Make your own free website on Tripod.com
warning: this is a longish story. it has ten parts. i would really appreciate it if people stick around and read it, and possibly send me some email telling me what you think, cause it's still in the revision stage... thanks!

night on earth

one

my hands cup around the warmth of the lighter as i move the fire to the tip of my cigarette. i am alone, as usual, but not lonely, a slight distinction that is not lost on my anal-retentive brain. i take a long, deep drag on the clove cigarette, cherishing the heat that moves from my fingertips to my mouth to my lungs and then radiates out from this center like ripples on a lake. the comfort is short-lived, but it still thrills me. i feel a tingle start at the base of my spine and know that tonight will be like no other night on earth.

my body is encased in black, like some sort of ninja dyke, but this, too, is purely for my own comfort. in the dark colors of night i can withdraw into myself, become invisible if need be. i run my hand over my smooth leather pants. the material is soft and supple underneath my fingers. they fit my hard, muscular legs perfectly, not in the clinging way that the kids wear them, but tapered, like a well-worn pair of jeans. above these i wear a sleeveless, v-neck shirt made of some synthetic material that moves over my torso like water. my firm arms stretch naked and white at my sides.

i take another puff on the cigarette as my eyes scan the crowd. i am seated in the shadows of a corner booth, facing the door. i have coolly surveyed every woman who has stepped foot in the club on this night, searching for the one whose presence is causing the tingles in my back, the one who will make my night. so far, i am disappointed.

this club is rare for the city in that it doesnít cater to one specific crowd. in the space of an hour, i have seen femmes and butches alike, some eyeing each other warily with a touch of a smile, some flirting shamelessly on the dance floor. i have seen women from the s&m crowd, doms and slaves showing varying amounts of leather and flesh, and tops looking for a one night stand. i belong to none of these groups, but i have tasted what each has to offer. in order to entice you i must maintain an accessibility that a clique would not provide. or maybe i am just a loner at heart.

for a second i grow paranoid that someone will capture you before i even find you. but then all thought subsides when i finally catch a glimpse of your radiance. you wear your golden hair in unruly curls down your back. you are not tall, maybe only a couple inches over five feet, but there is something about the way you hold yourself that would discredit any attempts to call you short. you are surrounded by maybe a half-dozen girls, some of whom i recognize as regulars here. in fact, a couple faces are almost too familiar, and i stop short when i realize they have brought you to this club knowing i will be waiting.

you are not smiling. you never are. your discomfort is almost a tangible presence; i can feel it even from my hiding spot. i know without doubt that you didnít want to come here tonight, that you only agreed to please your friends. right now, as you stare at the couples grinding on the dance floor, you are wondering what you, a nice straight white girl, probably from the suburbs, are doing in a lesbian club.

but your friends know something that you have yet to admit. i am grateful for their knowledge, because they have left it to me to help you find yourself. i smile slowly, knowing that my night has finally begun.

two

you have made your way to the bar. you figure that if you turn your back to the dance floor and busy yourself with drinking, no one will ask you to do anything embarrassing. but i have already given the signal to the bartender: a single nod followed by a look in your direction. she knows the routine. before you even open your mouth to order your drink, a martini is placed on a napkin in front of you. you begin to protest, but the bartender walks away. she has long since learned to ignore your whining.

you stare helplessly at the drink before you, unsure whether drinking it will be an unspoken agreement to something you canít quite fathom. i donít care either way; the drink is not important to me.

finally, you decide to take a sip of the martini. i watch you slowly raise the glass to your lips, then smile inwardly as i see your eyes widen when you catch a glimpse of the message scrawled on the napkin. i whisper the words as i watch you reading them, over and over.

"i am watching you. curious? do not worry. before the night ends, all of your questions will be answered."

i signed the napkin simply, an admirer.

next page