Submitted by Penny Raihne (9/2/2004)

The Chemistry was unfathomable, and entirely unexpected. But it was explosive, and I could not ignore it. Only a fool does that.

I almost hadn't come. I had been accosted earlier in the evening, and had unwillingly donated my last ten dollars to someone's drug fund. I felt uncomfortable showing up with no money, but I had been looking forward to this event for 3 weeks. So I showed up anyway, hoping I could earn my way in by offering to help.

Tralala, as always, was stunning and sweet, and took pity on me, but it took me 40 minutes to convince her to let me do something to help out.

So dressed up in my sexiest big girl lingerie, looking (I hoped) somewhat presentable, if not downright foxy, I took up a spot by the bar and opened a kissing booth.

Now, I had not in all honesty expected a great deal of success. I am not by any means a supermodel, and years of poor parenting and societal impositions had left me with poor self-esteem, and a distinct belief that my kind is rarely if ever welcomed with open arms in these environments. Sadly, I often found this belief to be true.

But I had decided in no uncertain terms that tonight, society be damned, my parents be damned, I was going to have fun, I was going to help others have fun, and I was going to be so sexy and beautiful tonight that no one would care what was in my panties.

Now in a perfect world, no one would care what was between anyone's legs, they'd like you for what was in your heart. But I had long ago learned that this is far from a perfect world, and most of the time, I was an outsider.

Tonight I was not. I looked good, I felt good. I had come to see Tralala, that sexy beast, and to meet Elaine Miller, my favorite local sex writer. And I refused to allow anyone else's hang-ups, and more importantly my own paranoia, to ruin my evening.

I had expected a friend to join me here this evening, and frequently went outside to see if she'd arrived. She never did show up, but during one of my checks, I met HER.

Now I stress the word HER because that's the most direct way I can conceive to relay to you the effect she had on me. I casually reminded her and the other girls having their smoke break of the kissing booth, to which she replied by smiling mischieviously and kissing me on the spot, raving over my lingerie ensemble and telling me how I was exuding sexiness.

My cheeks flushed, and I felt my ego swelling.

Among other things.

I quickly retreated back inside to my little booth, and accepted my first kiss of the evening from a friend who wanted to get me started on a good note. After this, I sat quietly swaying to the burlesque sounding music, watching everyone mull about having fun, waiting for the first reader to take the stage at ten, when she seemed to just suddenly appear before me. It was HER.

She smiled at me, almost lewdly, and said nothing for a moment, just swaying to the music. She was a stunning soft butch, in her sweater that said Lust and her faded blue jeans. She dug into her pocket for two loonies, which she dropped in my tip glass with a satisfying clink, and told me point blank she'd come for a kiss. I smiled and leaned forward, expecting to kiss her on the cheek as is the usual method used at a kissing booth, when she forcibly took hold of my chin, and pulled my lips to hers.

I instinctively succumbed. I could do nothing else. I am by nature submissive, although I usually end up manuevred into being the top with my lovers. It's an odd contrast. Women who accept me fully as the woman I am, until they see me naked, and suddenly, in the back of their mind, my identity to them becomes irrevocably tied in to THAT THING, and they start fucking me as they would a man, which is entirely unsettling, and more often that not leads to me politely excusing myself to go to the ladies room and cry.

This was not a problem with HER. She knew what I was. Most of the Lick regulars do. I've never seen any point in lying about what I am. Sure, I could tell people I'm 100% female insted of a hermaphrodite, and be more accepted, but unfortunately, those kinds of secrets ALWAYS get found out. Better to just be honest about it, and be loved or hated for what I truly am.

I am a girl with a built-in strap-on.

And she didn't seem to care.

She lingered for a moment, her lips a scant distance from mine, her breath caressing my neck, and then smiling, she dove in, kissing me as fiercely and deeply as ever I had been kissed. Her tongue ring played chopsticks on my teeth from behind, her tongue itself fighting to pin mine down like there was Olympic Gold on the line if she failed to trap it in place. Her teeth bit my lips and tugged them into her mouth. I felt my lip was the remains of a spicy wing, being picked clean by her hunger. I felt my breath being forcibly sucked from my lungs, and my breasts seemed to be trying to turn themselves upwards, hoping to catch the attention of her hands.

After almost 2 minutes, she pulled her lips away and slapped my left cheek, hard. The quick and unexpected sting sent a jolt of exstacy firing down my spine, and I was teetering on the brink. Thanks to my unique body chemistry as an intersexed woman, combined with my vivid imagination, I have discovered that I am EXTREMELY easy to set off in the right hands.

She seemed to know this instinctively, and as I sat there in the chair, quivering, biting my lips, and looking pleadingly at her, she suddenly reached her hand behind my head, and bringing her face back to mine, smiling, she grabbed a big clump of my ash blonde hair, and violently yanked my head backwards.

I came right there, in her hand. I felt my body convulse beneath her, surrounded by friends and strangers in the bar, and completely oblivious to whether or not any of them saw me.

The quivering faded as I gasped for oxygen, and she kissed my forehead. Without another word, only a wry grin, she wandered off to enjoy another cigarette. Beside me, atop the covered pool table, sat the evening's French Maid, who had previously gone up on stage with me during technical difficulties to wiggle for the crowd and distract them. While we were up there, she distracted me instead by sucking on my tongue like a $2 popsicle.

She was smiling at me. She hadn't been watching, but she was now staring at me, and apparently I was glowing, because she knew exactly what had happened.

"Should I watch your tip glass while you go freshen up honey?" she asked coyly.

I sat for a moment, crossed my legs, and smiled at her.

"I'm in a lesbian bar dear, I really don't think I should stand up just now."

I think the next time I attend one of Tralala's events, I shall make it a point to wear tighter panties. Then if SHE is there again, I won't need to sit with my legs uncomfortably crossed for 15 minutes before feeling safe darting to the washroom to clean up after her kisses.

Then again, I think next time, I'll bring her in there with me.

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