A Tomboy and a Femme Enter a Bar

Author's note: I wanted to share my deep appreciation for the wonderful recommendations made by the talented editor, neuroparenthetical.

A Tomboy and a Femme Enter A Bar

Sara rustled through her miniature handbag on the bar, unearthing her "Classic Red" lipstick, keys, and roller cylinder of perfume in one hand, before removing her ballet slipper-pink cell phone case with the other.

She loved how "put together" and minimalist she appeared with a small, efficient handbag in an adults-only space. This look differed radically from the "mom-sack" that she relied upon most days of the week by necessity—large enough to hold her laptop, child's sports water bottle, and potentially a change of shoes.

Sara repacked the contents of her high-maintenance purse, in the order that would allow its finicky magnetic clasps to meet and close. She checked the time on her cell phone: 9:15 pm. Her date was late, and anyone who knew her knew that she hated to be kept waiting.

She initiated a new text message screen, and had begun typing when a voice from over her left shoulder broke through over the hubbub.

"Do you come here often?" inquired a muscular brunette. She had a good 3 inches of height on Sara.

Sara couldn't help rolling her eyes at the over-used-to-the-point-of-ridiculousness line, even as she issued a wan smile, acknowledging the effort.

"Actually no," the buxom blonde said. "I'm waiting for someone. I was just texting her."

"Lucky her. I don't see a ring. Can I get you a drink while you wait?" the dapper woman pressed.

"I'd love a Manhattan," the green-eyed femme admitted, lips turning up slightly at the corners, as she attempted to suppress a grin.

The tomboy caught the hint of a grin and knew that her advance had been welcome.

Sara scanned her environs, checking out her competition. There were only a handful of lipstick lesbians in her immediate vicinity. It was mostly chapstick tonight, with a smattering of butches.

"So, do you come here often?" Sara posed.

"It's the only queer bar in town," the brunette replied with a wink, "so yeah, I've been here a few times. Tell me, what do you do for work?"

The women made small talk as they studied each other's features. Occasionally, their eyes would wander while listening. A particular blonde ringlet would gleam and catch the tomboy's attention, or the flesh of bare legs - far too much of it hidden, in her opinion, by a skirt that went down to mid-thigh. For her part, Sara studied the tomboy's thick belt, cinched tightly around her waist, and the boxers that were occasionally visible above it, depending upon how her shirt fell at any given moment.

There was definite sexual tension between them, fanned further by their evening's drinks.

"Have you ever seen the mural painted on the brick wall out behind the bar?" the tomboy asked. "There's something I'd like to show you there."

"That sounds like something that would be a real shame to miss seeing," Sara answered coyly.

"Are you sure the woman you're waiting for won't mind if you're not here when she arrives?" the tomboy asked. "I'm no homewrecker; I don't want any trouble."

"Not a problem," Sara said with a definitive nod of her head, her blonde curls bobbing eagerly.

"Well then, let's go," the tomboy said, scooting off of her bar stool and taking Sara's hand in hers. They wove their way through the crowd. The tall tomboy kept her hand nearly vertical, such that Sara followed closely behind her, practically on her heels.

Sara felt the familiar thumping of her heart in her chest. What exactly was she headed out back to see or do?

In 2022, most establishments had multiple cameras surrounding their property. While everyone understood that couples frequently hooked up in the bathrooms and such spots out back, she didn't want to worry about compromising videos of her circulating.

The sobering chill of the night air greeted the women as they opened the back door, leaving the cocoon of the bar.

"Ground rules," Sara stated. "NO clothing comes off. If someone comes out, we stop."

"Got it," the tomboy assented. "Check it out. It's right over here."

Sara relaxed, feeling better at having prevented the worst of the potential reputational damage. She genuinely stopped to admire the view then. It was a large, colorful mural depicting women of many hues engaged in creating art: a drummer, a sculptor, an actress, a dancer. The mural was well-conceived and well-rendered - a sensitive celebration of women's self-expression, on a brick wall where graffiti would be more expected.

"Do you like it?" the brunette asked, genuinely curious.

"I love it," Sara replied, temporarily mesmerized.

"I thought you'd appreciate it," the tomboy said, self-satisfied. She stepped behind Sara now, encircling her with her muscular arms.

The taller woman swiped Sara's soft hair from her left side, moving it to her right as she bent down to kiss her neck. Her teeth grazed the curve of Sara's upper trapezius muscle.

The brunette leaned down and whispered in the busty blonde's ear. "When I saw you sitting there at the bar, I didn't think you'd talk to me. I could tell you were waiting for someone. You got me so worked up that when you were talking about work, I was thinking about this very moment out here."

"Is that so?" Sara mused.

"You looked like such a 'good girl,'" the tomboy continued. "I was shocked when you agreed to come out here with me so readily."

"I wouldn't come out here with just anyone," Sara informed her increasingly-ardent lover. "I'm into you."

Once stated, more passionate necking ensued. An electric spark traveled from Sara's neck down to her knees, which weakened and then buckled as the kisses intensified. Fortunately, a pair of chiseled arms held her upright. Her suitor spun Sara around, and the two women locked lips.

The athletic woman leaned forward and slid her hand down the gap in the waistband at the small of Sara's back, and then down into her skirt. Hand hidden from public view, a chilled palm cupped a Sara's bare asscheek. The tomboy stroked the goosebumped flesh, then raked her fingers from hip to crack, marking the soft flesh as hers.

"You're going commando tonight?" she inquired, incredulously.

Sara only smiled in reply. The other woman already had the evidence well in hand.

"What's your name?" Sara whispered in reply instead, as she deftly removed the woman's hand from her skirt. Not to be deterred, the tomboy snuck her other hand up the femme's shirt.

"Does it matter?" the top replied, lifting Sara's underwire bra to slip her hand underneath. She pulled back against the bra's fabric with the back of her chilly hand, creating a space between the satin and the skin that allowed her to pinch the warmth of a nipple, already erect. "Mmmm," she said as she nuzzled Sara's hair.

The tomboy leaned into her, and Sara felt her cock press up against the soft flesh of her naked thigh. She was packing.

"Let's go home, Alex. Or at least to the car. I can't do this here."

"Baaabe. C'mon, can you please just stay in character? This was so hot. You know you kill me when you break up a scene in the middle like this."

"I just want to be with you. Even when you're with me, I feel like you're trying to find ways to be with others."

"Huh? Are we talking about the ethical non-monogamy now?"

"I'm talking about this now. It was fun at first, but now I just want to be with you—with someone I know and love, and who knows and loves me -- intimately. Not pretending that we're strangers again. I'm not sure whether this is still a fun game, or actually what we both need to do at this point, for you to be able to work yourself up enough to fuck me."

"Whoa - where is this coming from? I am totally here for this, with you. And you know you drive me wild. I am down to have sex with you any time, anywhere. We can totally move to the car."

Sara was hurt. She was no longer interested in sex, but Alex hadn't registered how bad the situation was yet. The well-intentioned tomboy tried again.

"There were a lot of sexy girls in that bar tonight and I am here with you. I choose you."

"No," Sara replied, "you chose a stranger you just met twenty minutes ago, and you just got annoyed when the real me popped up and sent her fictional ass away." Sara pulled away, crossing her arms in front of her as she did. "Clearly, you were also checking out those other women when you were in the bar. Is that why you were late? Were you chatting up some other chick?"

"Sara, that's just not fair," Alex pleaded. "This was a role play. You get into this too. Remember two weeks ago? The cheerleader scenario under the bleachers?" she said, smiling as she reminisced. She couldn't help but smile at the memory, which was, of course, exactly the wrong thing to do. She put her arm around Sara's waist to re-establish connection between them.

"I don't know why I expect you to be honest with me about who and what you want," Sara said. "I don't think you even know or can admit it to yourself."

"Babe - I seriously don't know what you're talking about. I am one hundred percent honest with you. We were just about to have sex, and now you sound like you're questioning our whole relationship."

Sara sighed. "I can't do this anymore, Alex. I love you. Too much. And it's destroying me. You want the security of having a primary partner and playing house without actually settling down -seducing other girls. You love being loved. You don't love me."

Alex knew she had already lost her. "I do love you," she said, with all sincerity. "We have a totally rare and unique connection. I wish I could say I'm done with all the dating around and I'm ready to be with you, as you need and deserve. I'm just not ready for that - not yet."

Sara began to cry. Her green eyes blinked back big tears, which fell down her cheeks. "So - what now? Friends?"

"I will never be able to be your friend. The couple vibe with us is way too strong. Fuck, you're wife material to me."

Sara hated that she was crying, but now that she was, she couldn't stop. She felt like a knife was being stabbed through her heart.

She also recognized that she herself was the one driving it home. She was the one setting the limit, and altering the terms of their arrangement. Alex's foray into ethical non-monogamy had never really been okay with her. She'd tolerated it with the hope that it was temporary and that the tomboy would sow her wild oats and then be exclusively hers.

Now Sara knew she'd been wrong. Alex saw her as "wife material" by her own accounting, but was willing to lose her - not only tonight, but potentially permanently, to another lover - to chase skirts for however long. She had known the score: accepted that Alex was a player. She'd made the mistake so many women have historically in thinking that their love would overcome any obstacle. She hadn't considered that the obstacle from the outset was what Alex wanted and didn't want. Sara realized two things with startling clarity then: that Alex might be willing to commit to some femme down the road, and also, that it wouldn't be her.

Sara suspected that some of Alex's sexy swagger was bravado masking for her insecurity post-divorce. It was hard to know whether Alex hated her ex-wife for leaving for someone with a "real" penis, or just for opening her heart to another—any other. Now it was Alex who was opening the legs of dozens of femmes, heedless of whether they opened their hearts too or not.

Sara had fallen head over heels in love and in lust with Alex right out of the gate, and couldn't bear the thought of her being emotionally intimate with another woman. Had she only been fucking strangers, Sara would have worried less about keeping Alex's interest. Rather than recoiling at visions of Alex straddling a younger femme, Sara's wide, green eyes welled up at the thought of her potential rival sharing a warm laugh with Alex or sinking against Alex's chest to watch a movie, curled up together on the same sofa that she and Alex had enjoyed transformative sex on.

It seemed ironic to Sara that, after seeking release and freedom from her marriage of 12 years so desperately, she would leave the lover she was far more enamorate of, for not wanting to tie her down exclusively.

Alex was still waiting for a reply to her own vulnerable admission that she considered Sara "wife material" though with just a few caveats, including more time, more sexual adventures, and no schedule for when would come the ring.

Every second of delay was fresh hope and Alex didn't want it. She knew it was as fictional as her the scene her soon-to-be-ex-lover had just ruined. It belonged to a different couple - maybe even a different version of themselves.

Sara kissed Alex on the cheek. "I'll always love you," she said.

"I know," Alex replied. "Me too, Babe."

Sara turned away - less to hide her own tears, and more to spare Alex from being seen, just in case.

Oh, how she wanted to look back.