Hot Date

I was running late. For my date. My first date in months. At first it was a cute kinda late…couldn’t figure out what to wear, texted her to let her know I’d be 15 minutes late…

Then it got ugly.

I started my car, put it in reverse…and…

whirr-rr-rrr-rr

My wheels could not find traction.

I eased it forward and tried again.

whirr-rr-rrr-rr–clonk!

Oh shit! A quick text to let her know–r u serious? She replies.

Finally, now 45 minutes late, I free my wheels from the evil snow and head off into the night.

As soon as I had a good grasp of where I was going I gave her a call. After I apologized profusely, she immediately started complaining about how tired and broke she was. Ew, nothing’s more ugly than a whiney stud I think to myself, but whatever, she had a long day, we’ve never met before, I guess I can’t blame her for being upset. I slowly gentle her into a better mood, and we chat until I have to hang up to pay attention to my directions.

Despite the fact that she’s been in the area where we agreed to meet since before I took my hour-long drive, I arrive at Jillian’s first. It’s a large, barn-like building filled with pool tables and games. I spot a pony-tailed butch with a couple femmes. We all end up in the bathroom at the same time, and if I was wondering if they were all gay the girl-gossip pretty much clears that up. When I get out I sit near them by the window waiting for my date. She calls me to tell me that she’s parking, and I wait, peering out the window into the cold dark.

Finally I see someone approaching. It’s either my date or a man. Sasha talks about a 100 Footer, but you have to be able to tell someone’s a woman from a hundred feet before you can guess she’s a lesbian. This is a pretty white area, so I figure that it’s my date and meet her at the door. As soon as she favors me with that sexy smile I know it is my date, and that I like her!

We sit down at the bar.

“You look so innocent.” She tells me. “Do you go on a lot of dates?”

“Um,” I wrack my brain, “not so much.” I get that all the time. I have a round, young looking face, and a sweet smile that got me a lot farther than it probably should have on the streets. “Why, do you?”

“Well, yeah, I live on my own…I like to get out.” She changes the subject. “I am so broke!”

“You know what,” I give it a beat. “That does not surprise me. Just about everybody I’ve ever dated was broke.”

We talked for hours. As our conversation circled round she kept asking me one of the most annoying questions ever. “What are you thinking?”

“What do you mean what am I thinking?”

“You keep smiling.”

“You keep smiling!

What could I say? It was hard enough to think about our conversation when I could feel the warmth of the spot where our legs were touching…aside from occaisionally surveying our surroundings to make sure none of these straight white folks had a problem with our blatant lesbian flirting…or did they think she was a man? But no one but the bartender seemed to pay us any mind, and that was just to make sure we were taken care of.

About the millionth time she asked that I told her: “I want to kiss you.”

After a bit we left and got into her car. She got popped a CD and leaned back.

“Go ahead and kiss me.” She said, “Satisfy your curiosity.”

So I leaned in hesitantly and kissed her. It felt a little odd being the aggressor with someone so butch.

“Do you like aggressive femmes?” I asked her.

Hell’s yeah!” She smiled. “I like a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets!”

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