Sara knew she was obsessed: this was the fifth day in a row she came to this cafe for lunch looking for that sick bastard. She wondered again if she was wasting her time trying to find that asshole, and would she be better off spending her lunch hour trying to find some young housewife at the mall. But what could you do in an hour?

Again she began to fret, struggling with the concept of seducing a woman. Everywhere she looked she saw gorgeous, sexy women; and it seemed each was married or had a boyfriend. How do you deal with that?

Sara sighed and looked around the restaurant. That was one thing about this place: there always seemed to be pretty girls here. They even had a couple of decent looking waitresses. She was trying everything she could think of, and today she wore her new black wonder bra with a low cut blouse. With the waitresses, she would pose and try to catch their eyes. Sometimes she'd position herself to give them maximum view of her cleavage and try to catch them looking. She now wore a garter belt and stockings with a thong each day and her lack of panty lines should be obvious. She got so turned on each morning as she dressed and looked at herself in the mirror.

The other night she had shaved down there. She had removed all the hair from her pubes and left a tiny patch in a little arrow pointing to her pussy. It had turned her on so much she'd masturbated continuously for three hours, finally falling asleep on her stomach with her vibrator trapped between her legs.

Her obsession seemed worse at night. She went trolling at the mall, drawn to the lingerie and contemporary fashion stores looking for women; but without any luck. She'd heard of gay bars, but did not know how to go about finding one. All her life Sara had never needed to ask a guy out. At her most desperate moment, she need only confide in her friends that she thought so-and-so was cute, the word would get around, and within a few days he'd be talking to her. Then it was easy: a flip of the hair, a hand on the arm, or, if she was really brazen, a deep look. Guys were simple, now women... oh, those poor guys. She realized for the first time what a frustrating time most of them must have.

Her attempts at catching the eye of some of the pretty girls she'd seen were all failures. Mostly, they were oblivious to her advances, feeble as these were. As she'd been more bold, the outcome was worse. One woman she'd tried just to stand close to--real close--, hoping to entice her with her presence. That woman had given her a worried look and hurried in the opposite direction. The other evening she'd tried a night club, and Sara flushed with the memory of her embarrassment. She'd seen a really sexy young girl sitting alone, walked right up to her and asked her to dance. The girls eyes had gone wide, her mouth opened then closed, and then she'd said with that little valley girl inflection, "Oh my god, no." Since that shoot down, Sara had not been able to bring herself to be forward in her efforts again.

Of course, some lesbians were not hard to spot. Marie at work was one: mid thirties, no make-up, and butch as hell. Sara wondered about them: they looked like guys, why would a girl want to do them? She'd thought about asking for Marie's help, but the fear that Marie would think that she was coming on to her kept her away, and what could she tell me about picking up sexy women, or Jennifer?

Jennifer had been the object of most of Sara's new fantasies. Before she'd had met that jerk, Joe--if that's even his real name--, the object of Sara's desires was Steve, a manager from work who seemed to be seeing the department admin, Jennifer. They'd sneak all around, but everybody at work whispered about them. While it seemed Steve was pursuing Jennifer, it was obvious to Sara that Jennifer was doing whatever she could to get into his pants. For some time, Jennifer had been dressing as sexy as she could, walking that walk, and taking every opportunity to pose for him. It was getting Sara hot just thinking about it: a sexy girl prancing about, practically screaming "fuck me"--God, to be the object of that.

Since that sick fuck messed with her--goddamned asshole drugged me or something--she couldn't seem to get hot for a guy. After she'd fled this restaurant that day, hornier than she'd ever been, she'd tried for hours to get off to her fantasies of Steve. Finally, she'd managed to cum by thinking about Steve taking Jennifer from behind, bent over her desk; and even then, she was only able to come when she became Steve in her mind's eye. As the days went by, her obsession with women grew, and her fantasies expanded to include others: like cute little Amy at work, or that waitress with the ass.

Her fantasies of Jennifer were still prevalent. At times she'd lay back with her legs spread wide and her vibrator moving up and down her slit as she saw Jennifer on her knees with her face buried in her pussy. Other times she'd use the narrow cylinder of her hairspray bottle like a dildo jutting out from her clit, running her hand up and down it, pushing on her clit; while in her mind, Jennifer was bent across her desk, tits mashed into the top, moaning, squirming, and begging to be fucked harder while Sara pounded her from behind with a strap on. God, I've got to find a strap on.

"Can I get you any thing else?" The waitress said, surprising Sara and breaking her reverie.

Sara flushed again, realizing that she had one hand in her lap, and trying not to say, "Yes, a twelve inch strap on." And while you're at it, bend over and flip up your skirt. Sara swallowed hard and said, "Um, no thank you, I'm OK."

"All right then, here you go." The waitress lay the check on the table and grabbed the empty dishes before turning and walking away without a second glance. Sara's eyes followed the waitress' cute swaying ass as she walked away from the table, wishing she'd turn and look back. Oh, God.

As the waitress turned to enter the back, a woman seemed to burst out of the ladies' room, then catch herself, slow down and walk back to her table. While she walked, one hand brushed an errant lock of hair out of her eyes, then moved to her mouth, wiping at a smudge of lip stick, while the other hand tried to pull one side of her skirt down that had ridden up. Sara thought she looked sexy, and thought about trying to approach her, until she saw her sit at a table with a guy.

As that woman sat, the ladies' room door opened and another sexy woman stepped out. This one was different: cool, composed, with a predatory look in her eyes. Sara unconsciously licked her lips, staring at this second woman when the light bulb went off: He's here!

Quickly, Sara sat up and looked wildly around the room. Then slowed herself down, and took it section by section, examining each table; until her eyes came to rest on a man sitting at a little two-top near the back behind a large planter. His eyes were closed and his head was back resting against the wall, on arm over the back of his chair propped against his chin.

In a hurry, Sara dropped a ten dollar bill to cover the six dollar sandwich, and made her way over to where Joe was sitting. His eyes were still closed, and he had a calm, almost bemused look on his face as she stood before him unnoticed. Her anger with this shit was tempered by her need; but she still wanted to wring is neck.

She dropped her purse on the table with a loud thunk, and sat across from him. His eyes flew open while his body froze in his start. As his eyes moved up to hers, she leaned across the table and in a savage whisper said, "What the fuck did you do to me?"

Still frozen, and genuinely bewildered, he said, "Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb with me you shit, what did you slip me, Joe?" Sara's eyes still blazed.

He flushed now and moved to straighten up. In his eyes could be seen some recognition, but he carried on in an innocent way, "Who?"

"Yeah, all right, so Joe's not your name, I don't care. What kind of date rape drug did you use on me?"

His composure was returning and he began to look more genuine, "I'm sorry miss, but I don't know what you're talking about."