Back away from the lesbians!

Posted by Lex Konrad in Dispatches | Jul 27, 2004

Go down in your own way
And every day is the right day
And as you rise above the fear-lines in his brow
You look down
Hear the sound of the faces in the crowd

Pink Floyd, Fearless

Niagara. I remember, a few years ago, meeting two women in the tiki lounge on the lower level, a blonde and a brunette, both of them striking amazons. Some guy was trying to wow them with silly magic tricks and, being all balls and no finesse, I blew up his game only to crash and burn myself.

The blonde’s name was Hogan, believe it or not. I made a joke about Hogan’s Heroes, a joke she didn’t appreciate in the least. Said she owned a motorcycle. I asked her about the size of her engine and she launched into a tirade about how she hated that line of inquiry. For a while my foot was lodged so firmly in my mouth I was only able to say, “Mmmph? Mmmph!” Finally spat out my foot and asked the two girls how they knew each other. “Oh, she takes care of me,” the brunette said, grabbing her girlfriend by the waist. I swallowed. “You guys are way outta my league,” I said, and then slowly backed away.

If only I knew then what I know now. If only they’d taken me back to their lair and forced me to go down on them all night. I’ve always had a set of vaguely submissive fantasies, not silly spanking nonsense but something more subtle and more dangerous than that. I’ve never met a woman who fancied being in charge. Well, there’s Jen, our dominatrix friend, but I tower over her. Or maybe that’s supposed to be the kink of it.

Niagara. We met Jack, Jill and two married college friends down there on Saturday. Jack and Jill brought along a pretty brown-haired girl they’d met on craigslist—just for kicks I’ll call her Layla. When I greeted her she smiled brightly, “I’ve heard so much about you.” Oh boy. You just know that’s trouble. The two of us ended up sitting on a leather bench downstairs as everyone else milled about. She used the word “lifestyle,” which is unusual for a single woman—a sign she’s more than just a dabbler.

“I felt a bit anxious about introducing our college friends to our swinger friends,” I was saying, “but they’re fine with it. They knew a lot of freaks in San Francisco.”

“It’s like coming out, isn’t it? But if you’re gay, there’s still the concept of being in a couple. What we’re doing is much harder for people to accept. My friends don’t mind me talking about sex though. I was talking to them about strap-ons the other night.” Layla thrust her hips forward in a fucking motion. I felt a little light-headed.

A lovely set of cinnamon curves caught my eye. It took me a second or two to realize I was staring at Natalia, back from the dead as it were. I gave her a good-natured ribbing for being out of touch and we sat together to catch up.

“I’m happy to see things are working out with Emma,” she said.

“You’d think so, from reading about it.”

“Something wrong?”

“Naw, nothing’s wrong. I just have low expectations. We’ve known her for almost a year now and I still have no idea why she has sex with us.” Smirking now, “Well, I understand the biology of it, but I have no idea how she feels about any of this. And I don’t even like to talk about that shit. When we hang out it’s fun but I feel she’s holding back somehow.” I stare off into the distance. “Maybe this is the best possible situation. Other women have come and gone and we’re still seeing her, sort of.”

“She may be holding back, but I’m sure she likes you two.” Natalia, always with the cheery response.

“So that was some night we had, huh?”

Natalia flashed me a coy, radiant smile. “Yes it was.”

“I really did mean to fuck you, but by the time I got back from hailing Katia a cab you were already sleeping.”

“She was new. It didn’t bother me at all.”

“New is overrated. You know, that’s one thing I admire about you: you’ve always been upfront with me. Look, I know you have your tough weeks but don’t be a stranger; I consider you a friend. I think you know that already but it’s worth repeating.” I wrapped my arm around Natalia and remarked upon her cleavage.

I found our college friends, who looked a bit drained, so I did my best to entertain them, at least until I rather abruptly ran out of funny material. Over the din I heard Layla talking to Jill and Leslie about female ejaculation.

Natalia was the first to leave, complaining about having to get up early the next morning, and soon nearly everyone else in our group filed out, leaving us alone with Layla. “Guess we’re the hardcore bunch,” I said, pleasantly surprised she’d decided to stick around. We shuffled out into the alley and Layla passed around her one-hitter. As we stood there making mouth noises at each other I let my gaze wander the length of her—same height, about the same weight, same cup size, supple skin. There is a pleasing parity between the two of them. Pretty, yes. Pretty.

Soon we were on our way out, snaking through the crowd in a conga line, Leslie tugging playfully at Layla’s straight hair. And outside, standing on the street corner, Layla said she wasn’t ready to go home just yet, so we began to walk. Said she liked the summer breeze against her bare shoulders. Said she wanted to give Leslie a foot massage. Gentle innuendo growing more direct until the girls began talking about finding an alley and, realizing there were no alleys, I said, “You can do anything you want,” and blathered on and then turned around to see the two nymphs a few paces back, locked into an embrace and causing a ruckus on 14th. I held them both, taking a fine ass in each hand and studying their mashed lips as passersby made funny remarks. A female voice: “You know he’s loving that shit!” I found myself kissing Layla, the sound of our teeth clicking followed by the sounds of our laughter. She said that leaning up against me with her eyes closed and her lips pressed to Leslie’s, she felt as if she were lying naked on satin sheets.

Niagara. I wish the lovely Colonel Hogan could have been there. She would have been so proud of me.

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