Dykescapes VIII

by Katherine-T
katherine-t@earthlink.net
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Katherine_T/www/.


Sandra had a great yearning to make love outdoors, an event she
had never accomplished, although these days she found herself
thinking about it frequently, and the desire seemed to be growing
rather than waning. She was an efficient young woman, a
university lecturer in medieval history, and she hated
interfering obsessions. She had her work, after all, and this
fixation on the outdoors was really so unlike her. And it might
be so difficult to achieve. For one thing, she lived and worked
in the city, and the "outdoors" at issue was not city outdoors
but country outdoors. And the second thing, and perhaps more
important, was that she had no lover. How could she rid herself
of this obsession to make love outdoors if she had no lover? The
fantasy did not concern masturbation, and in any case she had no
car and the idea of renting a car and driving out to the country
to finger herself under a tree seemed crazy.

Finally, one evening when her thoughts of the outdoors persisted
strongly enough to make work impossible, Sandra put down
Clybourne's _History of the Twelfth Century_ (which she
considered superficial and perhaps not worth her time anyway),
and she decided this very evening she would attack her "outdoor
fantasy problem". She would find a lover (a woman, since she had
never had lovers other than women), and somehow she would
persuade her new lover, if not this evening then in the near
future, persuade her that a tryst in the country would be a
marvelous experience. Her fantasy accomplished, her obsession
would end and her equilibrium would be restored.

Now that she had an agenda, Sandra quickly mobilized her "focused
and organized" persona. She knew precisely the type of woman she
wanted for this expedition, the type she always found attractive,
although for the past several years she had avoided such woman
like the proverbial plague since affairs with her "type" usually
evolved into obsessive entanglements whose intensity quickly
destroyed her equanimity and her ability to work. Sandra knew
herself: start one of those dyke dramas and she'd be a wreck for
six months. Her new lover had to be her type, all right, but
there had to be an understanding of limits.

Sandra's erotic type had been set when she was quite young by a
surreptitious reading of Mademoiselle Maupin. She had, in fact,
cleverly torn the guts of the book out of its binding and glued a
new binding from a destroyed copy of Pride and Prejudice, which
she thought the most stupid story imaginable, with its collection
of stupid women yearning to be married to stupid men. Concerning
Mademoiselle Maupin, Sandra had never quite completely deciphered
the mystery of why Madelaine de Maupin, posing as the handsome
nobleman Theodore, had excited her to such feverish nightly
masturbations. Oh, those reveries she had!

But mystery or no mystery, ever since her youth Sandra's ideal
lover had been the archetypical androgynous woman, lean and
gallant and with a heart-rending noble face, a woman who looked
elegant in a suit, a woman who combined strength and beauty in a
perfect rendition of Madelaine de Maupin posing as Theodore de
Serannes. Slow down, Sandra thought. The present reverie made her
want to abandon her agenda to simply lie down on her bed naked
and masturbate. No, she would not yield. She was not the sort to
become unfocused and disorganized once she set her mind to an
objective.

Sandra knew a few things apart from the appearance of the woman
she wanted, even if she hadn't met the woman yet. She knew what
the woman would want in another woman, at least what the woman
would want Sarah to look like. Sandra certainly had enough
experience with such women to understand all of that.

Sandra hurried to begin her preparations for the evening. She had
a hot shower, and then she carefully applied her make-up and
chose her clothing. She knew the importance of clothes during an
escapade like this one. The woman she desired would want her in
feminine clothing, an announcement of attitude, a hint of sexual
pleasures yet to be achieved. Sandra never wore such clothes at
the university, since the result would be equivalent to dangling
a strip of honey-coated paper before a swarm of male flies. But
this evening she would have her adventure, in a place where other
women arrived for their own adventures, and she would dress for
it with perfection. Simple but perfect. An elegant black knit
dress that clung to her body like a second skin to reveal her
breasts and belly and hips and thighs. A thin gold necklace with
a dangling Aztec design. Sheer black stockings and strappy high-
heeled black sandals. The black would set off the blonde hair
that framed her face. She knew she would look good. She expected
she'd be a smash hit. She hurried to paint her nails before
dressing.

At precisely ten o'clock, Sandra arrived at a place called
Velvet, a dimly-lit chic little lesbian bar and dance-club that
catered to professional women. Sandra hadn't visited this
particular bar in several years, and she was quite content that
no one recognized her. She perched herself on a stool at one end
of the bar, ordered a Cosmo, and looked at the crowd.

Ten minutes passed. She sipped the Cosmo. Well, what did you
expect? Sandra thought. The room had its quota of smashing young
femmes, lovely twenty-year-olds who even if they were hardly
beyond nubile seemed sophisticated to the point of ennui. Most of
the women, however, were in their thirties, a mixed group of
physical types, but all of them groomed and appropriate to the
ambience. Another ten minutes. Where is my Maupin? Sandra
thought. How long could she sit alone at the bar before appearing
desolate? When would the sleek butch she wanted approach her?

It happened unexpectedly. Sandra was about to order another
drink, when a sultry voice behind her said: "Your glass is empty.
Let me buy you another."

Sandra turned on her stool and gazed into the eyes of her dream
lover.

                          *     *     *


Her name was Jen and she wore a dark blue pinstripe suit, a white
silk shirt and a black string tie. She had dark hair slicked back
at the sides, dark bottomless eyes, and the lean face of one of
those gallant-looking Renaissance courtiers in the paintings of
the Fontainebleu School.

"I'll have a glass of Pinot Grigio," Jen said to the bartender
after ordering Sandra's Cosmo. She looked at Sandra and smiled:
"Are you alone?"

Sandra nodded. She felt her insides fluttering. You're a silly
little twit, she thought. Yes she was. Another few minutes of
this and she'd be wetting her pants. How ridiculous. She was more
aware than ever of her tight dress, of the way her breasts were
emphasized. Of course the V-neckline showed cleavage. You're a
slut, she thought. Well, perhaps she wasn't a slut, but she
certainly felt like it.

They talked, idle chatter about the place, the noise, the
weather. Then Jen excused herself, walked away and soon returned
to say she'd found a booth for them. Sandra nodded and slid off
the stool, held Jen's hand as they walked across the room to a
snug little booth for two. The curved bench was small enough so
they had to sit beside each other with their thighs touching.

Again they talked. Jen wanted to know everything about Sandra,
and she smiled with approval when Sandra revealed she taught at a
university. "You're damned attractive," Jen said, almost out of
the side of her mouth. It sounded a bit affected, but it thrilled
Sandra. When Jen put her hand on Sandra's thigh, Sandra did not
object. When Jen turned Sandra's face toward her and kissed
Sandra's lips, Sandra accepted it. "I'm going to make wild love
to you," Jenn whispered in Sandra's ear. "Where would you like to
go? My apartment isn't far from here."

Sandra realized this was her opportunity. They hardly knew each
other, but yes they would make love. She would yield to this
dream lover. But why not suggest they avoid the usual?

"Do you have a car?" Sandra asked.

"Yes."

"Let's take a ride to the country."

"Now?"

"Yes, why not? It's not too late and I'd love it. It's a balmy
night and we'll neck under the stars."

Jenn looked at her a long moment and then smiled. "I think I'm
about to be an actor in someone's fantasy."

Sandra blushed. "Is that too awful? I'll adore you for it."

"Well, I like being adored, don't I?"

They walked out with Jen's arm around Sandra's waist, and thirty
minutes later Sandra completed her agenda. Jen had her under the
stars, against a tree like Deneuve in that Bunuel film, Sandra's
black knit dress raised to her hips as Jen's fingers plunged
again and again into both openings while her mouth covered
Sandra's mouth. What magical fingers Jen had. Her thumb tortured
Sandra's clitoris as the other fingers vanquished her vagina and
anus. Deep, deep, marvelously deep. Deep, deep, I love it deep.
Sandra groaned. "Fuck me," she gasped. "Fuck me hard." Such
animality. Later they would go to Sandra's apartment. Meanwhile
she pumped her sex and ass against Jen's long fingers and came
hard again and again. What a thrill it was. Under the stars with
her dream lover.

End
