The Only Lesbian in Town

Nobody dares stop him because he's old and they don't want to offend him, or perhaps they agree with him, or maybe it's a combination of both. Either way, by the time the lunchtime rush is over, I tell my parents I need to go, and I hightail it back to Brisbane.

Fuck the world. Maybe I am a bit butch. Maybe I suck at wearing make-up and heels. But what I am not is evil or pathetic. I have a shower and get myself ready. I wear mascara and lip gloss, because I think both look nice on me and they don't itch my face. I wear tight jeans because I hate the feeling of jeans sliding down my hips.

But I wear RM Williams boots because they're comfy, and a short sleeve button down shirt because it's nice enough to meet the dress code, but not restricting or hot. As for my hair, I let it dry naturally, then run some Moroccan oil through it to tame the frizz. Then I'm off. Like me or loathe me, I'm prepared to have a good night. Talk to some people. Eat some food. Laugh at Alan as his girlfriend's friends give him the once over. All of that shit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apart from myself, Rhiannon and Al, there are six other adults -- two men, four women -- and three kids at the restaurant.

Rhiannon is wearing a dress that shows off her chest (or maybe I should just stop perving on her tits. That one's up for debate) and heels, and Alan is in his country boy best. The women waste no time assessing Alan, while the men waste no time welcoming him into their fold.

I'm so worried for Alan, because I really want this to go well for him, that I don't really pay much attention to anything and just plonk myself onto the seat I'm directed to. The woman sitting next to me stares at my outfit, probably wondering what the hell I'm wearing. All of the other women are in dresses or skirts.

One thing about me is that when I'm pissed off, I kind of just let go of all inhibitions and fears. I face everything front on, without hesitation or compromise.

'Hi,' I greet her, planting a smile on my face. 'I'm Sunny.'

'I'm Lisa. It's really nice to meet you.'

Even though she's sitting down, I can tell she must be taller than me. A bit thinner, too, and smaller breasted, but very well made up. She's much like Rhiannon; exceptionally well groomed. The two women know how to apply make-up, and they both smell fragrant.

'I guess I fucked up the dress code,' I remark.

Lisa's hair is a gorgeous chocolate-brown and it's perfectly straightened. It moves like a sheet of silk as she shakes her head. 'Nope, Rhi and I just like to dress up. We're both corporate receptionists, though, so it's part of the job. You look really nice in what you're wearing. It suits you.'

'Uh, thanks.' I pick up a menu. 'How's everything going for Rhiannon? Work wise? I don't want to be rude and ask.'

'Oh, no, I understand,' she replies, waving aside my concern. 'She's found a six month contract role. She only found out yesterday, and she starts on Monday. It was a lucky break; the woman who had originally agreed to do the role found a permanent job, and the employers needed someone ASAP. Rhi was there at the right time at the right place. They interviewed her and gave her the job on the same day.'

'But it's only for six months?'

'Yeah. She wants to try and get her license by then, so at the end of it she can move in with Alan and find a job in Toowoomba.'

We both glance over at Alan and Rhiannon. Alan is still not entirely comfortable. His posture is stiff and he's being very careful about what he says, but Rhiannon has her hand on his thigh, reassuring him. Claiming ownership.

'How much sex do you reckon they're getting?' Lisa murmurs.

'Lots.'

'Bastards.' Her eyes narrow. 'And here I am, struggling with carpal tunnel syndrome from overusing my hands.'

She has a husky laugh, and between that and the topic of our conversation, I immediately pencil in a self-love session for the night. I might even fantasize about eating out a tall, straight receptionist as I do so. Lisa's not pretty, despite her good grooming, but there's something quite alluring about her all the same. Maybe it's the bluntness. Maybe it's because the chances of ever finding a lesbian who wears as much make-up as her, and a cute top like hers, are thin on the ground, so she's kind of like the forbidden, straight fruit.

Lisa and I are sort of left out of the general conversation, so we chat to each other. I love her voice, and the way it's both husky and kind of squeaky, and her laugh is infectious. When she's really amused by something, she snorts, and if she has liquid in her mouth when she's laughing, it comes out her aquiline nose. I realise that probably doesn't sound sexy, but in person it is. And she makes me laugh, too, because she's a hilarious person, one of those rare types who can both give someone shit and receive the same back with grace and humour.

'How did you meet Rhiannon?' I ask her.

'It was eight years ago, at a Myer make-up counter. I used to work as one of the sales ladies. We both love to trowel it on, so it was friendship at first sight.'

Rhiannon overhears and jumps into the conversation. 'She gave me the best make-over. Totally fixed my eyeshadow shades.'

One of the men asks Alan how long it takes Rhiannon to get ready in the morning. Alan glances at his girlfriend and diplomatically replies 'oh, a bit of a while'.

'I don't know why Rhi bothers,' Lisa remarks. 'She's so pretty, anyway, and if she's wearing anything slightly revealing, you just end up looking at her boobs.'

'Funnily enough, that's exactly the comment Alan made,' Rhiannon giggles. 'About the boobs, I mean.'

'I also said you looked great without make-up,' he reminds her. 'And at the point I made this comment, we were getting ready to go fishing at a creek where nobody else was around.'

'I thought the fish might want to look at something nice as they died,' Rhiannon explained. 'His great response was; take your top off and flash them.' She takes a sip of her wine. 'So I did. I spent an hour fishing topless before I got paranoid that someone was going to come by and catch us.'

Yeah, this self love session is definitely going to have to happen. What is it with straight girls talking about all of this sexy stuff? Sex and masturbation and topless fishing? Could we please just talk about something that isn't going to get a single dyke's juices flowing?

The men at the table start talking about what fish can be caught where, and Lisa and I go back to chatting to one another. She continues to laugh, snorting and squeaking, as she tells me about herself. Twenty-eight. Single. Shares a townhouse with her elder brother, who she describes as a typical bogan; lots of tatts, lots of time spent at the pub, and regular trips to Phuket.

'Rhi says you're a trucker,' she remarks.

'Yeah. Been driving for all my life. My parents want me to give it up and take over their country pub, so they can retire, so I'm kind of weighing up my options.'

'I can't imagine anything worse than running a pub. Shitty hours, drunks, people with gambling issues waiting outside for the pokie room to open up. I worked as a bartender for all of three months before I'd had enough.' She stops and bites her lower lip. 'Sorry if that sounds offensive. I just found it depressing.'

'No, I understand. The drunks stand out in my mind. My parents don't seem to get so bothered by it, but I guess I had a harder time of it. The regular drinkers, the ones who go there for an outing, are fine, and we don't have pokies, but the bad parts are so bad I'm not sure I want to deal with it.'

'Plus, you're a lesbian, right?' she confirms.

I nod.

She nods sympathetically. 'I'm going to be really sexist and say 'you wouldn't have a big, tough husband to back you up if anyone started causing trouble'.'

'It's not sexist; it's the truth,' I reply. 'It's kind of a shame my parents want to take over, because I'd love to move back, I just don't want to run their business.'

The main meals are finished. The parents of the children who are here -- kids who are increasingly becoming disruptive -- pick up their offspring and announce they need to leave. Everyone else starts filtering out.

Alan is yawning. He's up at the crack of dawn each day for work, so he'd well and truly ready for bed right now. I wait for him and Rhiannon to agree that it's time to go, but instead Rhiannon and Lisa settle down for some girly-chat, now that everyone else has left. It's just the two friends, Alan and I that remain at the table.

We shuffle around so that we're sitting close to each other. Coffee and cake is ordered. I cast a glance at Alan and he catches my gaze and smiles. He's tired but happy, and he listens to the girls' chatter with amusement. They're talking about life in the corporate sector, a topic Alan and I know absolutely nothing about.

There's no reason for me to hang around. I'm only the pity invite, and Alan and Rhiannon obviously have a reason to be here, and Lisa does, too, but as for me? There's nothing holding me here. No obligation. If anything, I should be feeling obligated to leave. But I don't feel unwelcome, and nor do I want to go.

An hour Alan and Rhiannon say their good-byes.

'Have a good night, ladies,' Rhiannon says cheerfully, as they head towards Alan's ute.

I want to ask what the hell she's talking about. I'm not going anywhere but home, and presumably Lisa isn't either. At no point did we make plans to head to a bar, or to the movies, or anything along those lines.

I turn to Lisa, who's suddenly looking quite nervous. She's adjusting her black mini skirt and straightening her top.

'So, um, tonight was fun,' she says.

'Yeah, it was. Thanks so much for having me along. I know I was the pity invitee.'

'Oh, no, you weren't. Rhiannon likes you. I think she wants to get to know Alan's friends, too, so that when she moves in with him she doesn't need to start totally afresh.'

'That makes sense,' I agree. 'I'm really glad those two met. He really likes her, and she seems like she's good for him.'

'Yeah.' She bites her bottom lip. 'Anyway, um, I guess you need to be off. Would you, um, want to go out with me sometime? Maybe to the movies or something? Or dinner. Whatever you want. I promise I want stand you up.'

That's when it finally dawns on me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn't really pay much attention to Rhiannon's comment about her trying out women. Lots of straight girls fool around with other each other. Sometimes it's just a casual, drunken pash, sometimes it goes further. Lisa and Rhiannon's interlude went the whole way.

For Rhiannon it was nothing more than a failed experiment, much like my roll in the hay with Alan. For Lisa, it confirmed what she'd guessed a while back; she was bisexual.

'And then I realised how hard it was to meet a woman,' Lisa laughs. 'So I went back to men. Rhi always knew I was interested in women, though, and when she met you, she obviously decided we should meet.'

'I was invited to dinner tonight not because she pitied me, but so you could check me out?' I inquire.

She nods. Her hair is still perfect, as is her make-up. Beats me how she does it. 'Yep.'

'Did Alan know?'

'I think so.'

I pick up my glass of water and drain it. We're sitting at my flat, on my couch, chatting, and it seems as natural as breathing. The glass is barely out of my mouth when she leans over and kisses me.

'Would you like me to leave?' she asks.

'Hell no.' I move my glass onto the side table and pull her onto my lap. She's straddling me, and the position has moved her mini skirt right up her thighs, revealing a very brief pair of panties. A thong, probably. 'I'm glad I didn't know you were bi when I sat next to you. I would've been a bumbling idiot.'

Lisa laughs and presses her lips against mine. 'I doubt that.'

The kiss is sweet and sensual. She runs her hands through my wild hair, while I shamelessly slide my hands underneath her skirt, and rest them on her butt.

She's so fucking cute, and her body fits perfectly with mine. The kiss deepens, and our tongues bat playfully against each other. She starts to undo my shirt buttons, starting at the top and working her way down. The whole time she doesn't break the kiss, or open her eyes.

'I'm a total boob girl,' she confesses, slipping the shirt off my shoulders and reaching behind me for my bra strap. 'I'm going to apologise in advance for molesting you.'

She has nothing to be sorry for. She's gentle yet confident, holding a breast in each hand, kissing the overflowing flesh. My nipples harden under her ministrations and my pussy begins to throb.

Lisa's skirt is bunched up around her waist, and I pull her away from my chest to remove her top and bra. Small breasts with large, soft pink nipples are revealed. They look so childlike and innocent, the last thing you'd expect from such a confident, well-groomed woman, and my hands move to them, exploring them, teasing them.

We kiss for a while, hands on each other's chests, both happy to take it slow. My hand creep up her thighs, up to the satiny scrap of material that covers her sex. Her panties cling to her, sodden with her juices, and I can feel the heat of her, the desire. My fingers slip beneath the fabric, stroking her labia, but making no move to part them and find her clit. Slow. Take it slowly, let it build up.

She begins to grind against my hand. She holds my face in her hands, and continues to kiss me, as she rolls her hips backwards and forwards, growing ever more impatient.

'God, would you just fuck me?' she moans in her sexy, husky voice.

I gently part her folds, and seek out her button. She thrusts harder now, desperately moving against my fingers, before suddenly letting out a loud, strangled cry and holding my hand firmly against her sex. She's cumming. Barely minutes into it and she'd climaxing; twisting and thrusting, her face contorted as she reaches her peak.

'Oh shit,' she moans, falling back. She blushes. 'Sorry.'

My hand, still wedged between her legs, is drenched. I can smell her tangy scent, and it spurs me on.

'You a multiples girl?' I ask.

She nods. 'Yep.'

'Good.'

I stand her up, strip her, and sit her down on the couch, legs spread. The crudeness of the pose, the delicate pink nippled breasts, and the glamorous perfection of her hair and make-up juxtapose against one another, assaulting the senses.

My jeans and panties are thrown to the floor. She stares at my naked body hungrily, her eyes alight with lust. My own gaze settles on her sex, fully exposed, wet and pink and waiting. I bend down to kiss her breasts, each nipple no longer large and soft, but tight and ready. She moans as I suck on them, holding my head to her chest, like a mother clutching her child.

A chuckle escapes my mouth as she suddenly pushes me lower, by way of a hint. Her legs are still spread wide as she so wantonly offers herself up to me. She's a buffet of a woman to feast upon, someone to use and pleasure at my discretion.

There's no involuntary flinch as my tongue flickers against her tongue, just another husky moan and the feel of her hands on the back of my head. She sits, entirely shameless, and let's my tongue work her little button. I slip a few fingers inside her, feeling her hot, wet channel, and use the other hand to touch my own, needy, sex.

I'm hot and wet and slippery, but it's nothing compared to Lisa. She screams out an orgasm, and minutes later, another. My face is wet with her, and flushed with my own excitement. My fingers scrabble against my clit, but Lisa pulls my hand away.

'Let me,' she orders.

She lays me on the old Turkish rug that lies on my living room floor, handing me a cushion to place under my head. Then, without any hesitation, she lies between my legs and makes love to me.

There is cunnilingus and there is cunnilingus. Sometimes it's quick and sharp and short, a means to an end, a way of my partner bringing me to orgasm so we can both roll over and go to sleep. Lisa treats it as an endurance sport.

Her tongue works my sex, drawing me close to climax, but just as I approach orgasm, she stops. She laughs sadistically, kneeling over my body and picking up a large, heavy breast, and pulling the nipple into her mouth. Then she repeats the action with the other breast.

'Lisa,' I mutter.

She laughs her husky, squeaky laugh. 'Sure. Get back down there, huh?'

I push her down.

I'm eagerly anticipating my impending orgasm, when just as the first time, as I reach the brink, she stops. This time she leaves my breasts alone, but uses her tongue and fingers in the area around my clit. I use a thigh to nudge her closer.

She repeats the pattern several times, until I'm hoarse and desperate and fearful that she'll never let me finish. I must look like a madwoman, and I can feel the dampness beneath me on the rug; fluid that I've leaked in my lust.

'Ready?' she whispers.

I nod numbly. Finally, finally, she seems ready to permit an orgasm. Her perfectly manicured nails grip my thighs and she buries her face in my cunt. Her tongue strikes my clit at exactly the right moment and my climax rolls over me in wave after seemingly endless wave. I thrash, I buck, I scream out and I cry, and throughout it all, she holds me in place, her tongue wedged firmly where I want it most.

When the last pulses of pleasure die away, I lay back on the floor, exhausted. I glance up at Lisa, thoroughly wowed by her ability. How that didn't turn Rhiannon gay, I have no idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple of months later, my parents put the pub up for sale. I've made it clear to them that while I appreciate the offer to take over, I'm just not interested. If I move back to the country -- and I want to, one day -- I'll keep on trucking.

They're disappointed, but not surprised. They've seen how close I am with Lisa. They understand that she's not ready to leave the life she knows for life in the country, even if her friend is currently preparing to make the leap.

I still help them out, and I'm in the bottleshop one afternoon when a grey ute pulls up. The driver asks not for booze, but for a can of Fanta. The local convenience store is out of stock, and he's desperate for a sugary, orangey, hit.

'Two bucks,' I tell the driver. I pause when I hand him the drink. I recognise him, and yet I can't quite place him. 'Where do I know you from?'

'I'm Ali O'Sullivan, Kyle O'Sullivan's eldest son,' he informs me.

It all comes rushing back to me. Kyle and his three sons, coming through each Saturday morning, to buy Bundy for Dad and Fanta for the boys.

Ali smiles at me with perfectly straight, perfectly shaped white teeth. His eyes are clear and green, not the dark brown that I've incorrectly remembered them to be. He's grown up to be a beautiful man. Handsome. Taller than his father, who is a little on the short side, with thick, black hair and olive skin.

'Remember?' he asks.

'I do, now.'

He takes the drink, and hands me the money to pay for it. He's the only one in the drive through, and he doesn't seem in any hurry to move. 'I heard a rumour this place is for sale.'

'Yeah. My parents are ready to retire.'

'I always thought you'd take over,' he comments.

'They did, too,' I reply with a laugh.

He opens his soft drink and takes a sip. 'That's kind of a shame. I'd have liked to see you run this joint.'

'Even though I...we... sold your father that much alcohol?' I ask guiltily.

He shrugs and gestures helplessly. 'His problems had nothing to do with you or your family. If he hadn't gotten it here, he would have gotten it elsewhere.'

'Is he better now? Does he still drink? I haven't seen him around in a while.'

'He found a new woman. I think she helped him clean up.'

Another car pulls up behind him. Ali and I both glance at it.