margarita was placed in my hand and then another. Someone had told Mira, the hostess, margaritas were my downfall. I tried to figure what kind of soirée this was even as the tequila coated my palate and curled my tongue most pleasantly.
I was led to an outdoor patio where several women were entwined in a sunken L-shaped pool. The view of the San Bruno Mountains couldn’t compete with so much exposed womanly flesh. The pool’s water was crystal clear. I could see hands touching genitals. One woman with bright-red hair arched her back and played with her own vagina.
Mira produced a scarf from a pocket of her linen shorts. She bent down and blindfolded the contorted woman.
‘Now, someone be nice and play with Tina.’
Mira looked from me to Bella expectantly, but we stood frozen in place. The golden-haired goddess shrugged and took off her clothes. She had no tan lines and I could just see her spending day after idle day frolicking at nude beaches.
The woman named Tina was lifted by her underarms out of the pool. Still wearing the blindfold, she gasped with pleasure as Mira’s face disappeared between her inner thighs.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I had heard of live sex shows but assumed they were relegated to sleazy men’s clubs and the sex industry’s equivalent of the vaudeville circuit. Bella relaxed her hand on my shoulder as if we were casually watching fireworks.
Two others joined the scene. They had been drinking in the living room but were now both naked. A petite woman with sleek, long black hair curled like a shrimp into the supine love interest now cresting toward orgasm. A short, muscular blonde took the other side, bookending the blindfolded woman as they tweaked her nipples and caressed her belly.
It was too much. I grabbed Bella’s hand and told her I wanted to go home. No sooner had I shut the car door though, I realised my panties were as wet as if they’d been dropped into the pool.
Without giving her a chance to resist, I yanked Bella’s arm to my crotch.
‘You need to get me off, right now. You got me into this mess.’
With one pull, my date torqued my panties round her fist. I leaned into the driver’s side and let her fuck me with her fingers. My loins were shaking; I wanted to get fucked so badly. She tilted my torso to achieve better purchase and soon I was coming on her hands, grabbing her shoulders and crying with relief.
We drove home in silence but she continually reached over and stroked my hair and brow. I desperately wanted to know what she really did for a living but a part of me didn’t want any more knowledge for a while. I looked out the window and this time took in the view of the glorious mountains.
Bella dropped me off at my North Beach apartment. I politely thanked her for lunch and for the clothes. I never expected to see her again, not that I didn’t want to. She was a mystery; if I could get beneath the gauze of her breast wrap, a story would surely unfold.
***
I ran a bath and let my body disappear beneath a cloud of bubbles. It felt so good to be in my own place with views of kitchen workers dumping garbage and Italian women hanging clothes on wooden pins.
Bella. Charming, inscrutable Bella. Why did she have to be so beautiful? To picture her was to want to be touched by her. I touched myself instead. I let my fingers glide over my belly and down to my vulva. I imagined my fingers were Bella’s digits pinching and probing, pumping my pussy over and over again.
I 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
