She was looking at me - Sex Stories

She was looking at me

The bar I had been told about, my friend said it was where butch women go to find lipstick. ‘They are not all nice,’ she had warned but didn’t elaborate. I’d ordered a gin and tonic from the dyke behind the counter. She eyed me up and down, served my drink without comment and took my money. The bar was busy. A lot of women, some, like me in dresses, some in jeans, some in good suits, man style. The whole gamut. She was tall. I like them tall. Her hair was cut short but not manly. Elfin was a word that sprang to mind. I could only see her to the waist because she was leaning against the bar and I was watching her in the mirror behind the drinks. I saw a hint of the shape of her breasts when she moved and her pale blue linen jacket opened slightly. Standing next to her was a woman in a leather jacket who looked very butch, very manly. The toilet was in the opposite direction from where she stood. I picked up my bag and went to it. I didn’t need a pee, I just needed to think, but when I got there I went into a cubicle and sat, knickers around my ankles and pissed anyway. I think better on the seat. Resolved, I went back to the bar to find that she had moved and was now sitting on the stool next to mine. I sat without looking at her and picked up my drink. ‘My friend liked the look of you.’ I turned slowly towards her. This was my ‘take my time’ move. ‘I’m Katherine,’ I said. ‘Fine. She said she thought you were looking for something.’ ‘Isn’t that the nature of life?’ I looked ...

... down as I hung my bag from the hook in front of me and saw she was wearing leather trousers, tight and shiny and dark blue. I couldn’t see her shoes until she half turned, swiveling the stool, and I saw ankle boots, black and glossy with tiny buckles at the outside. As I looked up I noticed her jacket was pushed back and I could see the faint shadow of a nipple under the white fabric of her button down. Her hand reached out and she touched my skirt where it went over my knee. ‘Most of the femmes who come in here are looking for something. Mostly, they make more of an effort to show what it is.’ ‘Not everyone knows what she’s looking for.’ ‘Let me know when you work it out.’ She left then. She just stood up, said nothing and went. I followed her back as she walked through the bar, all the way to the door. Not once did she look back. That was the Friday night. On Saturday I went back, earlier than the night before. The same dyke served me a g and t without asking what I wanted. I sat at the same stool. The bar was quieter. The dyke handed me a note. I looked at her questioningly but she just shrugged and moved away. Service with a shrug, I thought. “Katherine. Untie your hair when you see me.’ My hair was long then, tied back loosely and chestnut. It reached almost to my arse. I was wearing a dress, red with a black patent belt, buttons from neck to waist and red shoes. My stockings were tan. I didn’t see her come in. I was suddenly aware of her at the far end of the bar, a ...