of my butt cheeks. Had I gotten a tattoo?! Mom would kill me for sure. With the use of a hand mirror and the wall mirror I was able to see something. Licking my hand wet and rubbing it over the black spot, I was able to fade it a little. At least it wasn't a tattoo. But what was it? It appeared to be some type of writing, numbers actually, possibly a phone number. A phone number?!?! Has the memories of the night before came flooding back into my mind, the violent rumbles of my stomach finally won, forcing me to pay homage to the white porcelain god.

*** The Night Before ***

The legal drinking age in Vermont is 21, and in Canada the legal drinking age is... well I'm not sure. Whatever the age is, it isn't enforced. Needless to say this loophole hasn't gone unnoticed by the under 21 year olds that live along the Canada boarder. On Friday and Saturday nights 16-20 year olds invade the Canadian boarder in search of high adventures. I must confess that I was no exception. One Saturday night before the beginning of my Freshman year of college, I found myself in downtown Montreal sitting in a secluded booth of a dance club. It is in this booth that I first felt the hands of another woman.

Louise was a year older then me and was just beginning her Sophomore year at McGill University majoring in Art. When she saw us, my date Greg and I, she took the opportunity to say "Hi". If she hadn't approached us, we never would have recognized her. Louise had always been a bit different from the rest, but it was never as obvious as it was now. In just over a year she transformed herself from a small-town-country-girl to a kind of "gothic" college student. While I was dressed in a lightweight floral summer dress, she was wearing a black leather jacket over a simple white t-shirt, military boots and a pair of black jeans that contained numerous slashes and cuts. It was obvious because of the large tears in her jeans that she was also wearing black stockings; a strange combination that I found hard not to stare at. She dyed her long auburn hair raven-black and had a "buzz" cut on one side. One of her eyebrows was now pierced and she wasn't ashamed to show us her newly pierced tongue. She wore thick black make-up around both eyes and painted two little teardrops on one cheek. To help complete her new look, she wore an oversized crucifix that seemed very inappropriate to me. All I could think about was how horrified her parents must be, or did they even know?!?

Greg invited Louise to join us, and she accepted by climbing into the seat opposite us. After a few minutes of the usual "How's it going?" and "What have you been up to?" Greg excused himself to get some drinks.

"You have got to tell me what's up with your hair." I asked.

"It's the newest thing. A lot of the students have done it. Do you like?" she asked.

"To be honest-not really. You use to have such nice hair, and the way you're dress, you could almost pass for a dude, if it weren't for the stockings that is... Do your parents know?" I just had to ask.

"Mom does, but not Dad. Mom says I can't let Dad know cause he'll blow a gasket." She explained while lighting a cigarette.

"If you let your hair grow and take the studs out before you go home, he'll never know", I suggested.

"My looks aren't the problem. Mom doesn't want Dad to know I'm coming out." She explained.

"Out? You're not saying you're gay are you?!?!" I bewilderly asked.

"Come on", she said, "you know I'm gay. I've been doing chicks for almost 3 years now. Everyone at school knew." She explained.

"Not everyone." I said totally lost.

"Okay. It's not like I was jumping girls in the locker-room, or had it tattooed on my forehead, but a few knew. If I had it my way a few more would of known, maybe even you", she said smiling through the smoke of her cigarette.

What does a person say after something like that? Was she making fun of me, had she just complimented me, or was she coming on to me? Before the unknown words escaped from my lips, Greg saved me from the moment by delivering a large pitcher of Molson O'Keefe for us and a kahlua and milk for Louise.

For those of you who are not familiar with Canadian beer, let me explain. Most Canadian beer, real Canadian beer, not the water down version they export the to the US, is about 5 to 7% alcohol. In comparison the average US beer is around 3 to 4% alcohol. Thus it is about 2 for 1. If you drink 3 Canadian beers, it has the effect of about 6 American beers. So for lightweight like me, that means a lot. And if you're not carefully it can hit you fast-and that is what happened.

Has the night progressed our dark secluded booth became quite popular. Many of my friends showed up, along with several hockey players from Greg's team and even some of Louise's "Gothic" friends came over. In a matter of a couple of hours, and I don't know how many beers, it became difficult for me to maintain a thought. Needless to say I had a "buzz" going and felt no pain. I was reduced to simple nods and an occasional laugh, but I wasn't the only one-a good time was being had by all.

At some point during the evening, I found myself sitting in the corner of the booth with Louise by my side. She had one arm around me and we were sharing a cigarette, my first cigarette I might add. Greg wasn't anywhere to be found, probably dancing with some slut or maybe one of my so-called friends. When the last couple at the table left to go get more beer, Louise and I were all alone, and that is when it happened.

Louise removed the cigarette from between my lips and kissed me full on the mouth. I reacted by pulling away, but she followed. The more I retreated deeper into the booth, the more she pursued me until it came to a point where she had me trapped, and was lying almost on top of me. Her hands groped at my chest while her tongue penetrated my lips. I wish I could say I fought her, but I was in shock and numbed from too much beer. I was more frighten then anything else. I knew this was wrong and I was scared to death that my friends might return. What would they think, and more importantly, what would they say? I pushed Louise away and told her to "stop". Her response was to reach between my legs and firmly grab my crotch. Only my underwear separated her probing fingers from my opening.

"You little tease, you know you want it", and with that she pressed her fingers harder into me, causing my panties to become saturated with my own juices. While doing this she bent over and started sucking my neck. After a few moments Louise pulled her hand away and held her fingers up to my face. "You nasty little slut. Look how wet you are. Don't try and tell me you don't like it". And with that she licked my juices off her fingers. During this brief moment I took the opportunity to roll off the bench seat, and crawl out from under the booth. To someone watching this must have looked quite humorous-after all-how often do you see a girl crawl out from under a table?

Staggering to the dance floor I found Greg dancing with some trashy blonde. Instead of being upset, I rudely pushed his dance partner away and wrapped my arms around him. If I hurt the blonde's feelings, I'm sorry, but at that moment I wanted to be held, and whether Greg acted like it or not, he was suppose to be my boyfriend. He held me in his arms, gently stroking my hair has I quietly cried into his chest. We danced in each other arms for several songs, even though they weren't slow ones. After the third or fourth song, while Greg was gently kissing my neck, I felt something poke me just above my belly button. Looking down it was quite obvious that Greg had become aroused, and was starting to dry-hump me like some horny dog.

"Why don't we go someplace? It could be fun" he offered.

"I don't think so", and with that I broke his grip and headed for the ladies room. I was getting sick of people treating me like a sex toy.

The ladies room was down in dungeon. At least that's what I called it. The dungeon was a dimly lit, smoke filled room located on the lower level that contain public phones, cigarette machines and restrooms, and it was in the dungeon that most of the "Freaks" hung out. In the past I always made it a point to go with a friend, because one just didn't know what lurked in the shadows. People were talking on the phone, some were obviously doing drugs and some were on the verge of having sex. And although I'm not positive, I could have sworn I saw someone getting a blowjob. Trying not to look around I made my way to the ladies room, but before I could reach it, someone grabbed my ass. When I turned around-the mysterious hand was gone. This now marked the third time in less then 30 minutes that I was used as someone's sex toy. Mom and Dad would not be proud of their little girl.

The restroom was almost as crowded as the dance floor, and although it was brighter then the dungeon, the containment of cigarette smoke in this small area made the room seem darker. There was a tight group of women congested around the sinks, using the mirror to check their hair and make-up. Another group of girls huddled in one corner obviously doing drugs. Fighting my way to the stalls, I open a door to find it occupied by a man and a woman. Instead of being embarrassed by my presence, they seemed to be quite annoyed that I had interrupted them. So much for this being the ladies room. Before making my way to an empty stall, I past one with no door. Inside were two girls hugging and kissing. At least they seemed to have found someone.

I sat on the toilet not needing to use it. Instead I used this private place to help collect my thoughts. I would of latch the door, but like most of the stalls the latch was broken. Fortunately the spring hinges held the door closed giving me at least some privacy. It didn't take long before the tears came rolling out. I started balling like a baby and couldn't stop myself. I wasn't sure why I was crying; I just knew I couldn't stop. While drying my eyes and trying to compose myself, I heard the screech of the hinges and through water filled eyes I saw Louise staring down at me. I expected her to say or do something, but she didn't. She just stood there smoking her cigarette.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why? Cause you wanted me to", and with that she moved into the stall causing the door to close in on us. She knelt on the filthy floor and wrapped her arms around my waist, resting her head against my stomach. Not knowing what to do, I cradled her in my arms and after awhile I started stroking the back of her leather jacket.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to hurt you... can forgive me?... you make me so hot... and you let me put my arm around you... I thought you wanted me." Louise explained, has her tears soak through my dress filling my belly button.

"It was how you acted that made me angry. I don't like being mauled." With that I lifted her chin and gently kissed her, tasting the kahlua that still resided in the corner of her lips. To this day whenever I taste kahlua I think of Louise and of that kiss. But why did I kiss her? I still don't know for sure. I do know I felt sorry for her and didn't like seeing her cry. But was there more to it?

We started kissing slowly, exploring each other. Louise ran her nails gently up and down my back causing chills to run through my spine. She undid the top of my dress so that she could reach in and play with my chest. After a few moments of messaging them, she released one my breast from the cup of my bra and started applying soft kisses. Slowly and with great care she nestled my nipple between her lips, tracing her tongue over the top. Goose bumps filled my body. I had never felt this way before. I felt so alive. Using her free hand Louise made her way between my legs. This time my legs were spread open and she didn't have to force herself. As she moved my panties aside I felt her naked hand on my pussy for the first time. While rolling my clit under her thumb, she traced her fingers up and down my wet slit. She inserted one finger and then another, while never releasing the pressure on my clit.

Prior to this I had only achieved orgasms through masturbation, but never with a partner. Louise was quickly changing that. She continued to flick the rough side of her tongue over my nipple. She increased the speed of her fingering while continuing to strum my clit. I felt the familiar pressure of an orgasm building inside of me. My stomach became hard. My eyes closed tight. Breathing was only possible in short shallow breaths. My moans became louder and louder. Just before I released my screams of delight, Louise kissed me deeply, muffling my cries of passion.

Has I grasped for air, trying to gain my breath back, Louise removed her hand from my over sensitive clit and for the second time in one night, she licked her fingers clean in front of me.

"You really do taste good you know." she stated matter-of-factly, with a devilish smile. I stood up, tried to make myself presentable and left the stall. I think Louise wanted more. I think she wanted me to do to her what she had done to me. But I wasn't ready for that. I wasn't sure if I ever would be, but she gave me a lot to think about.

While fighting my way to the sinks, I could feel my pussy juices trickling down my inner thighs. After wedging myself in front of the sink, I noticed a hickey on my neck. It must have happened when Louise attacked me in the booth. Next I felt someone press tight up against my ass. Looking in the mirror I could see Louise sporting a wicked smile while rotating her crotch into my butt. Concealed by the crowed of women consumed with their vanity, Louise reached under my dress and started rubbing my ass. Then she whispered into my ear, "I know you liked it. I can still smell you. Call me when you want more." And with one fluid motion she lifted my dress, pulled aside my panties and literally wrote her phone number on my ass. I felt like a cow being branded, and this time Louise's boldness did not go unnoticed. Many of the girls stopped and starred, and then the hooting and hollering started. Some laughed, others were in shock; some even congratulated Louise by patting her on the back. I ran away as fast as I could, slamming the door on the roar of the crowd.

I found Greg dancing with the same blonde. Grabbing his arm I made him take me home. On the way over the Champlain Bridge Greg noticed the hickey.

"Hey, what do we have here?" he asked.

Looking in the mirror, I found again what I had forgot; the hickey Louise had given me. "You asshole. If my Father see this we're both dead."

"Sorry, I didn't think I did it that hard", he smiled arrogantly, taking pride in what he thought he had accomplished. I felt it best to give him this little bit. It was easier then explaining the truth. Regardless of what story he was going to tell his friends, this would be our last date together-even if he didn't know it.

On the way home Greg had to stop the car 3 times, or risk ruining his interior. In between my sessions of being sick I kept telling myself that I wasn't attractive to Louise, but if that was true, why was I so wet? I felt like a water pitcher that had been cracked, and no matter how hard I squeezed my legs, my juices kept seeping through.


*** A Question ***

The question that I pose to you is this; "Can this experience be classified as sex?" Ever since Monica went down on the President and Bill did Monica with a cigar, the line between what sex is and isn't has gotten fuzzier. Our President, Bill Clinton, seems to think that only intercourse is sex, and that oral sex and the penetration of an item that is not a penis, does not constitute has sex. If we use Bill's definition, then many Lesbians have never experience "real" sex. Isn't it bad enough that the government will not recognize the marriage of lesbian couples, but now the President is trying to diminish our intimacy by not calling it sex? Thus I leave it up to you the reader to determine what sex is. Whatever your decision is, I hope we can all agree that the story you just read is at the very least memorable.

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