Bisexual Women Story – The Rendezvous

It was 9:00 a.m. My eyes opened, automatically. But, I knew that the phone call wasn’t coming. I had just grown used to it.

For 18 blissfull months, I started my day with a jingle, and a “good morning, baby……..I sure missed you last night,” on mornings, when she wasn’t there.

And, now, she wasn’t there, and the phone calls didn’t come very often, anymore. Except an occasional friendly call, to catch up on important news.

I guess I didn’t hide my disappointment very well, and it was a drag to call me. No chance that it was as hard on her, as it was on me, I supposed. I was not ready to feel anything but negative.

I had a hollow spot, where all of my joy used to be.

Bette and I had shared a great damned time, though. Every time I started to get really upset, I just flashed on one of our countless moments of wonder, and ecstasy, and I would remember how lucky I was to have ever been there at all. Even if it wasn’t forever.

Bette’s father was a politician in Missouri. The LG. He had found out about her relationship with me, and had a stroke (practically). He insisted that Bette break it off with me. Bette’s father not only insisted that she break it off with me, he got Bette a house gig at a very popular blues club in St. Louis, that a friend of his happened to own. Steady. Five nights a week. It was too good to pass up. Bette packed up, and moved it back to St. Louis. And, she had made a big hit. She was going places fast. She had signed with a label, and had possibilities.

So, I couldn’t blame her for cooperating. But, I sure missed her.

I knew I wasn’t going to go back to sleep. And, I had a ton of things to do, anyway, because it was HALLOWEEN!

Halloween at the Blue Note, the Texas blues club where I worked, was an unparallelled party. I was getting excited just thinking about it. I was trying hard these days to be enthusiastic.

I sprang out of bed. Why wait? My whole life was a party. I decided to get up, get showered, and get ready for work. About four hours early. But, what the hell? I wanted to make the club VERY special, for tonight. It would keep me focused. We were having a costume party. We had advertised the party for 3 months and expected a huge turn out. We were awarding prizes to the top 3 best costumes, with categories for men, and women. Paid bar tabs, for the top 3 costumes in each category. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted the decorations to be spectacular, and I wanted everyone to have a memorable night. I loved the club business.

I turned on my stereo. Tom Petty.

There was a little girl, I used t o know her
I still think about her, time to time
There was a moment when I really loved her
Then one day the feeling just died….”

EEew. Hope that didn’t happen.

I wanted my bartenders to knock them dead, and my waitresses to sparkle with personality, tonight. I thought, I’d go in to work early, get the majority of the hard work done, and get everyone in a partying mood, before our night got started.

I’d make some triple espresso with kahlua, and give them halloween candy. That would be a nice treat. Witches brew. Caffeine to energize and alcohol to loosen them up a little.

I wanted to take plenty of costume accessories, and make sure that everyone was as special as they could possibly be. I gave the staff a choice. They could wear a costume, or wear a tuxedo. Boys, or girls. So, either way- they would look great.

After my shower, I looked through my closet, and gathered some items that might be useful for costuming. Two pairs of chaps- one rough out, and one wooley; a bag of feather boas, a leopard print bustier, leather corset, a red snake skin contour cut belt with a dozen heart shaped silver conchos, and my name, “BLUE”, in silver letters; a nun’s habit (don’t ask [huh, Lisa?]), a bullwhip, a calf rope, pig ties; a bag of various styles of stockings, garter belts and bodystockings, a red leather mini skirt, with a matching red bomber jacket, 4 pairs of 4 inch stillettos with ankle straps. A black velvet cape, with red satin lining. I must admit, I did wonder if perhaps I looked a little like someone associated with Strippers Charlotte, but at the time, I did look brilliant if I say so myself. Things no home should be without. I would be kind, and share them with my co-workers. I placed everything in a big duffle bag, and moved my search mission towards my vanity.

In my bathroom closet, I pulled out all of the left over grease paint from halloweens past, and assessed what cosmetics I would need to pick up. I pulled out my box marked “halloween”. I inventoried the contents. 4 cans of spray hair color. Theatrical make up in both water based, and grease based formulas. 3 varieties of fake teeth. 2 partial bottles of fake blood. I added the items to the duffle bag. Darn. I couldn’t validate buying more, with all of this shit, and I just LOVED to buy costumes.

I got my costume, and added it to the bag. I was going to fool everyone, this year. I had already done a test run on my costume. I was going to be a metal head. When I put my costume on, I didn’t even recognize MYSELF.

I decided to wear a black bodystocking with a purple velvety minidress, and black patent leather platform boots with 5 inch heels. They were knee high, and had five straps around the back of the calf, and chrome buckles. I doubt that anyone had EVER seen me in a dress. I wore jeans, or khakis. Always. Now, too. I would change into my costume, later.

This was going to be fun.

I got my things together, and locked it up, and headed for my truck. I lived on a lake. The ducks missed Bette. She fed them. I guess they were getting over it, because they did not come quacking. It was 10:30 a.m. They were under the pier napping, after their breakfast with their heads tucked under their wing. I watched some boys fishing off of the long, public pier down the shore from me, in the common area, by the clubhouse. I heard the whining motor of a radio controlled speed boat, cutting a path across the water, the controller making it spray miniature rooster tails. Looked like fun. My blue chevy pick up waited in the parking lot at the foot of my stairs, off my balcony.

I saw when I drove up that my boss, Ken, was either still there, or there already. No telling. Either would be typical. His car was parked in the rear of the club. Ken was taking a big chance. I knew that his wife, Kathleen was pissed off at him, and had been looking for him, the night before. Kathleen was known for clearing paths with destruction. She had destroyed many of Ken’s vehicles. She slashed his Pirelli tires. Spray painted his ragtops, hammered holes through his fiberglass, keyed his 17 coats of hand rubbed laquer, threw bricks through his tinted safety glass. Kathleen didn’t stop with automobile damage. I had, myself, see her swing an aluminum baseball bat until she had shattered every single liquor bottle in the club, one night. She drove her car through the front door, once. And, once, she drove her car through someone else’s club, because she saw Ken’s car parked out front. Kathleen was an extremely jealous woman, and if she suspected that Ken was fooling around- she went insane. And, unfortunately, even with the ever threatening wrath of Kathleen looming sinister over all of Ken’s misdeeds- Ken was still prone to lapses of intelligence. Theirs was a volatile, and costly relationship. I did not know WHY they stayed together. For the sake of their three sons, I guess. Three little copy and pastes of Ken, that reminded you of a cornfield planted in successions. Little Kens at various stages of growth.

I was grateful that Kathleen liked me, and left me alone. My truck was safe from her. I parked it, and entered the club throught the back door.

Ken was bare chested, and sweating, muscles rippling over his chest and abdomen. His chiseled face was outlined by a trimmed black beard, with a patch of white in the center of his chin, revealing a dimple through its transluscense. His hair was black, except for a shock of white, in front, at his widow’s peak. He had one blue eye, and one brown eye. Like a DOG, I always thought. My business relationship with Ken allowed us to relate on a completely different level. He was rich, and handsome, and I considered him to be satan’s evil twin. But, he was a smart businessman, and the only thing we cared about together was the success of the club. We did our best to stay out of each other’s personal lives. As much as any two people who work together in a focused, and intense way, CAN stay out of each other’s way.

I watched Ken and some guy with a nail gun inspecting 2″ x 4″s. They had raised the stage and now they were skirting it in, and building a new rear stair, and drying in the sheet rock around the facade. Another couple of carpenters worked on enlarging the raised parquet dancefloor.

Ken hadn’t mentioned anything about repairs or improvements. These guys must owe him money, I guessed. The jukebox was turned up loud. Ray Charles was singing Drown In My Own Tears.

The club was freezing cold. We kept the air conditioner running all of the time. The room smelled like stale beer and cigarette smoke. When there were no warm bodies generating heat, it was like a meat hangar in there. You could see your breath make fog. I was wearing jeans, and a hot pink “Mary’s” sweatshirt. I wore the sweatshirt just because I knew that Ken hated it. “Mary’s” was a popular leather bar in town.

Ken noticed me, and then the shirt. “What have I told you about wearing that queer shit in here?”

I stuck my middle finger up, shot him the bird, and took my stuff to the office. Ken cussed me. I would change into my costume, later. Now, I had work to do.

The air was split with the whining scream of a saw blade slicing through a board. Occasionally, a nail from a nail gun would “THUNK” through a thick plank. The upright bagless vacuum cleaners whirred annoyingly, too. I caught an occasional “Tell Me What’d I Say?” out of brother Ray, from the jukebox.

I checked all of the beer coolers, and estimated how many cases of beer was needed for stock and then, I made a list of liquor bottles needed at each speed rack. I wheeled cases of beer and liquor around on a dolly. After I stocked all of the coolers, and wells at the bar stations, I estimated my liquor and beer order, and called Roma’s to restock us. I wanted all of the work to be done, before all of the waitresses and bartenders arrived. It was my gift to them. I cut up lemons and limes. I filled the olive and cherry containers. I made sure all of the CO2 bottles were full, and the syrup canisters were heavy. The glasses were washed. Mugs were chilling. The stems were polished, and the bathrooms smelled like Las Vegas at 5:00 a.m.

The cleaning crew was grumbling about the sawdust. The carpenters were grumbling about the vacuum cleaners. Ken was grumbling that the carpenters needed to finish, so the cleaning crew could finish. I was grumbling that they ALL should finish, because I had a lot I needed to do to the stage, and dance floor, and they were in my way.

I busied myself polishing table tops, and wiping down guest chairs. I had ordered black table cloths, and I had bought special candles for each table. Black cats whose green eyes glowed over a yellow full moon, orange jack o’ lanterns with glowing yellow teeth, a white ghostly Scream likeness. I hung thousands of long, curly streams of black and orange ribbons from the ceiling tiles. The tool rental company I had contracted brought 3 fog machines, and gave me operating instructions.

I went to the sound board. I traced a tape player to the channel one switch on the mixing board. I put in a tape on a long, continuous loop, of a wolf howling. I flipped it on, and hit the speakers. An eerie wolf howling session emanated from every speaker in the club, at 15 minute intervals.

I replaced light bulbs with ultra violet bulbs. I had dozens and dozens of little frozen plastic eyeballs to put in the drinks, and I had purchased 1000 glow sticks.

We wouldn’t be lacking for presentation and atmosphere. Ken was pleased with my efforts. I saw him across the bar, hands on hips, eyes picking up on every little detail. It was Ken’s eye for detail and his ability to focus that made his clubs successful. Ken knew that it was the little things that appealed to people. I learned a lot from Ken.

By 3:00 P.M., the dance floor project was completed, and the new, larger dance floor was buffed shiny, and slick. The stage was completed, and the paint was drying on the sheetrock patch job. Ken, and his crew of indebted carpenters had disappeared. The cleaning crew was gone. The machine noises were silenced and the music sounded great. Otis Redding was singing, “Try a Little Tenderness”. That was an oldie, I thought. I had sprayed the railings with clear flourescent paint. It glowed under blacklight, but was invisible in normal light. I scattered little glittery halloween confetti shapes all over the floor, and on the table tops.

I stood back, and admired my work. The bar staff would be showing up, soon. I was happy with my results. And, I knew everyone would appreciate not having to do a bunch of stocking and prep work. We could get into the spirit of things, and perfect our costumes, and socialize a little before the bar customers started arriving.

It was 4:30. I decided to take myself and my costume to the bathroom, and get ready for the show.

By the time I got into the bodystocking and dress, strapped on all of the buckles on my boots, applied the black and white makeup perfectly, and sprayed my purple hair color, until my hair stood out like a Medusa, it was almost 7:00. The bar staff, and the customers were arriving. With the 5 inch heels, and the extra height on my hair, I looked especially long, and lanky. My legs looked a yard long. I had a black leather belt, with heavy metal spikes circling my waist. Black leather bands on both wrists. A black spiked dog collar. With the bodystocking, I didn’t have to worry about keeping my butt covered.

Ken and Kathleen arrived together. They were dressed as Gomez and Morticia Addams. It was appropriate. Kathleen and Ken had the same types of exchanges, but without the warmth and love of the Addams.

My waitresses looked adorable dressed like nurses, french maids, hookers, witches and vampiresses. One waitress, Lydia, was dressed like a cowboy. She had borrowed my chaps. She wasn’t a cowgirl. She was a cowBOY. If I didn’t feel shy about staring, I would have looked closer. I’d have sworn she was packing. She looked very sexy. Her hard butt in skin tight jeans was framed by the leather chaps. There was a bulge under the zipper in front. I’d swear to it. She wore a Tom Mix flap on her western shirt, and a red bandana. She had short black hair, slicked straight back. She wore a black hat, with the brim pulled down low over her eyes. She wore heavy makeup, accentuating her beautiful face which was an illustration of her latin blood. I’d like to go up, and grab Lydia’s crotch, I thought. I resisted the urge. THAT time.

Everybody loved me, because I had done the opening prep work. And lots of people were sporting accessories that I had brought. That made me feel good. Everyone was in a great mood.

The Renfrow Brothers Blues Band were dressed up like Chicago bluesmen. They had really hammed it up. They had on zoot suits, and black rimmed sunshades, panama hats, spectator shoes. Hawaiian shirts. They looked great. They were wound up.

Most of the customers were in costume. That meant everyone was in a festive mood. When they showed up with no costumes, you knew it wasn’t going to flow.

By 10:00 P.M., the dance floor was staying full. I was right. No one recognized me in my costume. Which meant that I wasn’t getting much attention. What was I thinking? People would try not to stare at me, but I could see their eyes cutting over at me as they tried to figure out why I looked vaguely familiar.

Everyone was having a great time. But, me. So, I decided to go home. I had already put in a day’s work. They could handle the rest of it without me. My mission was accomplished. And, it was Saturday night. I got the next three days off.

I had to go to the bathroom. I decided to make a stop in the ladies room, before I went home.

The only problem was that bodystocking. I had to get completely undressed, practically, to go to the bathroom. I pushed the swinging entry door open, and was surveying the stalls for an empty one, looking under each door, for feet. My heart stood still for a moment, before leaping out of my throat. I recognized those boots. Those black, suede boots, with the pointy toes and the spike heels. And, she wore a silver chain around the ankle, on the outside of the boot.

The door opened. I was face to face with Bette! Her eyes were wide at first with surprise, then with slow to realize recognition that took a couple of seconds, before she was certain it was me. I looked down at her boots. Bette had on a short wool skirt, black hose, and a sleeveless magenta sweater. She was not in costume.

“Trick or treat,” she smiled. Bette laughed at my costume. “Girl. You look like a scarecrow. A punk scarecrow. No wonder I couldn’t find you. I kept asking everyone if they had seen you. Everyone kept saying ‘No’. Now I know why. I wouldn’t recognize you in a dark room, either.”

“What are you doing here? I’m a metal head, bitch. Not a punk.””

“Oh, Blue! I’m a prisoner in St. Louis. I had to escape for a while. My dad has driven me crazy. I can’t even call you on the telephone. I’ve missed you, Blue. I love you.” She was crying, a little. “Last time I looked, you were writing schedules, and I was the musician. And, I say you’re PUNK.”

The next instant her soft lips were pressed against mine. I wrapped my arms around her. I felt the energy flow between our bodies. It was bittersweet. My heart stung, as all of those weeks of healing were abruptly snatched away with one kiss.

“I’ve been saving money. Hiding money, is more like the truth. My dad watches my every move. He’s so afraid I will do something to hurt him politically. I have saved enough for two tickets to Mexico. I already reserved a room, and bought the tickets. Let’s go, for a couple of days. Come on, Blue. Of course, it’ll take you an awfully long time to get that crap off of your face, and we don’t have long before our flight leaves.” She laughed.

Bette told me that her career was going really well. She loved the club where she was working, and she was getting an album together. She made it clear that it was just for a few days. She just wanted to get lost with me for a few days, out from under the watchful eye of her father. But, then we would have to go back to our respective lives.

I thought about it.

“Can I pee, first?”

Bette smacked me. “OK, but HURRY!”

Two hours later, my make up was off, I was back in my jeans, and we were on the midnight long weekender lovebirds flight to Cozumel. I decided I would just buy what I needed, when I got there. Bette had come packed for the trip, and I could bum from her until I could get what I needed.

It only took a little over 2 hours to get to the little island off of the Yucatan Peninsula. Catching up on the details of each other’s lives, took our minds off of how much we wanted to make love. We tried to maintain a distance, but I think it was obvious that we were more than just friends. We kept the conversation flowing, because when it lulled, the simmering passion cooking within us fought to boil over beyond our control and cause us to rip each other’s clothes off, and satisfy our burning hot desire right there, in front of the second honey mooners, and the rendezvousers, and the college kids. I wondered how people could have sex on airplanes. We arrived at the little airport in Cozumel, and were unloaded and in a cab on the way to the hotel, by 2:30 A.M. We didn’t have much luggage. Just Bette’s carry on.

The moon was big and full. The sky was a velvet cloak of Prussian blue, strewn carelessly with twinkling diamonds. There was not much to see on the ride from the airport to the hotel. It was almost 3:00 A.M. The cab dropped us off, and we checked in at the hotel desk, and got the key to our room.

Our room was beach front with a view of the sea. We had a beautiful suite, The floors were streaked green marble. There were wide patio doors opening out onto a private veranda. We stood out on the veranda, and kissed under the bright moonlight. It was our paradise, for the next three days and nights. The excitement of our spontaneity, and our passion was making us rowdy.

We left the lights off. The moonlight through the open patio doors bathed the room in a silvery glow. There was a stocked mini bar full of those little bottles of liquor. We opened it with the key that the front desk had given us. It was included with the room. There were two bottles of champagne. Tonight, (or this morning, actually) everything was perfect, as far as I was concerned.

I peeled off the foil from around the neck of the champagne bottle, and popped the cork out. It was nice and cold. No overflow. I found two glasses, and poured us each one.

“To excellent times, Bette.” We raised our glasses, and drank. Then grinned wide grins at each other. I found the radio on the alarm clock. I tuned it into a college operated public station. Radio stations on the little island were limited. They were playing Aaron Neville “When a Man Loves a Woman”.

“Come here”, I reached my hand out to her. She took it. I pulled her closer to me. I grasped the hem of her magenta sweater, and pulled it off over her head. She reached behind her, and unzipped her little wool skirt, and let it drop to the floor.

She gave her dark mane a shake. It was always a mess. But, it was a very sexy mess.

We sat on the bed and started pulling off clothes. Our skin looked bluish in the light of the moon. The lights and shadows seemed to offer a new dimension. A strange depth. We kept the lights off, and the doors open. We could see the moonlight reflecting on the water past the shoreline on the waves of the sea beyond. We could smell the salty breeze. Slightly fishy, and humid. We could hear the waves splashing and crashing.

I kissed her. I could taste the salt on Bette’s mouth, carried there by the sea breeze. We lay back on the bed turned on our sides, and held each other tight, for a while, cheek to cheek, breasts to breasts. I could feel the rough texture of Bette’s bush against me even with my own, and pressing to me rythmically.

I stroked my hand along her side. I felt her rib cage become her tiny waist, and then rise into her hip. I traced the front of her thigh down to her curly black hair. I found the folds of skin at the top of and between her cunt lips, and pushed my fingers down further between the fleshiness to find her tight hole overflowing with slick wetness. Bette parted her legs for me, making it easier for me to touch her.

I started thinking about the beach. I started thinking about getting some sun. And, then I started thinking about putting lotion on Bette.

I turned Bette with her back to me, and pulled her tight against me. She pressed her back to my breasts, and lay her head on my arm. From behind her, I lightly guided my hand over Bette’s smooth flesh. I whispered into her ear, describing in detail about the lotion and how I longed to smooth her skin with it. How I wanted to feel her sunwarmed flesh under my touch. By the pool. While she lay on the lounge chair in front of the other guests. I wanted to innocently help her as she requested. Smoothing the thick, warm, fragrant lotion over her skin. Paying close attention to every inch of her body. I traced her outline with my finger tips, as I continued my description. I put my slick fingers on her clit, and began to stroke it in a wet, circular movement.

I whispered the fantasy in her ear, as I moved my fingers over and over her slick, wet clit: I squeeze the full bottle of sunwarmed lotion, shooting another warm stream of cream onto her hard, tanned stomach. The other guests are watching, as I rub your body. I feel every inch of your flesh under the slick warm jet of white creamy lotion. My fingers slip slightly under the elastic of your bathing suit. I trace my fingers under its tight seal. I rub the lotion up and down you inner thighs. Your legs are very discreetly only slightly parted. I can only occasionally graze your clit through the silky fabric of your bathing suit. I know when my fingers brush your excited pussy, that on the inside, you’re screaming. My fingers moved down to her cunt hole. I pushed my wet fingers into her tight pussy. I moved, and let Bette lay flat on her back. Now my body was above hers. I moved my head to her small, perfect breasts, cupping them, and sucked the nipples into my mouth. First one, and then the other.

I had to taste her. I pushed her legs apart, and positioned myself between her legs. I eagerly sought her sweet salty wetness with my tongue. I loved the way her juices tasted. I loved the way she smelled. I drank her in. She filled my senses. I found her tight little cunt hole, and pushed my tongue inside. The taste of her cunt was very similar to the salt that I tasted on Bette’s lips when I kissed her in the salty air. I found her clit with my tongue. I parted her lips, and licked her clit from the base to the just before the sensitive hot spot. I licked and licked my tongue over the hard clit, while I fucked her pussy with my fingers. I pushed two fingers into her and fucked and licked her hot wet cunt. Bette moved her hips up and down, meeting the inward stroke of my fingers into her tight pussy.

“Do my asshole, baby. I love it when you do my ass,” she whispered excitedly.

Making it wet and slick with her cum juice, I slipped one of my probing fingers out of her pussy, to the opening of her tight asshole. I kept the other finger in her vagina. My finger slipped slowly, and gently inside her ass. I rubbed my tongue up and down Bette’s hot, hard clit, and moved my fingers in and out of her, fucking her ass and her cunt at the same time.

“Oh, yeah,” Bette breathed, “that’s it, baby. Fuck me good. Lick my clit, while you fuck me, baby.” Her words made my cunt engorge on the blood that rushed there. I squeezed my legs together. My tongue continued it’s frenzied assault on her swollen, excited, clit, while my fingers fucked into her pumping, squeezing, pussy. My heart was pounding.

Soon Bette was gasping, and her cunt was spasming around my fingers. Her ass clenched in involuntary gripping clasping climax, as my fingers slipped slowly in and out, stimulating the last intense waves of her orgasm from her pussy. I slowly slipped my fingers out of her, as the pulsing ceased, and I held her close to me. I moved my hand down to my cunt, and kissed Bette, as I squeezed my hand between my thighs, and stroked my clit, and past it, and into my cunt, in and out and in, sending myself over the edge, where I had been teetering on the edge of my own orgasm.

My climax shook through me, and I held Bette while my body shuddered, and my breath caught in gasps. Our bodies relaxed, in total release. No one wanted to move.

Three more nights to go. I thought we could handle it. I reached for my champagne. Bette and I cuddled together, and listened to the sound of the seagulls, and waves lapping on the beach. Our gauzy drapes fluttered in the breeze, as the wind drifted in off of the crystal blue sea, outside of our room. Joe Cocker was singing “Have a Little Faith In Me”. We dozed and waited for the sunrise.

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