| Lesbian: BDSM: Hot, Sour, Salty, Sweet (1/5) |
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Springtime in the South has always been my favorite season; a time when everything seems to come alive with scents and colors. Coming after the grayness of winter makes this particularly so as if the blanket of snow has melted into a blanket of sensuality. I was already late and was periodically checking my rear view mirror for cops as I sped down Graham Street on my way to the post office. Leafing through the usual junk mail and bills was a big black scented envelope. I could barely make out the words, “You’re Invited” through the translucent vellum. I turned the envelope over and found a perfect oval kiss impression on the center of the seal. As I drove away, I was so curious I almost opened the mysterious letter before I got home, but decided to wait until I had some privacy and a glass of wine. After a few sips of Chateau Margaux, I wedged the thin blade of the letter opener under the envelope flap, careful not to tear the fragile vellum. The invitation was hand-written in beautiful calligraphy in gold ink on black card stock. At the top was a thin satin black ribbon bow. Obviously, someone had put forth a lot of time and effort. The card read: To Phoebe Lawson In Celebration of Spring You’re Invited for an Evening of Sensual Delights Friday Night at 9:00 Attire: Black Slip RSVP: Hot Sour Salty Sweet 2367 Willow Lane Philadelphia 19142 or hsss@hotmail.com I recognized our street address. I should have known it was Natalie. She was an artist and a very successful graphic designer here in Philadelphia. We had met in Atlanta four years ago, fell madly in love and moved here together Christmas before last, searching for a less conservative, more open minded environment. Atlanta offered some great things, especially mild weather, but for gay people and artists, it was a difficult place to call home. Natalie had always been a lesbian. I had had a couple of affairs with women, but mostly had been with men. When I got to know Natalie all that changed. She was everything I ever wanted in a lover. I met her on a summer afternoon in Piedmont Park where I had gone to run my dog, Flip, and throw Frisbee. It was hot. Flip was panting profusely and I was covered in sweat when I saw her gathering up her blanket and sketchbooks. She was tall and trim and very tan. Her dark skin made her muscles, which were already cut, more defined. Her hair was as black as coal, short but thick and wavy. She was wearing camouflage cargo shorts, tattered Nikes and a white tank top. I thought she was beautiful. Flip ran up to her, laid the Frisbee at her feet and seemed to say “C’mon don’t go yet.” Watching her, I was in complete agreement. “Hi there,” she said petting Flip on the head. “You wanna play?” God, she was gorgeous and to make it more alluring she had a British accent. “Hi,” I said. “Sorry, Flip never gets enough.” “That’s okay. I know the feeling. He’s really cute.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Natalie.” “Nice to meet you. I’m Phoebe. You’re obviously not from Atlanta. Are you British?” She smiled. “I grew up in London but studied art at Emory. I was so seduced by the weather I decided to stay.” She threw the Frisbee to Flip and he bounded off toward the row of dogwoods to retrieve it. It was impossible to not notice her muscular arms. I was |
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yes!
