After Midnight

Table of Contents

 

 

 

A
n intimate encounter in a movie theater halfway across the world. A passionate affair with a married woman. A weekend of role-playing with two women and their “headmistress,” Miss Johnson.

The gals in this book tell powerful, raw, sensuous tales ripped from the pages of their sexual lives. In ways they've never before expressed their sultry, playful, and sometimes downright dirty secrets, these women bare all, describing not only their deepest fantasies, but the hot and heavy truth of their sexual deeds inside and outside the bedroom.

Peer in during a young woman's first time getting tag-teamed. Enjoy a rollicking “Toy Story” that's certainly not rated G. Accept a red-hot Valentine's Day gift any horny lesbian would be grateful to receive. In short, curl up—alone or with a lover—and discover what lesbians from around the world are getting up to…after midnight.

 

Chelsea James

 

 

 

 

 

W
ednesdays, Club Cruz in North Hollywood became Tryst & Shout. The inside was the same no matter what neon sign outside the old paint factory was lit or what T-shirts the staff wore that night. The music and the videos on the huge screens over the dance floor didn't change from night to night. What made it different was that Wednesdays were our night—drag kings and femmes, bois and gurrls, and lesbians from all over Los Angeles.

Ming-Ye and I went to Tryst & Shout maybe once a month. Dancing in front of people was never easy for me. I played soccer and volleyball, but when the music started, my muscles lost all coordination. Ming-Ye, though, she was born to move. Her arms would slowly rise, her hands reaching for the multicolored lights flashing overhead. Other women watched as the music possessed her. Twirl and bump, and then she'd stop and slyly smile at me as her hips moved in a slow grind. The world would
go away and I'd wrap my arms around her. She'd flick back her long black hair and the scent of her soap and shampoo would remind me of being cuddled close to the nape of her neck in bed. Straddling my thigh, she'd move, baby, move, and it was enough that I was there to hold her.

“These boots are killing me,” she confessed as we tried to wedge our way through the crowd around the sleek glass bar.

“You say that every time you wear them,” I shouted over the pounding music.

Her full lips curled into a wicked grin. “Yeah, but they're hot.”

Ming-Ye would have been hot in anything. The year I met her, she was in her “Chinese schoolgirl gone bad” phase. Short plaid skirts, thigh-high stockings, and lipstick the color of plums against skin like warm caramel. Since then, she'd become “librarian gone bad,” wearing tailored blouses that cupped her small breasts, her silky hair pulled back in a tight bun, and the ultimate pair of thigh-high black leather spiked heeled boots.

Jostled by the crowd, I had to fight for my balance. I could imagine Ming-Ye rolling her eyes when music turned me into a klutz, but I never caught her at it.

“You want something?” I asked.

“The usual.”

At least that's what I thought she said. I couldn't hear her. I nodded and worked my way to the bar, leaving her to stand on the edge of the dance floor.

Sometimes I wondered what she saw in me. We got along well, we laughed a lot, but she turned heads wherever she went. I was okay in a sporty, girl-next-door kind of way. When we went out, I saw the way women looked at her. I knew what they were thinking, because I thought it too. Those lips of Ming-Ye's kissed hard and came away bruised. She looked like the kind of girl
who would press a lover against a wall or fuck in an alleyway.

I shuffled forward one step at a time until I reached the edge of the glossy black bar. It was under-lit by fiber-optic strands that changed color in a slow cycle. Blue glow made the bartenders look like the undead. By the time I ordered our drinks, their faces were sickly green with halos reflecting weirdly from their eyes. I was glad to take the drinks and back out of the crush.

A shout rose as the hottest new video showed on the huge screens on the walls around the club. Women surged to the floor, almost sweeping me along.

“Here.” I offered Ming-Ye her drink.

She watched the dancers, mesmerized. I tried to guess who she was looking at. She seemed to be staring at a leggy blonde wearing a leather halter top and black jeans.

That woman was a head taller than anyone else in the club, but she was memorable for other reasons. She stood on top of one of the small dance platforms. Her companion, smaller, with dark hair, also shared the tiny stage. Their dance was full-on frottage, the kind of careless sexy moves I wished I could relax enough to enjoy. Watching them felt like peeking through someone's window, though. I was a little ashamed that it turned me on so much.

The blonde had a great body and excellent hair. A perfect California beach volleyball goddess, she was one of those women everyone claims to hate on sight but secretly wants to meet.

Damn it, she could really dance too. Just Ming-Ye's type.

I elbowed Ming-Ye. “Your drink.”

“Thanks.” She didn't even bother to glance at me. Her big brown eyes stayed fixed on the woman even as she took a sip.

That pissed me off. I didn't think of myself as the type that got jealous, but Ming-Ye couldn't tear her eyes from the blonde long enough to even acknowledge that I was there. Mean words
welled up in my throat, nearly choking me. Surprised at myself, I looked everywhere except at Ming-Ye so that she wouldn't catch me being an idiot.

Someone bumped into me. I moved a few steps. The next bump seemed more deliberate, so I spun around, ready to make a nasty comment, when I realized my teammate from the women's soccer league was standing there.

“Jen!” Carrie grinned.

“Hey. Didn't expect to see you here.”

Oh, man, did she see me staring dagger eyes at the blonde on top of the platform?

We chatted a bit about our team and our last game, but we weren't really friends, so that was all we had to talk about. Pretty soon, we were down to, “This DJ has the best mixes,” and “So, how far away did you have to park?” It got more awkward by the minute, and the pauses grew longer, so I decided to put us both out of our misery.

“Well, it was great seeing you, but I'm here with someone.”

“Yeah, right.” She grinned again and bobbed her head, probably grateful she could move on. “Catch you later.”

I looked around for Ming-Ye but didn't see her. She was probably out on the dance floor, or she'd met someone she knew. We weren't clingy. We had separate friends, and we ran into many of them at Tryst & Shout.

After circling the club four times in search of her, I was pretty steamed. She was nowhere to be seen. And then it hit me—I hadn't seen that blonde anywhere either.

Ming-Ye had dumped me.

I had no idea where that idea came from, but as soon as the poison was in my heart, I couldn't ignore it.

My eyes stung. The crowd was too close and the music pounded against my ribs. I needed room. I wanted to breathe air
that wasn't thick with the sharp scent of girl sweat. The lights were too hot, and misery filled my belly.

No. She wouldn't dump me. Ming-Ye
never
looked at other women.

Not that I knew of, the voice of doubt whispered in my ear. I hadn't caught her at it. That didn't mean anything.

Get a grip
, I told myself.

I got out my cell phone and pushed the speed dial for Ming-Ye. Her voice mail picked up. Swearing, I stalked through the crowd again.

My last circuit brought me to the back of the club. A long line for the women's room snaked back almost to the bar. I was angry enough that I planned to leave with or without Ming-Ye.

First, though, before the long ride home, a pit stop.

Ming-Ye and I shared a little secret. We had figured out months back that although men were allowed into the club, few came on Wednesdays. It wasn't like the rest of the week when the crowd was mostly gay, with a fair amount of lesbians and a few straights to round out the mix. So while everyone else stood obediently in line for the women's room, Ming-Ye and I always sneaked into the men's room. Five stalls, no waiting. The one time we walked in on a guy, he grinned at us.

I went to the men's room door. Being cautious, I cracked it open and glanced in. No one stood at the urinals along the wall, so I figured it was safe. A couple steps in, though, I realized I wasn't alone. A little groan gave someone away. I saw feet under one of the stall doors.

Black jeans.

The ceiling in the men's room was mirrored, even over the stalls. I'd heard stories about how our gay friends watched guys giving blow jobs, and how hot it was to watch. I envied the way they could be so open about it.

I glanced up and saw blonde hair. The woman was standing in an odd position, sort of bending down. Someone else was in there with her. Under the black metal door, I saw impossibly high heels, and a pair of familiar black boots.

I almost ripped off the door right then. Looking back up to the ceiling, I tried to see for sure if Ming-Ye was in there, but the boots were enough proof. I froze. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to know. And yet, I had to.

My heart pounded so hard I could feel the beat behind my eyes. Fear and disbelief squeezed my lungs.

I heard another groan.

The men's room smelled like men, but I caught a whiff of pure female scent cutting through it. Music thumped against the door. A slick, wet sound could barely be heard above it.

I was sick. I wanted to cry, but something about that sound and the smell of sex sent tight tingles shooting through me. Ming-Ye was cheating on me. I should have hauled her cheating whore ass out of there and told her to go to hell, but instead I tiptoed into the stall next to them.

With my ear pressed against the cold metal partition, I could hear the rustle of skirt being hiked up. Above me, the mirror showed the blonde unbuttoning a red shirt, pushing up a bra, teasing a pale brown nipple with her fingers.

The cheaters murmured. Then their lips mashed together. I held my breath as long as they kissed. We all panted when they separated for a moment. They lunged together again.

It was so wrong to look, but Ming-Ye was my lover. Didn't I have the right to watch her? Or maybe we were over and I was the only one who didn't know it. I never saw it coming.

Fuck it. I'd watch.

The snap of panties being pulled aside was hard to hear over the slam of fingers against a wet clit.