1. Cruel Wednesdays


    Date: 6/9/2017, Categories: Lesbian, Author: ChrissieLecker, Rating: 11, Source: LushStories

    I couldn’t have not noticed her, I realize that in hindsight. The moment my eyes encountered her, though, the fascination acted like a switch to my young brain and disrupted all the circuits but the primal ones. You’d have noticed her too, had you been in my place. Among the sea of hectic tourists in their garish outfits, she was like an epiphany. Huge, dark eyes that appeared to look right into a different world, above high, exotic cheekbones and a finely chiseled nose drew my look like magnets. Lips that were full - but not artificially so - and darkly outlined into kissable perfection twitched slightly upward in a joke that nobody but her could hear. She wasn’t young, not by my measures, early forties if I’d dare a guess. But like expensive wine, she had only grown in beauty and intensity. Her face was, for lack of any better term, an oxymoron to me. Something about her radiated angelic innocence, but whenever that sparkle in her eyes lit up, there seemed to be some wicked, hidden daemon bubbling just beneath the surface. I could not really shape it into words, but from the moment that I saw her, I was entranced. Her black dress was far too expensive and classy for a place like this where tourists bargained for rebate on coffee and cake, but she didn’t seem to mind. Absently, her fingers stroked the cigarette pack that lay in front of her, and a feeling, strange but oddly familiar too, bubbled up inside me. I didn’t realize it, but I sighed. The waitress brought my Latte ...
    - my Wednesday ritual since I had finished job training and become a full employee, which meant working Saturday mornings and having Wednesday afternoon off - and I sprinkled sugar over it, took the spoon and scooped up a bit of froth. She eyed a pair of Japanese tourists who almost bumped into her because they were so focused on the cameras they were pointing all around. I took another scoop of froth, that yummy little pleasure that, this day, seemed shallow while my eyes rested on her and took in her grace and nonchalance. It was like watching a painting, one of these classics done by a world-renowned artist. Tiny wrinkles spread from the corners of her eyes and mouth, and for a long, intense moment that caught me completely unawares, I felt compelled to just walk over and ask if I could run the tip of my tongue over them. Whoever she was, it was like she was pulling me toward herself with magic. She put the cigarettes into her bag and closed it. Then she stood up, turned into my direction - and looked directly at me. Her eyes linked with mine - and I knew, knew that she knew. My tummy flip-flopped and my hands grew sweaty, but I was unable to draw my gaze away from her. And then she walked towards me, one high-heeled, stocking-clad foot after the other, in a straight line, hips swaying, and the click-clack of her heels on the plaster grew steadily louder until it was the only sound I heard. Her eyes never strayed. Then she was at my table and my cheeks burned. She pulled ...
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