The Watchtower

Well, this is going to be the last story for a while...I’m taking a breather from writing for a bit. It’s really long...you have been warned! Parallel plots, quite a bit of sex, some fucking, and hopefully you’ll find it a little funny. (Thankfully, this is not a story that makes you want to slit your wrists. :-) )

Also, I got sick of the fact that most stories I read are only about white lesbians, so this group of characters is quite racially diverse.

Report grammatical errors here: brand_new_writer@yahoo.com

Enjoy!

- brand new writer

******

SHAWN
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People usually don’t get me. People think I’m an oversexed, untamed party animal who believes in her freedom and youth above all else. True, that’s very much part of who I am. But I have a serious side. I have a sense of responsibility. I’m fiercely protective of my friends and willing to do anything for them.

Most people miss it.

This is probably why Jesse and I became best friends in high school. Jesse *understands* me. Jesse *respects* me. Jesse refuses – REFUSES! – to live my hedonistic lifestyle, but she accepts and even admires my choices. I will never let her find out, but I love her like no-one else in my life.

I sit here at the counter at the latest trendy lesbian bar in Pittsburgh, aware that a lot of eyes are on me. I’m told I’m a looker. Modesty, schmodesty. I *am* a looker and I know it.

I’m the quintessential ethical slut. I’m honest and upfront about who I am; I never “cheat” on my partners; I never mislead anyone into a one-night-stand. It’s not that I’m commitment-phobic. I just don’t even know *what* I want. For now, I just live in the moment. And revel in the attention I get.

But right now, I’m not interested in returning the stares. Instead, I watch my friends. This is something I often do. I feel, in many ways, like the ‘lioness’ of the group...I don’t just watch my friends, I watch *over* them. If something goes wrong, it’s my job to fix it.

I see Jesse and Pat having one of their never-ending kisses on the dance floor, looking perfectly at ease in each other’s arms. I take credit for them. Pat was interning for the bank where I work. I introduced her to Jesse later on, and as I predicted, they hit it off.

They are an odd couple, you might think. I watch as Pat intertwines her soft hands with Jesse’s calloused palms, a testament to how different they are. Born in a conservative Latino family, Jesse has never been accepted by her family since she came out in high school. She put herself through college by studying during the day and working nightshifts. And all the time, she’s been a tireless activist. Quite the contrast to Pat’s background – a rich Long Island girl whose parents have been fully supportive of her. Pat is no less of an activist, though. She’s a writer, a poet, a photographer and a spoken word performer. She’s done an intense double major at college and has a bright future ahead of her.

Jesse and I met Alex at college. Alex is one of the sexiest women I know. Her dark, chocolate-brown skin glows even in the dimly lit bar. She’s tall and athletic, played basketball in college, and is a country and blues guitarist. If Alex and I hadn’t become friends first, I would have definitely asked her to sleep with me.

I have policy about not sleeping with friends. I suppose fucking friends *can* conceivably be great, but I just don’t want to risk a friendship.

At the far end of the bar, I can see Alex, deep in conversation with a girl. My brow furrows as I recognize her. The girl she is talking to is Adrienne, a music critic, someone the rest of us don’t really know. Alex is in love with her. This is not very smart. Adrienne is straight.

My cell phone rings. “Yeah?” I yell into it over the music.

“Shawn?” I hear a voice.

“Cori?” I ask, putting a finger in my free ear to block out the music. “Something wrong?”

“No,” she says. “Well, sort of. I think I may have done something to your cable...” She trails off.

“Cor-REE!” I bark, pretending to be angry. This is Cori. I can never be angry at her. She’s a fifteen-year-old baby dyke. I found her crying in the bathroom at a gay-friendly coffee shop that we frequent. I asked her what was wrong, and she explained that she’d been beaten up at school for looking like a boy. Cori is the cutest blonde baby butch I’ve ever seen, and I immediately took a liking to her. Cori, in turn, looks up to me, idolizes me, and generally worships the ground I walk on. Feeling like a big sister, I’ve taken her on as a “project”, teaching her the ways of the world and the rules of survival in lesbian nation.

There is, however, one complication. Cori is clueless. She’s just moved to Pittsburgh to live with her older brother, Josh. She comes from a religious family that is still completely in denial about her homosexuality. She never learned much about sex in her hometown, and she’s completely repressed. Her brother is a good guy, but he has no idea what to do with her, so I let her use my apartment and sleep over whenever she wants. She’s practically part of the gang now.

“Are you mad, Shawn?” I hear her say in a small voice.

“Forget about it and go to sleep, Cor,” I smile into the phone. “You’ve got school tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks, Shawn,” says Cori, hanging up.

I survey the bar, sipping my beer. I smile back at the women, shaking my head slightly. Not tonight. Tonight I’m out with my friends.

Then a girl catches my eye. She’s staring at me, and very obviously looking me up and down, undressing me with her eyes. I can feel myself tingling just from her stare.

The girl smiles, encouraged, and dares to come over and sit next to me at the counter. I take a good look at her. She is sexy. She’s wearing baggy pants and a tank top that reveals her killer cleavage. Should I make an exception for this incredibly hot woman? I think.

“Thirsty?” I ask, offering her my drink.

“You bet,” she grins. “But I’m not talking about beer.” I laugh. “Well, what do you say?” she asks.

I pretend to consider.

“C’mon,” she says. “You know as well as I do that you’ve got your mind made up.”

Her nipples are hard against her top. I stare at her lustfully. Baby, what I would do to you, I think. “Well,” I say out loud. “I promised my friends I’d hang out with them tonight.”

She puts a hand on my shoulder and kisses me lightly on the lips. My heart starts beating wildly. “You’re such a tease,” she complains.

“And proud of it,” I smile, slipping an arm around the girl’s shoulder and leaning in to kiss her.

The girl positions herself between my legs as I sit on my barstool. I wrap my arms around her waist and begin kissing her passionately on the mouth, sliding my hands down to her hips. What the hell. My friends will understand. This is too good to pass up.

**********

JESSE
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Click. The camera flashes again. My girlfriend of almost two years, Pat, snaps away with her camera set up on a tripod. I am sprawled across the bed, naked, modeling for her camera. I am doing this solely on Pat’s insistence. This is not my idea of fun.

In fact, I have not been having much fun lately. Sometimes I feel like everyone treating us like some kind of poster couple has taken its toll on our relationship. There are things on my mind that I’m afraid to tell Pat. There is a friction in the relationship that she pretends not to notice and that I don’t bother to address. We put up this farce of being the perfect couple and live our lives like nothing’s wrong.

“Sweetheart, move to your right a little,” she instructs. “I’m having some problems with the lighting.”

“Babe, I’m tired,” I complain.

“Oh, beautiful,” she grins. “Hold that look...don’t change.” Click. Is she completely oblivious to what’s on my mind?

I make faces at the camera.

“Yeah, that’s mature, honey,” she says, giving me a sarcastic smile.

“Pat, I’m not going to help you touch them up on the computer. I swear.”

She grunts and waves her hand facetiously.

I roll over and lie down on my side. “Patricia.”

She frowns. She hates being called that. She thinks it’s unnecessarily formal. “Just a few more, baby, I promise,” she says. “Be angry at me. That’s it. You’re sexy when you’re angry.” Click. I can see her devouring my body through her camera lens. As she stands in front of me, wearing nothing but my boxer shorts, I’ll happily return the gaze in spite of myself. God, she is a sight. Smooth white skin, straight black hair that comes just below her ears, huge hazel eyes and legs that would make anyone swoon.

I crawl down the bed toward her. “You know what, I’m just going to have to *make* you stop,” I say. I close the camera lens and sit on the bed, putting my clothes on.

“Jess,” she protests. “Can I just finish the shoot?”

“Big deal,” I say. “It’s for your private collection...you can finish it later.”

“Oh, Jess, you’re impossible,” she grins. She tries to sit next to me and kiss my neck, but I move away as politely as I can.

It wasn’t always like this.

When Shawn introduced us at the coffee shop, Pat was a junior in college. I had completed grad school, and was a successful, top-of-the-line network security consultant. Age was never an issue, primarily because Pat is emotionally about ten years older than she should be. And we both realized our attraction for each other immediately. She made sure I would notice her grunge femme look: her skinny frame, her tight jeans and skirts, her sleeveless shirts that showed off her labyris tattoo on her left arm, and her pierced tongue and lip. How could I resist?

From our first conversation, Pat figured out that I was shy, quiet, and conservative, as opposed to her – outgoing, a big talker, and slightly kinky. She knew that she had to make the first move, so she asked me out. We hit it off instantly, because we discovered that although we were very different people, we were both incurable romantics.

Pat and I fell in love. But it was more than that. There was this bond between us created by a power dynamic. I allowed her a certain amount of control over me, but in return I wanted her to be my emotional rock. There were times when I would wake up in the middle of the night in fear – fear of failure, fear of losing in the drama of life – and I would turn over, put my arm around her, and breathe her in.

Sometimes I find it hard to believe that I’ve found someone as wonderful, honest and decent as Pat. And yet, there’s a growing rift between us now that I can’t seem to bridge.

“What are you thinking about?” asks Pat, making me aware that I have gotten up off the bed. She strokes my cheeks lovingly, and runs her fingers through my short hair. “Something not right?” she asks, concerned, taking me in her arms so that I am facing her.

“No, I just have work to do,” I mumble, looking away. I am terrible at confrontations. I find it impossible to keep eye contact and I find it even harder to put my feelings into words.

“Always work,” she says with a little shake of her head. A seductive smile appears on her face. “Don’t we have some time to spare before we meet everyone?” She slips her hands up my shirt, running her fingers across my belly, aware that I am instantly aroused.

“Hmmm,” I say, trying not to lose myself as Pat slowly begins to slip off her boxer shorts. She has this way of making me feel completely vulnerable and at her mercy. I used to love that feeling.