My long, beige winter dress falls to my thighs, tight underneath the black overcoat. I’ve got to comb my hair, yet, it always takes such a long time to wash. My car is parked in the car park outside the building, cold. Across the city, a gay bar, one I discovered online, is about to open. Now I’m out of school it’s really the best way to meet girls; plus, I’m eighteen now, I’ve been wanting to check it out for a while. There’s a breeze, today, tickling my legs through the fabric of my sheer tights. It’s dark outside, lit up only by the streetlights; it’s a tad frightening going out alone, in the dark, perhaps I’ll meet somebody to come with me next time.
I miss Addie. It’s strange living in different cities, not seeing each other a lot; there’s phone calls, of course, but it’s not the same, I really should go visit her soon, or perhaps we’ll see each other at Christmas, it’s only three days away. The bar is decorated with sparkling grey letters and rainbow banners, visibly gay, I suppose that’s so the straight don’t get confused. Inside, the walls rattle with music, dubstep type party tunes, it’s my very first time at a bar. The queue up by the bar is filled with attractive young women, goddamn, I’ve come to the right place. At a table near the entrance, a group of young men laugh and drink, a couple snogs against the wall outside the toilets. I need a drink, I’ve worked all day, and besides it’ll help me loosen up enough to feel comfortable, I’ve never quite learned how to properly flirt with women. Addie was always good at it. I should have paid more attention.
The bartender catches my eye as I approach, arranging drink bottles on the counter. The man has pale pink hair and sparkly silver polish, flicking paper towels through dirty glasses. The girls beside me giggle and sip on drinks, god, they’re all so gorgeous. The problem with girls is that they’re all so beautiful it’s nearly torture. I hope I can talk to some of them, at least, even just for a little while.
I’ve always wanted to try a sex on the beach, Evie has them sometimes, and claims they’re delicious. ‘Could I please get a sex on the beach?’ I haven’t been asked for identification, yet, but slide it across the counter anyway, I know the question is coming. The bartender nods, swishing juices together quickly, the girl in the queue beside me has caught my gaze, and smiles shyly. A glass slides across the counter for me, I exchange it for a pile of coins, and take a big drink of the fruity cocktail. At the side of the bar, tall stools are arranged in a line, two empty stools remain at the end. When I sit, I hang my coat over the back. The beautiful girl at the end of the queue cups her glass in her hands. I pick mine up, too, join her by the bar. ‘What are you drinking?’
Another song has begun playing. A round of laughter erupts from the table inside the door. The girl smiles at me, twisting a couple fingers through her thick, blonde hair. ‘It’s just a dirty martini!’ We’ve got to talk very loudly in order to be heard over the music. ‘What are you drinking?’
The girl wears a purple, low neck shirt. As she takes a drink, I notice her necklace: a stained-glass rose on the end of a golden chain, falling into her chest, I’ve got to put a lot of effort into looking at her face and not her chest. ‘Sex on the beach,’ I take another drink, it tastes of orange, sweet and citrusy. This girl has the prettiest green eyes, bright, vivid, flickering on and off my face in conversation. ‘You are so beautiful, what’s your name?’ Something about pretty girls makes me so nervous, it’s rather tricky not to get tongue tied sometimes.
The girl adjusts the chain of the necklace, flipping her hair around her shoulders. ‘I’m Cornelia! I’m waiting for my girlfriend, she’s called Susan!’ She smiles again at me, flickering her eyes toward the floor. It’s loud; beside me, two men snog under a table.
Being a lesbian is shit, sometimes, it’s impossible to tell if a pretty girl is flirting or just being nice. I seem not to be the best at telling the difference. Girls use the term girlfriend so casually to mean female friend, or to mean actual romantic girlfriend. how the hell am I supposed to tell what they mean? Cornelia has wandered off to embrace a woman in a stripy pantsuit. I need another drink, queue up in front of the bar again. I wish Addie were here. I envy her.
As the night passes, I drink, dance, my feet begin to get sore. It is nearing midnight, I should head home soon, I suppose, although I’m quite drunk, and the music is catchy. Across the bar, I spot a young woman, dancing by herself, a blonde in a pencil skirt and a blazer. She drinks from a pint glass, twisting her hips to the beat of the music. My hair is falling into my face, I sweep it to the side, take a spirited drink of my fruity cocktail, clicking my heels across the floor over to her. ‘Hello! I’m Cleo, and you’re gorgeous.’
The girl flips around, setting down her glass on a table with a loud clunk. The skirt is short, sweeping across her thighs, I have zero control when it comes to pretty girls, flicking my eyes to her behind, and then flicking them quickly away. ‘Thank you! I’m Harlow! You’re gorgeous, too! Are you here alone?’
Harlow has the most beautiful hazel eyes, I’ve just noticed, and now suddenly can’t look away from them. Her blazer is coming unbuttoned, the blouse underneath hugging her breasts, I try to focus on her face, instead. I shrug, sliding out a seat at her table. ‘I am here alone, yeah, I just turned eighteen, it’s my first time at a bar.’ Harlow twists a piece of short blonde hair around a finger, giving me a glimpse of a short, lavender nail. ‘Do you come here a lot?’ Smooth, Cleo.
It is getting rather late, midnight has come and gone, the patrons of the bar have begun to clear out. I’d like another drink, I suppose I should give it a rest, I’ve got work tomorrow. Harlow smiles, fiddling with the uppermost button of her blouse, my eyes slide to her chest again, she watches, doesn’t seem to mind. ‘It’s my favourite bar!’ Harlow yells over the pounding of the music. ‘I’ve been coming here since I was eighteen, I’m twenty one now!’ She grins, twirling around on the tile floor, ‘Cleo, you said? Do you want to get out of here? Uber to mine?’ There’s a twinkle in her beautiful eye, she inches closer, so that her breath tickles my face. Harlow is taller than me, but then again, we’re both wearing heels, and mine are hurting my feet, I’ve got to take them off.
Harlow smiles at me, flicking at the top button of her blouse, clicking her heels on the floor. I want to touch her. ‘I would like nothing more. Let’s go!’ I’ve never had a one night stand before, if that’s what Harlow means, it’s been ages since I’ve even hooked up with anyone, I worry I might be disappointing. Harlow is on the phone, winking at me from her quiet spot near the toilets. The music quietens down, the lights are dim; outside, the headlights of a car light up the street. My feet are sore. The dress is beginning to make my shoulders itch. Harlow joins me at the table, slipping an arm slyly around my waist, warm, she smells of cocoa, makes me want to sit round a bonfire with a cup of hot cocoa. My hair is sweeping her shoulder, her hand is sweeping my hips. Damn, she’s beautiful.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish