"She's one, you know," Anne said, not entirely pleasantly.
"Yeah, it shows. You know, in two years she's never once worn a skirt?"
"And she walks so heavy. Not like a woman at all."
"You got to admit she takes care of her face, though."
"Yeah, but in that job you have to."
"You never know, she might be straight," I said, joining the conversation for the first time. They both turned looks of disbelief at me. "Maybe, for all you know, I might be gay," I added, to reinforce the point. They relaxed and laughed. I was wearing a peasant skirt and embroidered blouse.
The conversation turned to other things. Just before the tea break I went to the ladies. There was no one there. Washing my hands under the tepid water ruminatively, I looked at my reflection in the dirty mirror. Did that look like the face of a lesbian? Round, soft features framed by wavy, long hair that was always untidy and looked rather good untidy. A neck with a string of jade beads around it, a neck white and soft. I returned to my desk.
One of the managers was leaving the room just as I got back. "He asked if we knew what you were doing over the weekend," Sandy informed me. "If you ask me, I think he fancies you."
"He's all right," said Anne. "Wish he'd ask after me, that's all. Will you talk to him?"
"I don't see why," I replied evenly.
"Oh! Got a new boyfriend?"
"No," I smiled. "But that doesn't mean I'm looking, either."
"Sure." They both smiled in disbelief.
When I let myself in, the house smelt faintly of incense. Bounder, the over-enthusiastic Labrador cross we had inherited from the last tenants, was not around, nor was Yvonne. They must have been at the park. I put the shopping down on the floor, put on the kettle, lit another joss-stick and made tea, watching the thin stream of smoke curl up towards the ceiling in the faint arabesques of a strange language.
Later, the shopping still waiting to be put away, I listened to the sounds of the bouncy dog and the front door opening. He greeted me wetly, jumping all over me and the chair I was occupying. Yvonne greeted me casually, brushing cool lips lightly across my forehead. "Hungry?"
(How do you say I love you without using words? How do you convey the ache in the belly without moaning?)
I went to bed early, listening to the silent sounds of Yvonne working at her books in the next room. Every so often a muttered curse, or the clatter of a dropped pencil. Bounder, I knew, lay over her feet under the table. I drifted over and around the edge of sleep.
I didn't notice her come into the room and undress, but I roused slightly and moved towards her as she slipped into the bed. "Sssh," she soothed, stroking my arm gently. "Go back to sleep."
"You know what they were talking about," I muttered through the incoherence of sleep, my lips feeling thick. "Dykes." I relished the word: I knew she hated it. "They were talking about dykes. They think I'm straight." I could feel a hysterical giggle rising in me, but I didn't have the energy to let it out. Instead I drifted back to sleep, not knowing or caring if Yvonne had understood me.
In the morning I stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror brushing my teeth as she showered. She was singing under her breath, splashing the moldy walls with soapy water as she washed. I gargled and spat, and searched my eyes closely, deep blue eyes with startling white lines running from the pupils to the very edges of the irises. The eyes of a dyke.
This site has received 12902269 hits since Aug 4, 2000
The entire content of all public pages in The Pagan Library (graphics, text and HTML) are free information, released under the terms of the GPL. All copyrighted items mentioned are the property of their respective owners, and no form of ownership or endorsement is implied.
Last modified: March 23 2018 16:21:33