angela146
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2003
- Posts
- 1,347
This one is a little clunky, but I want to share it.
-----
The meetup was scheduled for 8pm, Pacific time, but I arrived fashionably late at 8:30. As I'd hoped, there were a half-dozen women in their twenties and thirties sitting around a table at the coffee shop, drinking all manner of coffee-inspired beverages...
... and one woman in particular who almost dropped her frappuccino when she saw me.
I quickly moved my finger to my lips and winked at her as I smiled. She looked around, discovering that the only exits were behind me, so in the remaining seconds before I reached the table, she somehow composed herself.
When I arrived, the sole remaining chair was pushed out for my by one of the two redheads, who said, "You have *got* to be Angelica." The rest of the table either snorted or at least smiled.
By happenstance or some perverse design, I was the only non-fair-skinned one of the group. My tanned skin and espresso-colored hair had more melanin than the four blondes and two redheads combined.
"Hi," the same redhead said, "I'm Kenna." The remaining women introduced themselves as Zoe, Heather, Kristin (all blondes), Lucy (the other redhead), and Bridget - who pretended that we were meeting for the first time.
The group was a meetup of women who were fans of fantasy books by authors like Marion Zimmer Bradley, Mercedes Lackey, Chris Anne Wolfe and Jean Stewart. I'd read and posted to their forum for a couple of months, and I understood the unspoken subtext.
I wanted to make sure that they knew that I knew, so I wore a necklace with a labrys pendant - small enough to be tasteful yet large enough to be spotted by someone who was looking for confirmation. But, to be honest with everyone present, I also wore my wedding ring.
Bridget spotted my necklace and caught my eye with a look of wonderment. Did I really understand, her eyes asked? If so, that raised a dozen other questions - none of which could be asked at that moment.
For a while, we all talked about books and authors and speculation as to which authors would be releasing their next-in-series sometime soon. Eventually, someone asked me, "So, what brings you to the west coast, Angelica?"
"Call me 'Angie'," I said, smiling as Bridget looked at me, hoping for some kind of clue as to my agenda. "I have a client in Santa Monica," I answered. "They make cherry-pickers - or actually 'orange-pickers' in this neck of the woods."
That earned some impressed eyebrow-raises. Heather took the next step, "So you're some kind of industrial engineer?"
I bobble-headed. "Well," I said, "more of a computer dweeb with a lot of experience in process-flow management."
Zoe made a flying motion with her hand over-top of her head, so Lucy explained, "She basically tells factory owners how to run their companies." It was enough to give me some serious creds. I was married to a man, but I was also a woman working in a male-dominated field.
Anyway, I decided to flirt a little - if for no other reason than to drive Bridget nuts. I moved toward the counter and Lucy joined me. In line, she confided, "I don't know what's up with Bridget today. She usually hits on anybody new just to rattle her cage."
I smiled and looked over at Bridget. "She might see me as too much of a threat," I ventured. Turning back to Lucy, I said, "Or maybe she doesn't do married women?"
That almost sent Lucy into hysterics. "Bridget?" she said, "Oh, God! I think she actually *prefers* married women. That way she doesn't have to make a commitment or anything."
Lucy, without knowing it, had tipped Bridget's hand. Now I knew how to handle her.
By the time we went back to the table, I had my arm around Lucy. We set our drinks and cookies down and melded into a lip-lock as if we were old lovers. My advance research on the group had been spot-on. Once the other girls saw us, they loosened up and started to get handsy with each other.
The odd woman out - at least for the moment - was Bridget. She looked disappointed that I hadn't sidled up to her. Of course, she probably would have panicked if I *had* singled her out for some touchy-feely.
The discussion of books, strong women characters and lifestyles of dragon-riding chicks lasted for hours. Slowly everyone paired off - or triadded off - leaving Bridget to stew in her new role of old-maid. Finally, when Zoe took Lucy off my hands - or out of my arms - it left just Bridget and me.
She remained silent until the door closed behind the last couple. Then, finally, she could acknowledge me. But she was terrified.
"Angie?" she started, "What the Hell?"
I smiled and reached over to hold her hand. "Don't worry," I soothed, "you don't have to go home alone."
She withdrew her hand immediately, as if I had cooties or something. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked. "And since when are you a lesbian?"
I licked my lips, savoring the torture I was inflicting on her, "Oh, I'm bi," I informed her, showing her my wedding ring. "I've been married for more than ten years to a wonderful man."
She folded her arms in exasperation. "Dammit, Angela!" she said it intensely but didn't raise her voice. "I was in your fucking wedding!" She shook her head, trying to dispel the shear disbelief of what she had experienced over the past four hours. "Does my brother know that you're cheating on him? With other *women*?"
I sat back and looked reproachfully at her. "Do the other married women you seduce tell their husbands what they're doing with you?" Before she could bluster back at me, I continued, "Why am I any different from them?"
It took her a moment and a few false starts, but eventually she made the only point she could, "None of those other women are married to my brother!" She sat back and let it all sink in. I was kind, and let her sort it all out in her mind.
Before long, she got up the courage to ask the really important questions, "How did you find out that I'm gay? Does Bill know? Who else knows?"
Tears welled up in her eyes. "Did you tell mom and dad?"
Rather than answer her directly, I reached out for her hand. This time, she tentatively gave it to me and I opened it. My fingers grazed the heel of her hand, tracing one of the most universal erogenous zones on a woman's body. She closed her eyes and her shoulders sagged under the influence.
She couldn't withdraw her hand - the feeling was too good and she was too hungry for a woman's touch. "You came here to hook up with someone," I prodded. "Why does it matter that it's me?"
She started to cry, silently, still unable to withdraw her hand from my increasingly potent fingertips. Eventually, she opened her eyes. They begged me - pleaded for mercy in all directions.
She wanted to be held and loved. She wanted to be safe from exposure, especially to her parents. She desperately wanted the approval of her older brother - my husband - for who she really was.
And, most of all, she wanted something that her meetup friends couldn't give her. She had a need that I was more than willing to fulfill. In fact, I was the only person in the world who could fill that need.
"Bridge," I whispered, "I have a room here in the hotel. Come up with me."
She opened her eyes. They looked at me, hoping to God that I wasn't teasing her - that she hadn't misunderstood what I was offering. I read the thoughts that filled her heart. "You've always wanted to make love with an older sister," I said. "I'm not your sister, but I'm your sister-in-law. Is that close enough?"
Her head nodded. We had traded a few private messages about her fantasies - before she knew who I was. It's amazing what people will tell each other in the anonymity of an online forum. She said that my online name "Angelica" reminded her of her sister-in-law and that she wished she had an real-life older sister.
Of course, I had used the slight variation of my own name in order to prod her thoughts and maybe get her to open up more easily. The incestuous fantasy was an unexpected bonus. And having shared it with me, she couldn't very well feign outrage at the prospect of a liaison with a sister by marriage.
No, there was no need for pretence or fragile virtue, and no wall of secrecy to hide behind.
She cried out loud, rising from her chair, dropping into my lap and wrapping her arms around me as I drew her to me. I almost had to carry her to the elevator. Once inside, after I pushed the button for the top floor, she whispered to me, "How long have you known?"
Rubbing her back with one hand and cradling her head with the other, I whispered in return, "I only knew for sure when we chatted online... but I've 'known' since before we ever met."
She looked up at me, wondering if I had some kind of psychic gift. "Bill told me, before we visited you guys for the first time," I said. "He figured I would pick up on it and wanted to make sure I knew it was supposed to be a secret."
We were at the door to my hotel room. I freed one hand long enough to fish out my key card, but she stopped me before I could put it in the slot.
"How..." she stammered, "how did he know?" Meanwhile, her hand was unconsciously caressing my back at the waist. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to the people who care most about you."
With that, she let me open the door and, once I had, practically dragged me inside.
-----
The meetup was scheduled for 8pm, Pacific time, but I arrived fashionably late at 8:30. As I'd hoped, there were a half-dozen women in their twenties and thirties sitting around a table at the coffee shop, drinking all manner of coffee-inspired beverages...
... and one woman in particular who almost dropped her frappuccino when she saw me.
I quickly moved my finger to my lips and winked at her as I smiled. She looked around, discovering that the only exits were behind me, so in the remaining seconds before I reached the table, she somehow composed herself.
When I arrived, the sole remaining chair was pushed out for my by one of the two redheads, who said, "You have *got* to be Angelica." The rest of the table either snorted or at least smiled.
By happenstance or some perverse design, I was the only non-fair-skinned one of the group. My tanned skin and espresso-colored hair had more melanin than the four blondes and two redheads combined.
"Hi," the same redhead said, "I'm Kenna." The remaining women introduced themselves as Zoe, Heather, Kristin (all blondes), Lucy (the other redhead), and Bridget - who pretended that we were meeting for the first time.
The group was a meetup of women who were fans of fantasy books by authors like Marion Zimmer Bradley, Mercedes Lackey, Chris Anne Wolfe and Jean Stewart. I'd read and posted to their forum for a couple of months, and I understood the unspoken subtext.
I wanted to make sure that they knew that I knew, so I wore a necklace with a labrys pendant - small enough to be tasteful yet large enough to be spotted by someone who was looking for confirmation. But, to be honest with everyone present, I also wore my wedding ring.
Bridget spotted my necklace and caught my eye with a look of wonderment. Did I really understand, her eyes asked? If so, that raised a dozen other questions - none of which could be asked at that moment.
For a while, we all talked about books and authors and speculation as to which authors would be releasing their next-in-series sometime soon. Eventually, someone asked me, "So, what brings you to the west coast, Angelica?"
"Call me 'Angie'," I said, smiling as Bridget looked at me, hoping for some kind of clue as to my agenda. "I have a client in Santa Monica," I answered. "They make cherry-pickers - or actually 'orange-pickers' in this neck of the woods."
That earned some impressed eyebrow-raises. Heather took the next step, "So you're some kind of industrial engineer?"
I bobble-headed. "Well," I said, "more of a computer dweeb with a lot of experience in process-flow management."
Zoe made a flying motion with her hand over-top of her head, so Lucy explained, "She basically tells factory owners how to run their companies." It was enough to give me some serious creds. I was married to a man, but I was also a woman working in a male-dominated field.
Anyway, I decided to flirt a little - if for no other reason than to drive Bridget nuts. I moved toward the counter and Lucy joined me. In line, she confided, "I don't know what's up with Bridget today. She usually hits on anybody new just to rattle her cage."
I smiled and looked over at Bridget. "She might see me as too much of a threat," I ventured. Turning back to Lucy, I said, "Or maybe she doesn't do married women?"
That almost sent Lucy into hysterics. "Bridget?" she said, "Oh, God! I think she actually *prefers* married women. That way she doesn't have to make a commitment or anything."
Lucy, without knowing it, had tipped Bridget's hand. Now I knew how to handle her.
By the time we went back to the table, I had my arm around Lucy. We set our drinks and cookies down and melded into a lip-lock as if we were old lovers. My advance research on the group had been spot-on. Once the other girls saw us, they loosened up and started to get handsy with each other.
The odd woman out - at least for the moment - was Bridget. She looked disappointed that I hadn't sidled up to her. Of course, she probably would have panicked if I *had* singled her out for some touchy-feely.
The discussion of books, strong women characters and lifestyles of dragon-riding chicks lasted for hours. Slowly everyone paired off - or triadded off - leaving Bridget to stew in her new role of old-maid. Finally, when Zoe took Lucy off my hands - or out of my arms - it left just Bridget and me.
She remained silent until the door closed behind the last couple. Then, finally, she could acknowledge me. But she was terrified.
"Angie?" she started, "What the Hell?"
I smiled and reached over to hold her hand. "Don't worry," I soothed, "you don't have to go home alone."
She withdrew her hand immediately, as if I had cooties or something. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked. "And since when are you a lesbian?"
I licked my lips, savoring the torture I was inflicting on her, "Oh, I'm bi," I informed her, showing her my wedding ring. "I've been married for more than ten years to a wonderful man."
She folded her arms in exasperation. "Dammit, Angela!" she said it intensely but didn't raise her voice. "I was in your fucking wedding!" She shook her head, trying to dispel the shear disbelief of what she had experienced over the past four hours. "Does my brother know that you're cheating on him? With other *women*?"
I sat back and looked reproachfully at her. "Do the other married women you seduce tell their husbands what they're doing with you?" Before she could bluster back at me, I continued, "Why am I any different from them?"
It took her a moment and a few false starts, but eventually she made the only point she could, "None of those other women are married to my brother!" She sat back and let it all sink in. I was kind, and let her sort it all out in her mind.
Before long, she got up the courage to ask the really important questions, "How did you find out that I'm gay? Does Bill know? Who else knows?"
Tears welled up in her eyes. "Did you tell mom and dad?"
Rather than answer her directly, I reached out for her hand. This time, she tentatively gave it to me and I opened it. My fingers grazed the heel of her hand, tracing one of the most universal erogenous zones on a woman's body. She closed her eyes and her shoulders sagged under the influence.
She couldn't withdraw her hand - the feeling was too good and she was too hungry for a woman's touch. "You came here to hook up with someone," I prodded. "Why does it matter that it's me?"
She started to cry, silently, still unable to withdraw her hand from my increasingly potent fingertips. Eventually, she opened her eyes. They begged me - pleaded for mercy in all directions.
She wanted to be held and loved. She wanted to be safe from exposure, especially to her parents. She desperately wanted the approval of her older brother - my husband - for who she really was.
And, most of all, she wanted something that her meetup friends couldn't give her. She had a need that I was more than willing to fulfill. In fact, I was the only person in the world who could fill that need.
"Bridge," I whispered, "I have a room here in the hotel. Come up with me."
She opened her eyes. They looked at me, hoping to God that I wasn't teasing her - that she hadn't misunderstood what I was offering. I read the thoughts that filled her heart. "You've always wanted to make love with an older sister," I said. "I'm not your sister, but I'm your sister-in-law. Is that close enough?"
Her head nodded. We had traded a few private messages about her fantasies - before she knew who I was. It's amazing what people will tell each other in the anonymity of an online forum. She said that my online name "Angelica" reminded her of her sister-in-law and that she wished she had an real-life older sister.
Of course, I had used the slight variation of my own name in order to prod her thoughts and maybe get her to open up more easily. The incestuous fantasy was an unexpected bonus. And having shared it with me, she couldn't very well feign outrage at the prospect of a liaison with a sister by marriage.
No, there was no need for pretence or fragile virtue, and no wall of secrecy to hide behind.
She cried out loud, rising from her chair, dropping into my lap and wrapping her arms around me as I drew her to me. I almost had to carry her to the elevator. Once inside, after I pushed the button for the top floor, she whispered to me, "How long have you known?"
Rubbing her back with one hand and cradling her head with the other, I whispered in return, "I only knew for sure when we chatted online... but I've 'known' since before we ever met."
She looked up at me, wondering if I had some kind of psychic gift. "Bill told me, before we visited you guys for the first time," I said. "He figured I would pick up on it and wanted to make sure I knew it was supposed to be a secret."
We were at the door to my hotel room. I freed one hand long enough to fish out my key card, but she stopped me before I could put it in the slot.
"How..." she stammered, "how did he know?" Meanwhile, her hand was unconsciously caressing my back at the waist. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to the people who care most about you."
With that, she let me open the door and, once I had, practically dragged me inside.
