Hands, finely manicured nails on long enticing fingers that move slowly over silk or dance a clicking staccato over keyboards.
I’m not much of a hand person, and I can’t remember the last time someone’s hands were so sensual or … see … I don’t even know how to describe them. But I think you understand.
I’m just your run-of-the-mill butch. I’ve done the scene … bars and all that, but now, I seldom go to a bar. But when I did, I would sit and chat with my butch pals, but my eyes were wandering. Constantly moving round the room till I spotted a femme. I’d give her the head-to-toe once over and then move on, but this one night …. my eyes didn’t roam very far at all after that first look.
I can’t tell you what it was about her. Maybe it was her long hair, gathered up and the purposefully yet haphazard way it was piled … oh geez, not piled … the way she had styled it … yeah, styled. I wonder how it would look after I unfastened the clip and let it fall over her shoulders.
But maybe it was her eyes. Her eyes were the softest shade of blue, yet they flashed when she spoke. I could see them even from my seat across the bar. I couldn’t hear a word she said but her eyes smiled and laughed and … oh God … I know I would die happy if I could gaze into them.
That night, my buddies were being a bit loud over in our corner of the bar. The occasional playful punch to my arm would draw my attention back to the boisterous conversation but she was the only person in the bar that I really wanted to talk to.
I finished my coke and stood up, walking over to the bar I handed my glass to Sandy and while she was filling it I whispered … oh hell … how do you whisper in a noisy bar … but I didn’t shout, you know? That would have been so uncouth … “Sandy, see that woman? The one in the sleek black dress? Do you know who she is?” Sandy chuckled and nodded … “Yep, and she is WAY outta your league, bud. A real class act, her.”
I looked over at her again as I picked up my glass, thanked Sandy and left the money on the bar. I looked over at the corner where my pals were and decided to take a walk round to the pool room. It usually wasn’t crowded, in fact, it was the room most people went to talk because you could hear each other over the clinking of glasses and the loud talk and laughter.
Oh hell … she was standing right there. Right in the middle of the clearway. I’d have to speak to her in order to get to the pool-room … I prayed that my soft spoken “excuse me” would not betray me. That she would not detect the nervousness I was feeling. Okay … you can do this … one foot in front of the other, sip of coke so you don’t spill any on her and then … before I could speak, she turned her head, looked at me and smiled and stepped aside.
Not one of those “got right out of the way” steps, but one of those “I know you want to get by but lets see how you do it now, buddy” steps that really didn’t make much difference at all. She could have stayed where she was and it would have been the same.
My hand flowed to the small of her back as I said my “excuse me” and she looked again … OMG was that a hint of a smile? I inhaled, waiting for her to yield and as I did, her perfume filled my lungs. Sandy was right, she was out of my league. I side-stepped past and walked through the saloon doors into the deserted poolroom.
I leaned back against the wall, breathing as if I had run a marathon. A sip of coke and then setting my glass on one of the small round tables, I reached into my shirt pocket for a cigarette. Holding it loosely between my lips, I took my lighter from my pocket and as the flame flickered before my eyes, I inhaled deep, bathing my lungs with tar and nicotine, the relaxing rush felt so good that I closed my eyes for a moment.
The next thing I knew the most beautiful hand I had ever seen swept round the corner from out of nowhere and slid my cigarette from my lips. My head turned in the direction from which the hand had come to see who dared take it from me and there she was … “You don’t mind do you?”, she said. “No, not at all, would you care for a drink?”, I calmly said though my insides were churning. She shook her head and pointed to the pool table … “Do you play pool or were you just escaping the noise?” “Both.” I said with a smile.
With that, she walked over to the table and started racking the balls. I watched her hands as they molded around them, as she lifted and rolled them slowly before placing them within the triangular rack. Her nails were long but not too long and they were finely manicured. Cloaked in the most tantalizing shade of red. I swallowed hard as somewhere in the back of my mind I imagined them raking my flesh.
Her voice was smooth, like a single malt whiskey and I couldn’t concentrate on my game at all. The “guys” would have teased me mercilessly for letting a femme beat me at my game, but in truth, I didn’t care. All I could think about was Sandy telling me that she was out of my league and how that made me feel.
She potted the 8-ball like a pro. A bank shot that was calculated so well that the cue ball rolled to a stop nowhere near a pocket. She walked over to me and chuckled as she placed a fingernail on the bare skin that my opened collar shirt revealed, pressing it hard enough to leave a mark. “You lose.” I wanted to kiss her then and there as she stood looking up at me, but I didn’t, I just played it cool and shrugged … “I’m having an off day I guess.”
She chuckled and walked over to one of the couches that nestled in the corners of the room and sat down, her hands smoothing her dress as if to cover her knees. I picked up our glasses and walked over to join her. I set the glasses on the table as she nodded slowly and sat down close enough not to have to strain to hear her but not so close that she would get the wrong idea.
“I won’t bite you … at least not yet.” she said, her chuckled words clouding my mind as she patted the cushion beside her. We sat there talking the night away until Sandy walked over and took our glasses telling us it was time to lock up. The time flew, but that was months ago.
Now, I know her eyes by heart. I have memorized her hands. I know that her bite is worse than her bark and I also know that Sandy was wrong … she isn’t out of my league at all.