Chapter 7: George

Summer moved into autumn, September was soon going to be October, and for the first time I had a sense that my life was not going the way I had hoped. I started to have misgivings about my submissive behaviours, about my need to debase myself whenever Cheryl told me to do something humiliating and degrading and my constant need for arousal through these awful behaviours.

I still loved Cheryl, although maybe in new way, a way that left me increasingly worried about what she would make me do next. She in turn still loved me and genuinely believed she was only doing things to me that she knew in my head I really wanted. She felt she was just helping me; by getting me to do the things I needed to reach my goal of being a total slut. But also, deep down, I knew she was right and there were still depths to sink to before I would be done.

A few weeks after that first night being shared with Patsy, and now regularly being given to the terrible Ronald, I was sitting on the sofa in the lesbian bar in Manchester. I was flashing my pussy at two hard butch friends of Cheryl, who had got held up at work, when the conversation turned to other lesbian bars worth visiting. One of them mentioned a notorious bar in Bristol.

“It is full of hard bull dykes, much worse than anyone here, and they would love to get their hands on a pussy flashing little princess like you.” They both laughed, and pretended to look up my skirt, although there was no need as my knees were apart as usual and the skirt was already above mid-thigh – we all laughed together.

Later, back home with Cheryl, I told her about the Bristol bar, and said it sounded like fun, should we go together one day? She shocked me with her reply. She told me no, we should not go together, but I should maybe go on my own. She thought I needed to find out for myself what it was really like to be a submissive little slut without her to protect me. Going somewhere far from her would give me the space to find out. “But what if I meet someone like I did you?” I protested. She simply told me not to tell her anything about it, not even when I was going.

So, with her blessing, I planned my next adventure! I had been wondering what it would be like to have sex with another woman, other than Cheryl and Patsy, but knew I would never do anything with her other friends and neighbours in Manchester, and I did not want to do anything at home in London. Suddenly being given permission to explore my sexuality was an exciting proposition and one I accepted in the spirit in which it was granted.

I went online and researched the Bristol gay/lesbian scene and found out a bit more about the club – it was a pop-up lesbian night every two weeks in a gay pub. I also joined a couple of lesbian chatrooms and began to talk with other girls about the club scene around the country, but always focusing in on Bristol. The more I heard about it, the more excited I was by the prospect of going there.

I had no work reason to be in Bristol so decided to take a couple of days holiday – down there one day, stay the night and back to London the next day seemed a good plan. Who I might spend the night with was an unknown that made my pussy twitch with anticipation. I was not scared or nervous, I was just looking for a nice lesbian experience to convince me that Cheryl was right and I am really 100% lesbian – and a slut!

So, the first week in September, I booked a cheap hotel not far from the club, travelled down by train, dressed in a short skirt and baggy sweater, no undies as usual, and spent the entire trip with my legs apart, gently playing with my pussy and dreaming about what might happen tonight. Taking a taxi to the hotel, I checked in and went to my room for a shower and to change into my clothes for the evening. I aimed to get there about 9.00pm when it should be busy.

I chose a simple denim skirt, mid-thigh length that I knew my Manchester dyke friends liked, and another tight-fitting, unlined white boob tube that showed my perky nipples on my small breasts and left several inches of bare midriff on show below. I looked small, younger than my 30 years and with minimal make-up and my hair in its soft pony tail, I thought I might appeal to someone like my friends in Manchester. Flat slip-on sandals made me my true height, and look even smaller. I had a shoulder bag with room key, purse, phone, a credit card and some cash, plus lippy and hair brush. I thought I looked good!

When I reached the Bristol lesbian bar, my first without Cheryl’s protective arm around me, I suddenly had a panic attack but quickly calmed my nerves and opened the door. As I stepped inside there were lots of women talking in groups, laughing, and having a good time. There seemed to be a fair few dykes around, particularly by the bar, so I squeezed my way through to the bar. When I got there and was about to order my drink from the bartender, she looked at me and grinned, before asking me if she should check my ID for age; I laughed with her and told her “If only!”

I asked her for a gin and tonic and as she put it in front of me, a large hand rested on my shoulder and a friendly voice said, “Let me get that for you – put it on my tab Brenda.” Brenda grinned and looking at me said “You have pulled already, quick work girl!” and turned to serve somebody else. I turned to look at my benefactor and found a big dyke, bigger than Sheryl in all dimensions, and with a shy smile whispered “thank you” to her.

She said hi and, still with her big hand on my bare shoulder, asked me what a pretty, little, femme princess like me was doing in a place like this. I had rehearsed my story so told her I had to be in Bristol for work today and two of my girlfriends had told me about this place, so I thought I would come along and have some fun. She asked me if my two friends were dykes and I told her they were, to which she grinned and told me they must know what kind of place this can be.