This story can only be found bundled with the Erotic Novella “Barcelona Heat”
From almost the first moment I spotted him, I wanted to suck his dick. I know, not appropriate behavior from a lesbian. But then, he wasn’t an ordinary man, either. I knew that when I saw him that first time at the dyke bar, surrounded by women. And what women! I mean, I go to the dyke bar for company and to get laid, but a lot of these other women go there to get away from men. Years of anarchist politics, progressive city governments, and low-cost lands made the I-5 corridor a haven for lesbian separatists in the 70s and 80s. Although not many of the women I hung with had been part of those early years, Seattle’s lesbian social system was still influenced by decades of separatist politics. While I didn’t mind men, most of the women in here would be steering away from anything with a whiff of testosterone. But there he was, surrounded by babes, laughing and drinking a beer just as naturally as if, well, as if he wasn’t the only man in a dyke bar.
I watched him carefully. He was handsome, in a boyish way. Lanky body, dark curled hair cut short in the back and on the sides, a moustache resting gently across his upper lip. The contrast between the dark hair and the flash of his white teeth when he smiled or laughed was a delight. His hands were delicate, with long fingers that caressed his beer when it was resting on the bar counter. He didn’t preen, the way I see straight men preen when they’re surrounded by women. His crotch didn’t thrust out aggressively, the way gay men sometimes do when they’re in unfamiliar territory. His hip remained cocked against the bar, one boot kicked on the railing. I watched, long enough to enjoy the lazy shift of his weight from one side to the other, turning away from me, giving me a lovely view of a tight, hard ass. One of the women spanked it jokingly, and he laughed, twitching his butt back and forth a few times in rhythm to the music.
I think that’s what did it. The flirtatious move of that ass had me transfixed. I wanted to spank him, too! I wanted to touch that ass, caress it, and move my hand slowly around to the front . . . and realized, in a flush of embarrassment, that I was in the midst of daydreaming about sucking a man’s cock while I was standing in the middle of a lesbian bar.
Well, I’ve never been afraid of my psyche. I decided I had to know this guy – and soon, whispered my hungry cunt. So I asked one of my friends, when she stepped away from the group.
“I knew him back in San Francisco, when he was still a butch dyke,” she said, and I had a sudden sense of dizziness.
“You’re telling me –” I started, and she laughed.
“Yeah, that’s right, he used to be a she,” my friend explained. I turned again and stared openly at the man at the end of the bar. Was he lanky, or slender? That smile pleasant, or sweet? Something about the face seemed feminine. Or was it? The body language was definitely male. Or was it? Lucky for me, I’m not shy. I introduced myself when it was convenient. I bought him a beer.
“I’m Larry,” he answered, smiling. I wondered what his name used to be. But when I shook his hand, I stopped wondering. His palm was smooth, his hands strong. Those fingers . . . I was sure those fingers would feel wonderful in my cunt. And with sex so strongly on my mind, I dropped my eyes briefly to his crotch.
Bad move. Because when I looked back into his smiling, inquisitive eyes, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years about any guy. I wanted him. I wanted to take him home and fuck him. I wanted to suck his dick, feel him come in my mouth. I wanted that man.
You have to understand. I haven’t wanted a man, not for years. When I get the urge for penetration, I use dildos or fists, just like any other healthy, horny dyke. I had separated my desire for getting my cunt filled from my desire for a penis. But Larry’s presence made me remember the joys of cock-sucking. Remember the way a living dick pulses in a wet, hungry mouth. The hot, sucking sounds as my lips would tighten or loosen around a cock shaft, tugging on the head while my tongue would tickle a wet piss-hole. And especially remembering the tension in the flesh just before my mouth would fill with hot, salty come. I wanted that again. And the urge was so strong I could barely keep up my end of the conversation.
Lucky for me I can sometimes keep my cunt and my brain separated – or at least act like it.
“It’s strange to see a guy so comfortable in a dyke bar, Larry,” I said. “Most of these women would rather spit at a man than invite him in. You’ve got balls walking in here.” I winced internally. Maybe I should have used a better term. But Larry just smiled back, ignoring my possible faux pas.
“I’ve got a lot of friends here,” he said. “Some of whom have known me for a long time – back when I was still living in California. I’m up visiting for a few weeks.”
“Good,” I said recklessly. “I mean, good that you’ll be here for a while.”
“Is it?” he asked, still smiling. I noticed this close that his eyes were green, with gold flecks dancing in the irises.
“Yup,” I answered. “Because, Larry, my new friend, I think you’re very attractive.” Larry chuckled, pretending great shock.
“How un-lesbian of you!” he said in mock horror. “Attraction to a man! Unless,” he said, “you’re thinking I’m not really a man.” I saw that under his joking demeanor there was something else.
“Look,” I said, “Seattle’s grapevine is notorious the country over for its speed and viciousness. I got word about you within two minutes of walking into this bar.”
He nodded, his eyes clouded. “Yeah, well, despite rumors to the contrary, I’m not the butchest dyke you’ll ever meet, Kate. I’ve spent a lot of time and money to be something – someone – else.
The silence between us was growing, and I didn’t want it to. But it was clear that this was not the place to continue.