hunched over in the bath, my vagina aching from the sensations of another come. What would it be like to share a balneal moment with the raven-haired beauty? I closed my eyes and saw Bella’s face. I shook my head to clear it; I got out of the tub determined to steer clear of wild women who could lead down a crooked path. I had no sooner towelled off when the phone rang.
‘Hi, Ashley. We need to talk.’
‘Really? That’s interesting because I don’t have your phone number. You never gave it to me. It’s bad enough I have a control freak for a boss. I don’t know what kind of world you’re embroiled in but it’s not for me. You’re a dangerous woman, Bella. Sexy, but dangerous. Goodbye.’
‘I’ll give you my number. First, let me ask: how long have you been in San Francisco? Two weeks? Three?’
‘Two whole months,’ I said, a tad defensively.
‘I was born and raised here. You don’t know what it’s like to be a woman trying to survive in this town. You have a lot to learn.’
‘Maybe you’re not the one to teach me.’
‘I am,’ she sighed. ‘My real name is Isabella. Let’s start from there.’
‘My name is really Ashley. Nice to meet you, Isabella.’
I pictured the heart-shaped face at the other end of the line and wondered what my next life lesson would be.
The next night I met my heart’s desire at the cabaret joint where she sang some nights and bartended on others.
***
Women who had made unconventional livelihoods strutting onstage at PJ’s Cabaret were milling about, their breasts bare save for glittering pasties. They were all shapes and sizes with no discrimination toward age. They billed themselves as ‘The Cabaret Girls’ even though one woman was old enough to be my grandmother. That was cool. Their act though was forgettable with out-of-sync gyrations and giggles that morphed into shrieks.
The next act was a stand-up comic who was quite good until she forgot one of her own punch lines and turned belligerent on a heckler.
I was about to wonder why Bella (the name Isabella would take some getting used to) asked me to join her at PJ’s when there she was, standing in front of a microphone and looking directly at me.
‘This is for Ashley,’ she told the nodding crowd, ‘my new ladylove.’
If you’ve never been serenaded in front of dozens of lesbian couples and a dancing troupe wearing nothing but short shorts and pasties, well, I’m sorry for your troubles.
Bella crooned my favourite Tracy Chapman song and, though she sang it off-key, I was touched that she’d go to such lengths to woo a newbie in town with a staid job at an insurance firm. Her life was definitely more intriguing and she seemed to want to share it with me. She was a white girl trying to sound black. A tough chick who couldn’t hide her softness. Drove a car no part-time bartender could afford. These contradictions that first gave pause were now driving me into her arms.
***
We held hands walking down Broadway. She opened the passenger door and I slid in, the contours of my body eagerly conforming to the cushiony seat. I was wearing the madras shirt and Capri pants she bought for me at Fisherman’s Wharf.
I pulled her to me and kissed her. ‘Why did we have to meet through an ad, Bel?’
She nuzzled my neck, tilting my chin for another kiss. ‘We were both horny, that’s why. But I’ve got a plan to get you away from that grim day job of yours. You’re going to be so glad you met me … if you’ll forgive my lack of modesty.’
I stroked her chest under the proverbial leather jacket she wore like a second skin and was relieved she hadn’t trussed her breasts again.
There was no telling if we’d make it back to her place in Pacific Heights without crashing. The attar of new BMW upholstery filled my nostrils and admittedly elevated what might otherwise have been a tawdry experience. I was having difficulty shaking the image of all those pasties blinking at me like bike reflectors.
Bella owned a condo off Clay Street: another red flag.
Before I could admire the artwork on the walls and objets d’art daubing every available surface, my lover was tying my wrists behind a ladder-back chair and diving between my legs. She fastened her lips to my clit and let her tongue go haywire. It was maddening not being able to touch her back. Every time she pulled away to fork her fingers into my sex I wanted to push her face back to my pussy where it belonged.
But she was a giving lover so when I begged her to fuck me with her tongue she did. She licked my lobe frantically until I was rocking in my seat. She kept my loins parted until they were trembling and she adjusted her palate to my labia as if sampling a fine liqueur.
When her lips moved in tandem with her fingers I thought I’d melt from sheer pleasure. She made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world as she licked and loved my quim like it was the most precious thing ever.
Finally sated, she led me to her bedroom where we made exquisite love, enjoying each other with luscious abandon. She had a symbol tattooed to her sternum. I kissed round the familiar icon, tracing a trail down to her own sweet mound. Her pussy was tighter than a snapped reticule and lavish with nectar. She came readily enough as I fingerfucked her moist mound with only one digit and let my tongue orbit her labia till I thought I’d go dizzy with my own ministrations.
***
We must have set a record for orgasms. She surprised me in the morning with coffee and scones. Above the aroma of my favourite brew and pastries reticent of cinnamon and butter, I could still smell and taste her female gifts. The promise of sex permeated the air and clung to our clothes. My ears were still ringing from shouts fisting from under the covers. My jaw hurt. It was a good thing I didn’t have to face my boss for another two days. I needed time to recover.
I thought it would be awkward seeing Bella in normal light but one of her many talents was for lending normalcy to the less intrepid. I tried not to think where this relationship was headed. Tried only to savour the moment.
‘What are you thinking, Ashley?’ She tucked a stray lock over my ear.
‘I’m thinking it’s unusual for someone our age to have an original Diane Arbus photograph hanging in the foyer. I know you don’t come from money.’
She leaned back in her seat and picked at her scone. ‘Like I said, this town eats women alive. If you stick with me, you’ll always eat well.’
‘We’ll see, Bella. We’ll see.’
‘Get in.’
The limo blocks my path, the rear door already yawning open. It screeched to a halt right up on the kerb, blocking the end of the alleyway, leaving me nowhere to run.
The men behind me are gaining now, their trainers pounding the pavement. They’re nearly on me, laughing to each other as they close in.
To them it’s a game.
I got a head start with a sharp knee to a groin and made for the side roads but I can’t run far. My skirt’s too tight, my heels too high and I’m desperate.
I’ve no time even to kick them off.
At the first lunge of the gang towards my plunging neckline – ripping the thin satin away from one breast, exposing the upper curve of the other – they sensed fear. My dash to escape was pure panic – a blind deer-leap for freedom at a whiff of wolf.
My one hope was the high