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Subject: {ASSM} MB11 Karen (1) by Rachael Ross (F/F, Lesbian, No Sex, Romance,  Interracial)
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Date: Thu, 11 Dec 2008 10:10:02 -0500
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Note: Mixed Bag is a compilation of stories by Rachael Ross and
contains a Foreword and 65 chapters. It is being posted to ASSM
largely in sequence. See MB00 for a table of contents. All stories
copyrighted 2008 Rachael Ross all rights reserved. rache696@yahoo.com
visit my website at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/rache/www/index.htm and see my
blog http://anarchyforbeginners.blogspot.com/ for additional
information. Thanks. -rr


Mixed Bag - Chapter Eleven



Karen

by Kylie X.


=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Story Codes: F/F, Lesbian, No Sex, Romance, Interracial

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=




    There's a little place called Ms. Peralta's about half a mile off
campus and I'd never been there. I'd never even noticed it really, not
until Karen invited me to have dinner with her. After a little Chinese
food and some window shopping past shops closed and open and in
between, that was when she suggested we stop for a drink before
returning to our college dorm.

    Karen is my next door neighbor, you might say, since she's in the
room next to mine. We'd become friends mostly because it's easier
borrowing little things like shampoo, a couple aspirin, or that
perfect shade of red fingernail polish from a friend than it is from a
stranger, and we were both the borrowing type.

    Otherwise I'd have to say we're pretty much opposites, really. I'm
almost tall and very black, she's almost short and about as white as a
girl can get, with short blonde hair and blue eyes behind dark round
glasses mounted on her pert little nose. I have long black hair and
it's kinky all by itself, but I like to straighten it, high cheeks and
a heart shaped face. I'm naturally pretty working hard on beautiful,
while Karen is accidentally cute and she doesn't play it up at all.

    My body is all girl and I'm blessed with large breasts, firm and
topped with thick black nipples, a flat tummy and narrow waist to go
with my deftly rounded hips. My ass is small for a black girl maybe,
some people think so, but it's shaped wonderfully and goes just fine
with the rest of my toned and vaguely athletic appearance.

    Karen's body is boyish, to put it nicely. She's rather thin, with
small breasts and not much for hips at all; a small butt, round though
and sweet, but the sort of butt you might expect to find on a fifteen
year old boy, rather than a nineteen year old college freshman. I
swear, she can pass for ninth grade boy and there's no doubt that she
likes that tomboy look.

    My friend certainly dresses the part, not always but usually, and
not only when she's hanging out around the dorm. Like Karen will wear
an old mechanic's shirt, blue and clean enough, but stained with
twenty year old grease. She bought it at a garage sale and it still
has the original owner's name embroidered on it, 'Dick' which always
seems pretty funny.

    I like to dress like a girl. I like being a girl. I like the
attention and I like the feeling and I like the clothes. Not that I
think about it a whole lot. Being a girl, I sorta grew up with it, but
I'm saying I never had the urge to wear a mechanic's shirt, you know?
My tastes run much more to mini-skirts and tight sweaters. I think I
have a sweater fetish actually, and summer dresses too. I love it when
the weather is warm because I can wear anything in my closet. I don't
think I've ever seen Karen in a mini-skirt or a summer dress. Leather
hipsters and a tight t-shirt are about as feminine as she gets.

    We do like each other though, as I say, and we'd had a nice dinner
after which I found myself following her into Ms. Peralta's, wondering
at such a strange name for a bar and thinking we were going to get
tossed on our butts. The drinking age is twenty-one of course and we
were hardly that. I was nineteen and Karen all of three months older.
She insisted we'd be okay though and I'd shrugged and smiled.

    The place was smallish and looked like a lot of bars, I imagined.
I confess I didn't have much experience with such places. It was
longer than it was wide, with a bar on the right, booths to the left,
a juke box and a pool table. It wasn't very big, like I say, but
surprisingly crowded and the music was going and some people were even
dancing. Others played pool and a lot of people were just hanging out,
drinking and snacking on popcorn. It seemed friendly enough, even
cozy, and we found ourselves sitting at a small round table with a
waitress right there to take our order. She didn't even blink when
Karen asked for a beer; in fact the girl smiled and greeted Karen by
name. She had a nice smile for me too and just nodded when I asked for
a glass of wine.

    "Huh." I smiled and narrowed my eyes a little after the waitress
walked off.

    "What?" Karen smiled back at me and we were sitting next to each
other, more than opposite, facing the small dance floor, such as it
was.

    "There's no guys in here," I said and that struck me as odd
because with the university so close, anyplace where more than three
girls got together for drinks there were generally six guys right
there to buy them.

    "Yeah," Karen laughed lightly. "That's why I like it."

    "Oh," I nodded and I have to admit I'm exactly the quickest draw
in the west, but on this particular evening I was downright naīve.

    "Are you okay with it?" Karen asked me, pushing her glasses up her
nose and she did that when she was nervous, I'd noticed.

    "Okay with..." I tilted my head and Karen thought that was really
funny.

    "I like you a lot, Kylie." Karen was smiling and her fingers were
touching my hand, stroking the back of it lightly while she smiled
into my eyes. And then it finally hit me.

    We were in a gay bar, a lesbian bar, and Karen was hitting on me
hard. She'd taken my response for something of a green light, or at
least a long yellow, and she was going through it. It should have been
obvious to me long before that evening, but I'd never thought about
it. I didn't know any lesbians, or none that had come out with me
anyway, and I'd never had any interest at all in other girls. I wasn't
disgusted by the idea or anything, I'd just never thought about it.

    Now I was facing a friend of mine, a girl I liked in a strictly
platonic sense, and she was making a move on me. My first thought was
to jerk my hand away and after that...I wasn't sure. Thankfully, I
remained fairly calm. I didn't want to hurt Karen's feelings at all,
or reject her in a way that would ruin our friendship, but I had to
let her know I wasn't a lesbian and I wasn't interested in exploring
bisexuality or anything like that. Girls held zero interest for me
sexually; it was as simple as that.

    "Karen, I'm flattered, but..." I smiled weakly and let my hand
remain under hers, "...I've never thought about it."

    "I understand." She was nodding and still smiling, her blue eyes
friendly and bright.

    "I have a boyfriend, you know?" I giggled nervously.

    "Yeah, that's okay." Karen looked up as our waitress was back, but
she didn't move her hand.

    "Here we are, Bud Light and a little California Blush..." The
waitress didn't seem to notice Karen's fingers stroking my skin and I
licked my lips, avoiding the woman's eyes.

    "Thanks Lucy," Karen said, paying the girl out of her wallet and
then she looked at me. "Do you want to dance?"

    "Dance?" I cleared my throat, looking at the four couples on the
dance floor. A slow song was playing and they were all women, all
holding each other close. One couple was kissing lightly and smiling
into each other's eyes.

    "I'm sorry," Karen gave me a little sigh. "I'm going too fast,
huh? I do that."

    "What?" I shook my head and then I had to move my hand, using my
drink as an excuse, picking it up and taking a large swallow. "No,
it's just me," I giggled. "I've just...I don't think I'm really, you
know..."

    "Gay?" Karen smiled.

    "Yeah." I made a little face. "I'm sorry."

    "Nah, it's okay," Karen shrugged. "Thanks for not getting mad."

    I laughed then. "I wouldn't do that. You're my friend, right?
Still friends?"

    "Yeah," Karen smiled. "Do you want to leave?"

    "No, it's okay," I told her. "I mean, we can have a drink. I'm not
like phobic or anything."

    Karen grinned at that and drank her beer from the bottle, ignoring
the empty glass Lucy had left for her. I wasn't sure exactly what
Karen was feeling, but I was relieved that she wasn't pushing me or
getting angry herself.

    "So, um, do you have a girlfriend, or...anything?" I asked, feeling
kind of strange asking that, but I was curious and I had no idea what
proper etiquette was for talking with a lesbian. Why would it be any
different than talking to anyone else though?

    "No, not right now." Karen shook her head. "I knew a girl in high
school. I mean, we were both in high school, but it was just fooling
around."

    "Oh," I nodded.

    "I knew I was gay. I mean, I always have been, but I think she was
more...She just wanted to be kissed, I suppose," Karen sighed with a
shrug.

    "Everyone wants that," I said with a little roll of my eyes.

    "Yeah," Karen agreed. "It's hard though. Most of the girls here,"
she looked around, "they're just looking for fun. One night stands,
you know?"

    "And you're looking for something more permanent?" I smiled, but I
wasn't teasing her.

    "Yeah, something steady," Karen nodded. "A girl I can love, that's
all."

    "Well, there's one out there someplace, right?" I said, not having
any idea what to say and frowning as that must have sounded pretty
patronizing, but she let go.

    "God, I hope so!" Karen laughed lightly. "You're lucky you have
your boyfriend, that must be nice."

    "Rodney?" I shrugged. "It's okay."

    "Just okay?" Karen looked at me doubtfully. "You're getting laid,
right?"

    "Uhhh..." I giggled with feigned shock and stuck out my tongue.

    "I haven't had sex in six months." Karen was giggling too and
shaking her head. "I've had offers, but..."

    "It's pointless without the emotion, isn't it?" I said, drinking
more wine.

    "Yeah." She looked into my soft brown eyes and smiled. "Exactly. I
want more than just the kissing."

    "Me too," I sighed, not really thinking about it.

    "What? That guy doesn't do it for you?" Karen asked.

    "Uh..." I debated with myself for a second and decided if I was
sitting in a gay bar getting all of Karen's intimate secrets I had to
be at least as honest with her.

    "What?" she asked as if reading my mind. "You can tell me."

    "I'm not really..." I frowned, trying to find words for something
I'd never expressed aloud in my life. "I like white guys," I finally
said with a nervous laugh. "I mean, I love white guys and I want a
white guy to love me."

    "So?" Karen giggled. "It's the 21st century, Kylie. I think that's
legal now."

    "I know." I felt my skin burning with embarrassment. "It just, uh...
It isn't legal at my house, you know?"

    "Ohhh..." Karen sat back a little, nodding like it all made sense.
"You're still in the closet, huh?"

    "In the closet?" I laughed at her and had another sip of wine
while I thought about it.

    "Hi, can I buy you another one of those?" We were interrupted by a
woman's voice and I looked up with some surprise. "I'm Charlene, but
everyone calls me Charlie."

    She looked like a Charlie, actually, with short brown hair and a
flannel shirt tucked into her jeans. I wouldn't say the woman was a
stereotypical dyke, mostly because I wouldn't have really known one
way or the other, but it seemed pretty obvious the way she was hitting
on me. She wasn't unattractive, but hardly feminine and I blinked at
her as I realized she was giving me all of her attention and the
sensation was exactly like being hit on by a frat boy at a university
mixer.

    "No. She's fine," Karen said before I could think of a reply, and
my friend shifted her body close to mine. Karen put her arm around me
possessively; gripping my arm like a real boyfriend would, and pulling
me against her.

    "Right." The woman licked her lips and gave Karen a little look.
"Maybe some other time," she said with a smile for me. "See ya
later."

    Charlie was going back to the bar where she joined several other
women, all of them laughing and glancing at us, probably giving
Charlie a hard time for going down in flames. They were acting like a
lot of boys I knew and I wondered why that was so surprising. I guess
I'd always assumed all girls were like me and now I was learning
something different about the world.

    "Sorry," Karen sighed, letting me go. "Some of them are like that,
especially when they see a pretty femme. I didn't mean to..."

    "It's okay. Thanks for saving me," I giggled. "So, um...is that what
I am? A pretty femme?"

    "Oh yeah." Karen grinned, looking me up and down briefly and
making a wistful sound. "You're femme through and through, Kylie.
Sorry. It's dumb word."

    "It's funny," I smiled and finished my wine. "So what are you
then, if girls like me are femmes?"

    "Me?" Karen finished her beer and shrugged. "I'm just another dyke
daddy looking for a little girl to spoil. You ready to go?"

    "Yeah," I nodded. "We better go before you end up getting in a
fight or something."

    "Over a straight girl?" Karen laughed. "That would be ironic,
wouldn't it?"

    We were walking back to campus and it was a nice night for it. Not
too cold and the sky was clear, although we could only see about a
dozen stars, being in downtown Minneapolis. At least in the suburbs
you can get a sense of the universe, but downtown? It was just too
bright, like there wasn't anything else out there, only the city.

    "So you want to date a white guy, but you're afraid of hurting
your parents?" Karen asked and we were back to our original subject.

    "Yeah," I agreed. "They're not really prejudiced, but well, they
are when it comes to me and my love life."

    "I know the feeling," Karen sighed. "My parents have no idea I'm
gay. I tried telling my mom once, she lives in California now."

    "Divorced?" I asked, because I knew Karen was from Hastings, about
an hour east of the Twin Cities.

    "Yeah, a long time now," Karen said. "Anyway, I was out there for
summer vacation when I was like sixteen and she tried to hook me up
with one of her stepson's friends or something."

    "Your mom was hooking you up?" I laughed.

    "Well, she was worried that I was bored and supposedly he was a
nice boy," Karen giggled. "Maybe he really was, but definitely not my
type, you know?"

    "My parents introduced me to Rodney," I said. "They were worried
because I didn't have a boyfriend and I was graduating high school."

    "Worried you're a lesbian?" Karen giggled and she was only half
teasing, I thought.

    "Yeah, maybe." I laughed too. "It was suspicious. I mean, I know
I'm not ugly so what was wrong with me, right? I couldn't tell them I
was seeing white guys."

    "Seriously seeing them?" Karen grinned at me and I laughed.

    "No, not like that," I shook my head. "Just, you know, hanging
out. Wishing. Wanting. It sucked."

    "I know," Karen said. "I went on a few dates with guys, just to
show my dad I wasn't queer."

    "You think he'd freak out if he knew?" I asked and Karen nodded.

    "Oh yeah," she replied slowly. "I'm his only daughter and all he
wants to do is walk me down the aisle someday."

    "My dad wants me to marry Rodney and give him like ten black
grandchildren," I shook my head. "I can't even imagine it."

    "Marriage or children?"

    "I want a white baby," I said seriously and then we both laughed
because it sounded dumb. "But I can't tell them that," I sighed. "No
way."

    "We have a lot in common, don't we?" Karen smiled and I had to
agree with that.

    "Yeah, we do."

    "Home sweet home," Karen said a little bit later, as we walked
down the hall towards our rooms.

    "No place like it," I smiled at her.

    My door came first and she stopped with me as I opened my purse,
digging out my key. I looked at her and had that feeling, you know?
Like after a first date almost, when the boy walks you to the door and
it's been a lot of fun, very nice and not romantic and not sexual, but
just a good time with someone. There's that moment when you feel like
a kiss on the cheek would be okay, not on the lips, but a kiss on the
cheek and a happy goodnight from a boy that you really wouldn't mind
seeing again sometime.

    That's exactly how it felt and the moment confused me, it honestly
did, because Karen wasn't a boy and it hadn't been a date. It had been
dinner and a drink with a friend, nothing more. Probably, I thought,
it was our talk. The intimacy we'd shared, the secrets; that was
undeniable and lent a sense of something meaningful, beyond
friendship. It was a new sensation and not entirely unwelcome. It had
felt good having someone I could relate to finally. Although our
problems were very different, they were very similar in a lot of ways
too. I think we needed each other as friends and Karen and I had just
gotten lucky.

    "I had a good time." I smiled at her as I opened my door. "Thanks,
Karen."

    "Me too, Kylie," she nodded, licking her lips briefly and smiling
up at me.

    I'm five foot eight and she was a good five or six inches shorter
than me, plus I was wearing heels. Karen pushed her glasses up her
nose and honestly, I think that was why I did it. Just because she
reminded me so much of a teenage boy on his first date, silly as that
sounds. Karen was nervous and she shouldn't have been and I'll admit
it, I'd always wanted to kiss a white boy, ever since I can remember,
so that was playing in my head too. Karen gave me a serious boy vibe
just then, you know?

    I leaned down and kissed her cheek lightly, barely a touch of my
moist black lips to her soft pale cheek, but it was there and I felt a
little flutter of nervous energy. It was fun and I giggled after I did
it.

    "Goodnight, Karen," I said, slipping into my room and leaving her
standing there smiling back at me.

    "Night, Kylie," she said and probably Karen thought I was teasing
her, or maybe she'd take it as a signal that I wanted her to try
again, I wasn't sure. We'd be okay anyway, I knew that, we were
practically best friends now and we both knew it.

    I had voice mail on my phone, which I'd intentionally left behind
when I'd gone out with Karen. I had a real love-hate relationship with
my celphone, enjoying the freedom it gave me, but loathing the way it
could seem so invasive to my privacy. Telephone calls are demanding,
as if they're somehow more important than whatever else you might be
doing, or whoever you might be with. Technology, in my opinion, isn't
necessarily good for us emotionally or socially, and I was fighting my
addictions.

    "Kylie? It's me, where you at girl? I thought we were going out
tonight. Call me."

    I had three voice mails like that, each getting progressively less
patient as Rodney tried to figure out why I was standing him up. I
felt a little bad about it, but not very much. He'd asked and I'd said
maybe, a weak maybe at that, and anything less than a definitive yes
from a woman was a no. Why didn't men understand that? Rodney had
certainly known me long enough to understand, but he could be pretty
single-minded as well, especially if he hadn't seen me in over a week.
His balls were probably ready to explode and I tossed my phone onto
the bed as I got ready for a shower.

    I didn't love him and I never would. My parents thought he was the
best thing since sliced bread though, my soul mate if you believed
them. My dad had even given the man a job out of college, as if that
proved Rodney's worth as husband material. He was good enough for my
parents, so why not for me? That was the compelling argument and I was
somewhat less than convinced by it.

    Unfortunately, explaining why I found Rodney unsuitable for my
affections was impossible. I couldn't come out and tell my friends and
family that I didn't love a man simply because he was the wrong color;
that was ridiculous. The same way it was ridiculous for my parents to
reject a white man because he wasn't black? I mean, think about that.
It was okay for my parents to say I had to have a husband who was
black, but it wasn't okay for me to say I had to have a husband who
was white, and vice versa. We were racists, my parents and I, merely
disagreeing on the validity of our prejudice.

    I hate it when I have those lucid moments and I frowned, knowing I
was a hypocrite.



To be continued...

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