Sapphic Embrace: The Housewife
Read Sapphic Embrace: The Housewife Online
Authors: Kathleen S. Molligger
CHAPTER ONE
"A Sapphic Night," I said. I hadn't thought about that since the night it happened. I wondered if it was true -- I did feel like I was at my sexual peak tonight. Was there really an astrological reason for it?
Her body felt comfortable in my arms, like a supple pillow perfectly tailored to my nooks and crannies. Her tongue explored the crevices of my body, and I felt at ease, for the first time in years; I didn't worry about how I looked or whether my husband thought my body had gone to hell; I didn't worry about money or finances; all I felt was her gentle fingers on my pert nipples, rubbing them through the blouse I still wore, the one she had given me for Christmas two years ago.
"I didn't know I wanted this until that night," she said.
"I didn't know until just now."
The silly fortuneteller's storefront opened up down the street from the Grinding Gulch, which was no longer the hottest lesbian bar in town, but it was the one that Kathy went to most nights. So when it all went down that day and we wanted to get out for a girls' night on the town, that's where we went.
I wasn't a lesbian. I was a perfectly heterosexual woman with a perfectly failing marriage to a vastly imperfect heterosexual named Jim. After having failed to fulfill any of his numerous promises -- at the time I was upset about the little ones like taking the trash out, but also the longer term ones like graduating from college and making friends with my brother -- he had the nerve to call me "unreliable". I'm ashamed to say that I exploded and called him some names I shouldn't have as well. I would feel better about if I could hold my head up high and say I had been the better woman. But that day, I wasn't any better at being a woman than he was at being a man.
Luckily we don't have any kids, so fights like these weren't quite so embarrassing and heart-rending. We did have neighbors, however, and I knew I'd be humiliated if I saw them looking at the house as they walked by that evening, knowing they must have heard the fight, or heard rumors about it from those who did, and would no doubt be nosily peering in to see clues as to what happened.
I went to Kathy's house after the fight, with my suitcase in the back of the car, seriously considering never going back to Jim. I was expecting Kathy and her long-time lover Christine to be ready with comfort food and cheap wine to guzzle by the boxful. But instead I walked in on them in the middle of a fight just as vicious and built-up as Jim and mine.
Christine shouted as I walked in, "You know that's why I didn't get promoted, right? Because of you, you-"
They both stopped yelling at each other and looked at me. They were red-faced and sweaty, chests heaving with excess energy. The remains of a broken dish on the kitchen floor gave me a clue to the earlier stages of the fight.
It must have been obvious I was upset, because Kathy immediately came to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "There, there, baby, what's wrong?"
Christine looked at me, and at Kathy, then pumped her fists in the air. "Fine, maybe we should just take this up later. Why don't you two go fuck yourselves elsewhere?"
She stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. Her harsh words hadn't upset me -- in truth, we had never liked each other, we just pretended for Kathy's benefit.
Kathy and I wordlessly scurried out and into her car, where we sat for a few minutes and cried, clutching each other. Neither of us knew what the other was specifically upset about, but that didn't really matter. We knew each other too well to care about the details. I knew she was mad that Christine objected to her poorly paid career as a chef and took it out in passive-aggressive ways, while she no doubt knew that Jim and I were fighting over the same old relentless failure of his life.
Kathy always took me to the Grinding Gulch when either of us were upset. Even for good old non-lesbian me, who wasn't even totally comfortable with the idea of homosexual sex among women, the Grinding Gulch was an incredible place to hang out. Aside from the lack of men, I could easily forget it was a lesbian bar.
The music was loud but not deafening, not drowning out the conversation, which was lively. The women who filled the bar were a gorgeous mix of races and ages, slim and petite women, kind-faced, makeup-drowned lipstick queens, leather-clad butch types, all were well-represented there, and everyone seemed to know each other. I sometimes thought that lesbianism seemed more like a club that I wasn't cool enough to be invited to rather than an innate orientation. Kathy had a grand time flirting with the women, dancing with them, delicately caressing their shoulders. They all knew her just like they knew each other. I was the only outsider there, possibly the only heterosexual in the room.
I had to confess the dancing women were sexy -- not in a silly music video kind of way, with flashing lights and slow motion movement and fast-paced beats, bodies glowing and writhing in the shadows -- this was good and honest dancing. No stylized humping here, no dancing that was almost anal sex, no misogynistic and violent fads; here, the women danced to their own rhythms, holding each other's waists and shoulders, nuzzling lovingly.
We danced when we first got there, but neither of us had the energy to go for long, we just wanted to get the tension out. When my feet began to get tired, I saw down, and Kathy followed suit a moment later. We talked and bitched about our lovers until the bar started to fill up with the night crowd, and regulars kept arriving, interrupting our conversation to say hello to Kathy, who politely greeted them and returned to listening to me.
"Let's go somewhere," Kathy said as soon as it became apparent that we weren't going to be able to continue a normal conversation. The music was turned up, and the volume of the other people had increased, both to be heard and because they were drunker and drunker by the moment.
I nodded and we left, Kathy paying the bill for both of us as we went. Normally I would have objected, but I didn't have the heart for it. We both knew that Kathy could afford it, and I couldn't (or to be more precise, Christine could afford it, and Jim could not).
We couldn't think of any place to go -- all the other lesbian bars in town were too rough or too expensive or too far away, and all the non-lesbian bars would no doubt be dominated by crude men demanding cheap dates and cheaper sex.
But we ended up in front of that fortuneteller, Madame Saffo, whose brightly colored storefront beckoned with neon lights and promises of a brighter tomorrow. A sign in fancy script described her specialties as "palmistry, divination and feminine energy". The inside was mostly blocked by furniture, rugs and knickknacks, but through the cracks I saw a lushly decorated office, pillows and blankets covering the floor and walls.
I didn't normally buy into silly crap, and Kathy was an avowed skeptic. But passing it so many times had instilled curiosity in me, and I wanted to see if Madame Saffo lived up to my expectations. Besides, one of her signs greatly appealed to me
:
Let Madame Saffo show you a better wa
y
.
"Come on, Kathy," I said, and she smiled wryly.
"You seriously want to do that? Betty, it's bullcrap," she whispered, giggling at me.
"I know, but come on, let's do it. I've never seen a psychic. It could be fun," I said, taking her worn chef's hands in mine and pulling her towards the door.
Madame Saffo was dressed as a gypsy, with beads in her hair, and a crimson and burgundy scarf around her neck, darkly-colored blouse and wrap around her torso and waist. She was portly, with long fingernails with which she beckoned for us to sit across from her at a small table in the center of the store.
She had a curt, business-like demeanor as we settled on a price. She spoke with a thick accent that I thought was maybe Swedish or something else Nordic.
Madame Saffo grabbed Kathy's hand, examined the palm and said, "You first, huh? Let me see that. Ah, yes, you ar
e
flat
a
, yah? A lesbian?"
Kathy nodded, her eyebrows furrowed, surprised that Saffo had known that.
Saffo took my palm in her other hand, comparing it to Kathy's, studying them both intently. She nodded and said, "Yes, you are lovers."
"No," I said, laughing nervously.
"We're just friends."
"Ah, well, that will change this year," Saffo said, "Wait for the ninth day of the tenth month."
"What?"
"Now, your finances should improve slightly in the next-"
"What happens on the ninth?" Kathy said.
"It is a Sapphic Night."
"What's that?"
"It is a rare astrological phenomenon that my people have known about for centuries. The stars are aligned so that Mars' energy, the masculine spirit of manhood, is diverted to the heavens, while the Venusian power of womanhood peaks," Saffo said, "On a Sapphic Night, men find it difficult to perform sexually, while women are ravenous."
"Oh, so the desperate straight chicks go all lesbo?" Kathy asked, laughing and hugging me.
"The stars are more subtle than that," Saffo said. "Now, would you ladies like to know the best day to buy a lottery ticket?"
CHAPTER TWO
Things didn't work out with Christine. At one point, she had seemed lik
e
The On
e
. But then she moved in and I realized all those cute little quirks she had were actually quite annoying. She was so slow and deliberate, as though every action required a thirty-point action plan.
I hated the way she talked and I hated the way she walked, the way she used the phone and did the dishes and washed her clothes. Everything she did grated on me like a stubborn blister, gnawing on my nerves so badly I spent my entire time at home brainstorming excuses to leave without her.
That couldn't go on forever. I was stressed and tired and I wanted the fighting to be done with. I was humiliated when Betty walked in on Christine and I arguing, and it made me realize that there was no solution to the differences between us. Whether we wanted to admit it or not, we weren't in love, and weren't going to be in love again as long as we lived under the same roof.
So I moved out, into a cheap fleabag motel. I expected it to be full of bums and addicts, and I wasn't totally wrong, but I was glad to see that the handsome young blonde man behind the counter
,
Tod
d
printed in crooked letters on his nametag, was clean and smartly-dressed. He smiled at me and chatted as I registered, and for a moment I considered trying heterosexuality again. It hadn't worked out when I was young and trying to please my parents by dating boys, but for just an instant, it seemed possible again, until I realized what I would find inside his pants if I went looking.
The best way to wash Christine out of my mind was to meet some more ladies, I decided. So I put on my sexiest clothes and went out to the Grinding Gulch, where the women thronged like penguins on a glacier, in great big flocks of perfect-looking specimens, so many beautiful ones to choose from.
I talked to virtually every woman there, it seemed, trying to find someone that reminded me of Christine in the good ways. But I've always been a choosy person, and it wasn't until almost midnight that I realized Regina was almost my ideal woman. She was short and lean, like Betty, with kind, round eyes, very unlike Christine's hard-edged, almost masculine eyes, and soft features, a faintly rounded nose, full lips and a perfectly wide waist. She wasn't fat but there was plenty for me to grind against as we danced, chatting quietly, whispering in each other's ears, giggling and pretending we were still trying to decide whether we would leave the nightclub together.
Of course we did leave together a little after midnight. We had both had a few drinks, not enough to be drunk, but enough to giggle a little, to pretend all of our stupid jokes were funny and stumble as we walked down the street to my hotel room.
When we got there, we sat on the bed, suddenly silent and nervous. I had put the TV on to a music channel, classical music with the sound down low. Regina looked at me and said, "We don't have to do anything, Kathy, if you don't want to."
I had a sudden sinking suspicion that Regina didn't want to sleep with me, that maybe she thought I was attractive back at the dimly-lit club but was now regretting her decision in the bright hotel room. I felt so confused and alone I wanted to be with Betty again.
"I mean... I want to," Regina said, "But I like you a lot. It's up to you. I want to see you again either way."
"Let's not talk about the future," I said, not sure what else to say. I still hadn't made a firm resolution not to go back to Christine. I hated being alone for any length of time. If I didn't find someone soon, I would probably end up with her again. Or maybe move in with Betty -- that idea filled me with hope, but I didn't think she would ever really leave Jim.
Regina paused. She wanted to get a firm commitment for me, I could tell. But I kept my face stern and stoic, so she knew I wouldn't budge. There was a better than even chance I would never want to see her again, and I refused to mislead her.
Did she want to risk having a one-night stand? Did she dislike casual sex more than she wanted to get laid tonight?
She made her decision known by leaning forward and kissing me, her tongue pushing past my lips. We curled up together on the couch, my fingers running up and down the side of her belly. I could just make out her ribs with my fingers when she stretched in the opposite direction, and I felt her blood pulsating beneath my touch.
When having sex, I wanted to feel like I did in the good old days with Christine, when we first met in a firestorm of passion and love-at-first sight. But I knew immediately that it wasn't the same with Regina. She was beautiful, objectively even more beautiful than Christine, but I didn't have the passion with her that I had with my darling Christine.
Still, when her finger entered me, and her other finger delicately danced atop my clit, all thoughts of Christine fled from my mind. Sure it was lacking in the emotional fervor I loved, but the climactic anticipation coursing through my veins was enough to make me lose control.
I moaned, and Regina smiled, no doubt glad to see me loosening up. I felt a twinge of regret at the thought that I already knew there was little chance we'd see each other again. But I needed a screw, and I was fairly certain she had come to the same conclusion, so regardless of whether we were a perfect match in the long-run, we were the only match for the night.
Her nipples were taut and tight as they dragged across my chest. We had settled onto the wide couch, her on top, me underneath, our lips still interlocked as our bodies explored each other. My feet curled up against my ankles, and my fingers clenched as my own orgasmic tremors began.
My finger finally made its way down and around from her back, and I plunged into the familiar soft texture of pussy. As it always did, I remembered then my earliest sexual exploration, which was clumsy and awkward but now seemed so genuine and earnest in my mind.
Her tongue traveled south as my back arched, and she turned her body around. She wanted to sixty-nine, I realized, and that I was fine with. I always enjoyed that position, but Christine thought it seemed "cheap and tawdry"
(
tawdr
y
mean
s
chea
p
, Christine!).
I dived into her body, savoring the familiar yet unique flavor of her flesh. She murmured as her own pleasure began, and when her tongue hit me, I crooned like a folk singer. I wrapped my legs around her face, cupping it between my thighs.
Our bodies moved in sync, as though our love-making was choreographed. She rocked as I rolled, and we twitched with every thrust of each other's tongues deeper and harder into us.
My whole body dissolved into creamy flesh as we both orgasmed at once, our tongues writhing inside each other. In the throes of lust, my foot reached out and almost knocked over the coffee-table, spilling a pile of magazines onto the floor.
We collapsed, laying there on the couch. She was on her side, I on my back, both of us sweaty and blushing a little. I knew she wanted me to make a decision, Should I stay or should I go now?
I sat up, and slowly put my bra and panties back on. Regina stretched, cat-like and said, "I'm going to take a shower."
As soon as she said that, I knew what I was going to do -- leave. I think she realized I was always going to go, that we weren't going to see each other, and she wanted to give me a way out that would save any awkward goodbyes, any pretending that I might call.
Instead she just got up, smiled at me as though to sa
y
Last chance, babe
?
. But I just smiled back, and she went into the bathroom.
The water turned on. I launched into a flurry of action. I was clothed (or close enough for now) to get out into my car and away before she left the bathroom.
And that was precisely what I did, resolving to drive to Betty's so I didn't feel so dirty spending the day after alone.
