Denise liked Mindy a lot. She had been attracted to the short-haired, vaguely butch girl ever since they met at a party held by a mutual acquaintance, but at this point it was beyond physical lust. There was something about the girl's personality, the quiet energy she radiated, that Denise found herself addicted to. She couldn't put her finger on it, but after Mindy left she always found herself desperately wanting more. So they spent more and more time together, rationalizing it as just another fifteen minutes at the bar or just another hour over at Denise's house watching old movies. It was this stickiness that meant that even in the first moon of their courtship they had spent this whole weekend stuck to each other. Yes, everything seemed to be going well on the romantic front indeed.
But some things override affection, are such completely unforgivable secrets that all the cute smiles in the world can't overcome them. And Mindy had just dropped one of those deal-breakers on the small table of the crowded breakfast restaurant.
Denise stared agape. "You don't like music? What does that even mean?"
Mindy shrugged. "What it sounds like."
"No, but I mean -- you can not like rap music, or rock, or country, but music itself is just too big. Everyone likes some kind of music. Even old people listen to music. It's a part of our culture. You can't just dismiss it all."
Mindy glanced towards their waitress, balancing two trays of eggy dishes through the fried haze. But alas, she walked on past them without depositing any of the life-sustaining breakfast. "Look, I've heard this rant a lot of times. It just doesn't do anything for me. Maybe I'm tone-deaf or something."
"Well have you only listened to the radio? Because there's a lot of better stuff out there, let me tell you. When we get home I'm lending you my Fugazi comp." Denise was adamant about this, leaning forward and staring at her girlfriend with all the intensity of a human rights tribunal.
"I've listened to a bit of indie music and all that," said Mindy. "But I'm just pretty indifferent to the whole thing. I mean, I guess I'd always rather watch a movie instead." Denise could believe this -- Mindy's walls were covered with posters of films from Die Hard to Talk to Her to films that Denise had never even heard of. But it wasn't like Denise never watched movies, or said categorically that she didn't like them.
Still, she could tell Mindy was a bit uncomfortable about the inquisition. "I guess I'll have to find someone else to see St. Vincent with next month."
Mindy stared at the no-smoking sign on the table and muttered "So, um ... about what we were talking about last night..."
"This is you changing the subject?"
Mindy turned crimson. It was kind of the most adorable thing.
It had first come out in bed last night, when both of them had been staring up at the ceiling stunned. Neither had intended to go all the way, just to fool around a bit. But there was a kind of incredible chemistry between their bodies, which responded to each other giddily and quickly wrested control away from their reluctant minds. The next thing she knew, Mindy was burrowed into her pussy, and Denise had found herself shouting out orders along with the occasional epithet.
In their state of postcoital relaxation, Mindy had confessed that she had loved it when Denise bossed her around, and the two of them started talking about fantasies, which soon got pretty kinky, as if both of them were trying to top the other and make them say uncle, or perhaps "freak". But they weren't ashamed -- with their bodies pressed together in Denise's single bed, a strange frankness ruled.
But that didn't seem to be the case anymore, judging by the furious blush spreading across Mindy's face and down her neck. Denise smiled and took the petite girl's hand in hers. "It's okay. That was just pillow talk. It didn't have to mean anything."
"No, I mean ... I wanna try it," said Mindy. "All that stuff I've always felt bad about fantasizing about. Getting tied up, getting dominated, being whipped and choked ... I dunno." Denise glanced around for prurient eavesdroppers, but the din of conversation was far too loud to hear any one speaker in particular. "I mentioned it to my last girlfriend and she just said that I was internalizing my guilt or societal misogyny or something. Maybe she was right."
"Maybe," said Denise. "But I mean, you don't get to choose what turns you on. Why doesn't matter -- the only question I'm thinking of is how." She gave her new girlfriend an askew grin.
Mindy was now expecting in detail every chip on the diner table's surface. "Can you forget I said anything?"
"Aw, are you becoming repressed?"
"No. It's just -- I don't want to pressure you into anything you don't want to do, is all."
Denise thought about that for a moment. It was true -- she had never fantasized about whips and chains the way Mindy apparently had, rubbing herself furiously to poorly-written S&M erotica. Sure, she yelled out some vulgar and downright mean stuff during sex -- but that was just dirty talk. It was a normal part of copulation for her. But she wasn't entirely opposed to going a bit further. And she desperately wanted to please this nervous creature before her.
"I don't think you have to worry about that," said Denise. "In fact, why don't we go back to your place after this and I show you exactly how much I don't mind."
Mindy paled, glancing around to see if any of the other diners were listening to Denise's increasingly bald provocations, but once again everyone else was too absorbed in their own business. She tried to stutter out a response, but couldn't quite manage. Denise had a sudden desire to bend her over the table and start fingerfucking her right there. She was just so cute when she was nervous.
Then the food came, and it spared Mindy from having to come up with a response to that. But Denise was going to make sure that this wasn't over.
The two women actually lived within a half-dozen blocks of each other, a fact that had amazed them both but ultimately suggested a kind of fate that neither of them was quite comfortable believing in. Denise tended bar at a local gastropub while Mindy was finishing up her bachelor's in anthropology. The breakfast restaurant had been an unnecessary but delicious stopover between Denise's basement apartment, rented from a nice and undercharging older couple, and Mindy's slim duplex. Denise was kind of startled by the light as she walked into her partner's place: she wasn't used to homes that were above ground.
"So, uh, you want to watch a movie or something?" said Mindy, gesturing towards a full wall of DVD racks.
Denise grabbed Mindy by the collar. "I had something different in mind."
She moved in for a kiss, but was put off a bit by the expression on Mindy's face. It was nervousness cut with a bit of fear. She looked uncomfortable. The last thing Denise had ever wanted to do was make Mindy uncomfortable. She considered letting go, stopping this thing -- whatever this thing was -- before it got out of hand. After all, hadn't she be the one pushing it, trying to turn a fantasy into reality against Mindy's own reservations.
But then she noticed a bit of hope, maybe even desire, mixed in among the anxiety. Maybe Mindy wanted to be pushed out of her comfort zone, to be made to feel as though she was under attack. Maybe that panic was what got her off. Denise didn't understand it herself, but that didn't mean that she couldn't go along with it.
And so she tightened her hold on the petite girl's collar. "We sh -- I mean, we're going to the bedroom." Mindy nodded meekly.
With the other girl's shirt bunched up in her fist, Denise lead Mindy up the stairs to the queen-sized navy blue bed, whose sheets they had messed up a few times already. Denise lightly shoved Mindy towards the bed, and Mindy rushed onto it, rolling over into a prone position. God, it was so easy to dominate her. Mindy's eyes shone with a level of compliance that was downright spooky.
The only problem was that Denise wasn't quite sure what to do next. She tried to put herself in the shoes of a dominant, but all she could think of was one of those asshole guys from porn. "Take you clothes off," she said, hoping it was appropriately authoritative.
It worked. Mindy began fumbling with the buttons of her flannel shirt, and a strange rush went through Denise as she saw her order obeyed. With trembling hands Mindy eventually shucked the shirt, and then the slim black tank top beneath it, and then the sports bra under that. She unpeeled herself, revealing under each layer more and more of that soft creamy skin. And then, at last, her little conical tits bravely venturing forth into the world.
If it weren't for the shaking of her hands one could almost describe the way Mindy disrobed as businesslike, maybe even a little mechanical. She calmly hooked her thumbs into the jean skirt she had been wearing and tugged it down until it fell into a clump around her ankles. She did the same for her plain black panties. The last thing to be removed were her neon-coloured kneesocks, a prodigiously cute item that Denise had envied but knew quietly that she would never be able to make work. Mindy then climbed onto the bed silently and rolled over. She presented herself with her bent legs spread apart, like waves parting to reveal the holy land: her bushy, moist cunt.
.... There is more of this story ...