A Fear of Being

"That beating, long as it was, and how our pastor kept on preaching about how much God hated homosexuals weighed heavily on me. I dared not say anything to anyone, and I had to make myself stay away from girls. It stuck, stayed with me, even when I grew older, but I knew that I was a lesbian, and it terrified me to even think of it, so I tried not to be one. For the most part I didn't, but for many years afterward, I had nightmares about that beating, and they were worse when I had some vague dreams about another girl, though the dreams were never explicit. I still have them, just not as frequently.

"For many years, I lived with the desires growing in me, no matter how I tried to hide from them, or deny them; I did all I could to suppress them. How I got away from the churches prying eyes, I may never know. I'm just thankful that my parents may not have bought into everything our pastor said. Still, I feared saying anything to my parents. I did wonder at what kept them there though, but they stayed in that church.

"In all of that, I was grateful that when I'd completed my high school requirements—I was home schooled—they consented to me going to college. I thought it was my salvation, my way to be free, but I couldn't forget what had happened, and our pastor's constant barrage of hate filled words and promises of damnation. I wasn't free, and I feared that I'd never be free. Still, the desires never went away—and sometimes, neither did the nightmares."

As she spoke, I kept seeing her face tightening, seeing how this fabulously beautiful woman on the outside was still as a little girl within herself. A constantly afraid little girl that lived a tormented life, and as she stopped talking, the tears she had been holding back suddenly gushed out of her in loud sobs that quickly began to rack her body.

I was beginning to understand what drove her, at least in part. For sure, that church—that preacher—instilled in her what seemed like a fear that was repeated in her time and again—a fear to do much of anything, such seemed to be the depth of the trauma she'd had. Had it become a fear of doing anything other than just barely living—breathing, working, eating? Had the fear fed on itself to become many fears, I wondered? My heart went out to her as I never knew a heart could.

I reached out to her instinctively. I don't think that she paid any attention to it, just let herself come into my arms and cry her heart out. Well, I was just as lost as she told me that she was, but my being lost was in never having to try to do something to ease pain such as she had save by holding her and letting her cry. There was no thought of having a woman in my arms, one that I had so quickly wanted so much, desired almost desperately. No, there was only the sense that I held a little girl who had been traumatized so terribly, and whose memories continued to traumatize her year after year. Damn it, I felt so helpless.

She must have cried herself out and fallen asleep in my arms. It had to be the most uncomfortable position for her to sleep in; for me, I paid it no attention, only allowing myself to comfort this new friend and hoped for lover. Okay, so I did allow a few thoughts of the possible promise of sex with her, but my heart kept on reaching out to her and wondering how I might help ease her pain and maybe help her. She was where I'd hoped she'd someday be, yet not the way that I'd hoped for, but I knew that if she'd let me, I'd hold her forever. My life was becoming so weird. So very weird, and so quickly too.

* * * *

"I'm sorry," she said when she finally woke up. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay," I interrupted her. "You needed to sleep a little, and it was fine with me."

"But you must have been so uncomfortable. I shouldn't have..."

Again, I hushed her. "I enjoyed it. Trust me, I did, so it was fine with me," I somewhat lied, but not much.

It was fine with me. I'd let my hand comb through her hair, and maybe done a little dreaming after I quit giving those people at her church hell in my mind. Oh, lord, she felt so good in my arms.

"It's getting late, and I guess you have to go to work soon. I did hope we'd meet," she said, blushing in embarrassment, but why I didn't know. "Anyway, I fixed some sandwiches and soup for us," she went on, a bit rattled.

At least I'd learned why she so suddenly blushed. The knowledge that she was hoping for us to meet as I was hoping too, left a warm feeling in me, but would her hoping be for the same reason as my hoping? Hmm, I guess I'd find out.

"That sounds good, but are you all right now?"

"Yes, thanks to you, I think so. Well, I've lived with this for years, so it's not new, or something I've not been able to handle," she tried to fib a little.

"Honey, what you've been through, and are still going through, well, it's not something you can truly learn to live with. I think it must be pushing you mightily. If I can help, I'll be more than glad too."

Tears of gratitude, I thought, began to form in her eyes, and her face showed it, but she held them back.

As we ate, she spoke about herself more, and asked a few questions.

"I'm twenty-six, and I know so little about sex. I think that part of the reason my parents agreed to let me go to college was that they must have seen how some of the men began looking at me. I felt it too, but it started early—when I was about thirteen, I think. I sort of clung to my parent's side, so no one ever tried to do anything untoward. It was similar at college, but I always stayed as if in a group, though I wasn't part of any group. All these years, and I know literally nothing about sex, not even with another woman. It wasn't long before I started to think that maybe you'd be the first one," she said, her face lighting up in the flames that scorched her face.

"Mm, I had the same thoughts when I first saw you. Sorry, but that's true. You are quite the gorgeous and sexy looking woman, you know."

"Yes, I guess I am, or so a few people have told me, but it's easy to understand why that crowd chanted for you as they did," she said referring to that loud group at the club.

I grinned, felt a little embarrassment as my head lowered, but quickly looked up at her; she was smiling at my mild discomfort.

"So I've been told too," I finally said.

"Fiona," she hesitated before going on, "aside from your obvious fantastic looks, you're such a wonderful person, more so than I could ever have expected or hoped for. You've been a marvelous person to be with, to talk to. Do you think we can again some time?"

"Oh, I hope so," I said a little lecherously, bringing another mild blush from her. "What the heck, Lauren, you're more than a sex object too. I love your honesty, how easy you talk to me and make me feel—comfortably, that is, and never mind the rest."

She tried her hand at grinning, then thought a moment, but I could see that it wasn't a serious kind of thought such as she'd been having.

"Uh," she began little-girl-like, "do you really enjoy that, uh, gauntlet thing?"

I grinned. She was opening up. "Sort of. I've always been sexual, at least with females, and I love sex with some of them. Jackie, the club owner, thought that they might be too rough on me when I worked the floor, and as you saw, we do wear scanty clothing to entice them. It also brings nice tips. More than the tips though, I love the attention, maybe because I do love sex. I'm not easy though, and I've been very selective."

"Oh," was her only comment. Then, "I guess I better let you go," some regret in her voice.

"Will you be all right?" I asked.

"I think so. Somehow I always have been."

I gave her my home telephone number, as well as the club's for emergencies if any should occur. I was sure that Jackie wouldn't mind if needed.

"Call me anytime, day or night if you need me," I said. "Will you?" I added.

"Yes, and thank you. Oh, do you ever get to take a day off?"

"Sundays and Mondays," I answered.

"Do you think we can get together on Sunday? If you don't have anything to do, that is."

My breath caught, and I noticed that hers was halting.

"Yes, I'd like that," I said.

We went to the door, and I leaned in to kiss her cheek goodbye. She took my kiss, then looked at me, her eyes wide, mesmerizing, beautiful. While I was under her thrall, her arms went about my neck and she kissed me full on the lips, small sounds emanating from her as she held it for a while. I must have been shocked for I said nothing as she pulled back, much too quickly for my taste.

"I'm sorry," she whispered huskily.

"Don't be. It was ever so sweet, though surprising," I said, my breath coming deep with my excitement.

Chapter 7

How to forget that kiss plus those tits of hers more than teasing mine was something I was fighting as I dressed for work and then started working. I was so distracted that Jackie noticed and commented.

"Christ, girl, where are you at? Maybe more to the point, what the hell is going on with you? Are you okay, or are you getting senile real early?"

That brought me out of it. "Just doing some heavy duty thinking."

"And what might that be all about?""

"Uh, maybe any thinking would be heavy duty since I don't really have to think much," I tried to weasel out of it, a small smile to aid my little deception.

It worked!

"Well, I hope you're through with your experiment in thinking, girl. The crowds about to come in," she said with a grin.

The crowd? Wednesdays were some of our light days

I worked without thinking, but feeling? Was I ever. If Lauren didn't mean to mess with my head, which if I didn't think she did, she missed a good chance. My pussy stayed in a constant state of agitation, not to mention wetness. So beautiful, gorgeous, whichever, and not to mention sexy, she was innocent as could be, and reliving day in and day out the trauma of a ten year old child. Off and on I wondered how people could imagine that they had the right to do as they damned well wished with other people's lives, and never mind that they had no right to do so.

* * * *

My mind was taking me over. That is, I knew what my body wanted, but my mind, in thinking of Lauren and how she seemed to be in some kind of transition from internal child to a fully grown woman, was in seeming fact, often dictated to by a regressed creation of a semi-permanent child residing in her that apparently came out too many times and asserted itself.

Huh? Yeah, I'd heard of some people being as regressed when things got out of hand and the person couldn't handle the stress of a situation. I'd learned a little about it in a psychology class. It wasn't much, but it was enough to see what was happening to Lauren, only she was aware that it was happening, or so it seemed. That all didn't make my pussy unable to assert itself every now and then to get my attention by screaming and twitching enough to make me pay attention to it.

But Lauren was constantly on my mind, and so was how to help her, which, I had to admit, might help me and my growing desire to love her. Love!Oh, god, was I telling myself that I was falling for her? If so, so be it. I wanted her, and I wanted to help her. Maybe both could be accomplished. What the heck, at least I'd have tried, and she might benefit even if I didn't. I'd never been altruistic, though I never thought in those terms either, but maybe I was changing. Maybe soon I'd become a basket case as Lauren seemed to be. No. No way.

* * * *

How I made it through till Friday might be considered a miracle, but I did. The raucous crowd was taking my mind off of everything else, at least most of the time. I had done my best to placate my pussy with some extra sweet thoughts of loving with Lauren and my fingers made a suitable substitute that at least fooled my pussy enough so that it would give me some peace.

Near to midnight, Jackie told me I had a call.

"Hi," I said, knowing that it had to be Lauren. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she answered slowly, "but I wondered if I came over to the club, if afterward, we could go to your place for a while. Wo—would that be okay with you?"

"Are you wanting to talk and maybe spend the night?" I wondered, though a part of me was hoping that she'd say no, she just wanted me to make love to her.

"Yes. I know it's odd, but..."

"Sure, but be sure to bring some changes, okay?"

"Yes," she said, and I could tell that she was embarrassed, not to mention, relieved.

"Okay, see you later."

"Thank you. Bye."

Was it really to talk? Probably, having had a taste of her person, but still, I was excited.

* * * *

Close to two in the morning, she came in, and created a stir as she had before. This time she wore a dark blue skirt, and a light blue blouse that was almost form fitting, but not enough so to cheat the imagination, and, of course, heels that were so sexy on her, her legs showcased generously.

"Hi," I said, "ginger ale?"

"Hello, Fiona, and yes, please," she said some uncertainty as she spoke.

Putting her drink of choice before her, I winked. She blushed.

"I do hope that you really don't mind," she said, referring, I took it, to her wanting to go home with me.

"It's fine. I told you to call if you ever had a need, so I guess you do."

About that time a fairly well lit butch approached.

"Hey, doll, if our Fiona isn't enough for you, come with me and I'll take good care of you," she said, the words a bit slurred.

"Thank you, but not tonight," she tried to be diplomatic.

"Well, I don't blame you. Most of us have tried to talk Fiona into letting us check her out, but she's fussy, ain't you, babe?" she laughed.

"Sometimes, Madge. Maybe one of the others is available," I tried steering her in another direction.

"Naw, but this sexy thing is lucky if she's for you. Hell, you both should take pity on the rest of us. Hey, we could have a party, huh?" she laughed loudly.

"Not me, honey, but thanks," I said.

"Aw, shit, you're always too damn polite. What the hell," she said, and left.

Lauren smiled, but with her head down. A few femmes that were still around made serious eyes at Lauren, but for some reason they didn't try their luck.

When the last call was made, and we closed, Lauren and I left.

Chapter 8

When we were in my place, there was no smile on her face, and the sense of ease and comfort was gone. In its place was a tenseness that had to have been growing. She was back to wherever she had been when she called me. Whatever it was, I thought that she must have screwed up a lot of courage to even call me, but it wasn't over yet. If I pushed, it had to be gently.

"Honey, you've got something weighing heavy on your mind. Want to tell me about it? I do listen, you know," I told her as softly as I could.

She fidgeted for a moment before she began.

"I, uh, don't know where to start. You've been very kind to me, and—and I'm uncertain about..."

She was suddenly really working up to be a basket of nerves. I wondered why, but thought I'd best let her say it when she was ready, whatever it was.

"Take your time, honey. We've got the rest of the night and longer if need be, okay?"

"Thank you. After the first couple of times we met—in the club, that is—you began to make me feel comfortable with you. You didn't push me, or try to—to get me to, uh, well, like the others. Then when we did meet outside the club, that good feeling I had with you; Fiona, I've never talked to anyone before," she said and paused, looking square into my eyes with a pleading that grabbed my heart and twisted it with a desire to do whatever she needed.

Nodding slowly, I silently encouraged her to go on.

"I don't know if you can imagine going for all of your childhood, and never feeling at ease with anyone, not talking about anything that wasn't necessary, or just having some sense of belonging. What happened, what I told you that they did to that one boy, it never left my mind, and the fear of what they might do to me later on was worse. You—you're the first person that I've ever really talked to—like a friend. I know it's unbelievable, but even at work, I don't talk to anyone unless it's about the job.

"An—anyway, that feeling that I could talk to you, well, it was—is—so different, so new, and I wanted to feel it again. It's like nothing I've ever felt before; it's like I'm learning to be human, and I want that again—like it was the first time we talked. I'm sorry, but I can't help but wonder if it's real, if it can be that way again. I just want to feel that way again. I'm sorry," she said, lowering her head while her tears began slowly seeping down her cheeks.

Once more my heart went out to her so much that I reached out to take her in my arms and let her cry again. I held her for a while before I said anything, but my hands were in her lovely hair as if she needed to have it straightened out, which she didn't, but it felt so good, and to her too, I thought. That damned church had stolen so much from her—years and years of her life.

"Honey, all I can say is that I'm here, and whatever you need, if I can provide it, I'll be glad to. If you need a friend to talk to, if I'm not working, I'll be more than glad to be talking to you."

It took a while for her to stop crying.

"Whenever a thought of talking to someone tried to come to me, it was always quickly shut off. It wasn't just what happened, but also the fear that I had no idea how they might feel about me being, or strongly suspecting, that I was a lesbian. That, plus me having never talked to anyone before, I just couldn't find a way to start a conversation. At work, I'm a pure fiction, a fake, almost a robot," she said, a tension building up in her face again.

"You're no robot to me, honey. You're talking to me, aren't you?" I said, a smile on my face.

Her smile broke the tension on her face, and she nodded.

"So now you're here, and we can talk. Talk about anything that comes to our minds. I like that, don't you?" I said, my smile getting wider and wider.

Suddenly she surprised me with her change, like she threw a switch to make herself someone else.

"You know, I've never been to anyone's house overnight. It made me nervous, and yet it was exciting. Have you ever felt both a fear and a joy over something?"

I laughed. "Sure have, though I can't specifically remember any of those times, but it's not strange to me."

That switch was thrown again.

"Fiona?" she began, but I didn't say anything. "I know you said that you love sex, and that you've always loved women—even when you were very young..."

"Not to worry, honey. We're just talking and being together, okay?"

She didn't say a word for a while, just looked pensive.

"But if you want, we could. I mean, it's not fair to you," she said looking at my face with her concern about fairness.

"Lauren, sex isn't about fairness with me. I mean, I do want to be fair, and I think I am, anytime I'm making love with someone, but sex, to me, is something we both want, and not something that we do out of fairness. Right now, you need a friend, and to feel that you have a friend that truly loves being with you. Friends for now! Okay?"

Quiet again as she thought of it, then a smile on her face as she said, "Yes. Okay, friends—for now."

Then again, "Oh my god, that's so sweet," she said as if a feeling of some knew and wished for knowledge had just hit her.

I nodded and smiled.

"Would you like a cup of decaffeinated tea, or something else?"

"Uh-uh, but you go ahead if you wish."

"No, just thought I shouldn't be such a bad hostess. Do you shower at night, or in the morning, or only once a week or month?" I asked grinning.

She laughed. "Sometimes at night, but mostly in the mornings."

"Why don't you get your sleeping clothes on then, and we can talk in bed. We are sleeping in the same bed, right friend?"