Kael checked Ambera’s fingers for a wedding ring: she wore several rings with inset jewels but nothing obvious. She decided that further conversation would provide the answer. Besides, this chick was smokin’ hot, and maybe she didn’t want to dredge up complications that could muddy the waters.
Kael looked into Ambera’s eyes, trying to discern the color. She must be wearing contacts… who had eyes the color of the earth and sea?
“So, you’re living in Austin…” Kael started, noticing the approval in Ambera’s gaze as she gripped the bottle. She grabbed her Chico tighter, flexing her forearm.
“Pflugerville,” Ambera corrected her.
Freaking Pflugerville? That was a nondescript suburb about seventeen miles north of Austin, layered with tracts of five-bedroom /four-bath homes, where populating families lived in developments like Happy Blanco Trail Village. It was the given territory of straights.
“But I’d move back into the city in a heartbeat,” Ambera told her. “I love the energy, being in the mix!” Kael was struck by Ambera’s sweet allure.
“It’s got its charm for sure. And being able to get to the Congress Street Bridge in twenty minutes is great.” Kael didn’t want to start the conversation of how crowded Austin had gotten, what with a thousand hipsters moving to the “Live Music Capital of the World” each month.
Kael noted that Ambera was staring… longingly it seemed… at her hands. She looked down. Peasant hands. Part of her Polish heritage. She was about to pull them off the table when Ambera took one of her hands in both of hers, which were soft and well manicured.
“Hands make the butch.” Ambera trailed her nail along Kael’s generous thumb. “Strong. And warm.”
Hands are a big part of the butch/femme dynamic. They are the very instruments of sensuous encounters and delivering pleasure… squeezing, teasing, caressing and entering. Ambera emitted that rare femme steam known only to women dedicated to arousing butch sensibility.
Kael let her hand rest in Ambera’s, aware of the voltage flowing between them. She moved herself closer; now Ambera’s thigh rested against her own. Nice legs, set off by metallic point-toe pumps. Ambera followed Kael’s stare. “Yes, Jimmy Choo. I’m a shoe whore.” She took a deep sip of her wine. “My weakness.” She paused, looking pointedly at Kael. “One of them, anyway.”
“Mine too… but not necessarily on me.” Kael squeezed Ambera’s hands and gently let her grasp drop.
“So, what would you like to tell me?”
She soon found out Ambera was brought up in a wealthy suburb of Chicago, immersed in the Catholic tradition. During college, she began her lesbian life, dating many women before discovering her preference for butches. She seemed most fond of a butch who insisted on wearing a tux every Saturday night, á la Fran Lebowitz. You could get away with that in the ’80s.
Whatever perfume Ambera was wearing drew Kael closer. She longed to slide her hand up the inside of Ambera’s thigh, continuing until her fingers encountered that sweet warmth of pussy, gently tapping the fabric of Ambera’s panties, then tracing her index finger along the labia and clit—a request to enter farther, deeper. But a butch doesn’t request so much as perceive, then deftly follow the femme’s desire. Kael was good at it, mining and responding to a femme’s desire. Very good.
The steam emitting from Ambera suddenly evaporated. She looked at her phone. “I do have to go. A previous supper engagement.” This was news to Kael, who immediately drew into a defensive posture.
“Oh, please forgive me. It was arranged prior to meeting you,” Ambera insisted. “I didn’t expect to… find you so attractive.” Flattery certainly engages the butch.
“Do you like the lake? Would you join me Friday afternoon?” Ambera asked. “I have a motorboat, nothing fancy, docked on Lake Travis. I’ll make a nice lunch, and we’ll have a day in the sun.”
“Let me think, my schedule…” Kael trailed off. As a freelance writer, she was in relative control of her working hours.
Ambera continued, “And, I’d really like”—she discreetly eased her pointed toe up Kael’s shin—“to get to know you better.” Just the right touch, yeah.
Struggling to keep some control, Kael countered, “Well, I’ll have to clear some things. But, yeah, the early afternoon would work out okay.”
“I’ll text you the address.” She gathered her purse and rose. Kael stood as well. Still a bit disconcerted, but ever courteous. She wondered if she was an easy mark.
Walking back to her car, Kael felt two distinct rings in her ears: in her left, the peal of a warning bell, and in the right, the swirling, empty breeze of the lonely. Would she in fact meet Ambera on Friday? Indeed she would. Spring temps in Austin ranged from the fifties to high eighties, and the end of the week was supposed to be very warm.
Friday afternoon found Kael making her way down the ramp to Ambera’s boat. Her speedboat was quite fancy, white, tricked out with red metallic detail and an engine as big as Dallas. The warning bell again. She had a big boat, was wearing a floral-print beach dress, hair tastefully swept back and in a headband: that well-off, suburban housewife mien. Still, Ambera had an unmistakable femme aura: the holding of a certain power, with the desire to swoon in the presence of a strong butch.
A gang of dock boys, horsing around for Ambera’s attention, dispersed as Kael walked up. The pleased smile on Ambera’s face encouraged Kael as she jumped into the boat, swinging a backpack full of Pacificos and lime.
“You can put the beer in the cooler there,” she told Kael, who eyed Ambera’s shapely leg showing thru the slit of her dress. She could see why the dock boys vied for her attention. Kael knew her way around a boat, attending to the castoff lines and fenders as the wind pushed them off.
“I’m taking us to a cove I love. Quiet. Isolated,” Ambera said, and after an appropriate idle, executed a turn and began to ford the shallows of the lake. Kael wasn’t fond of Lake Travis, a man-made luxury, filled with the waters of the Colorado River. She felt the vibes of the towns razed to create it reverberate through her the few times she swam in it. But the weather was splendid, and under the influence of late spring sun, the water was ultramarine. Ambera pulled her sunglasses halfway down her sweet nose. Her eyes were greener today, her gaze amused and sultry. Kael allowed herself a half smirk, which emphasized the dimple on her right cheek.
“Nice boat,” she said casually. Yeah, Kael knew how to work it. Ambera smiled, teeth white against her lipstick. “Handsome. Oh my, yeah,” Kael heard as Ambera pushed up the throttle.
As they sped across Lake Travis, Kael checked to see if the boat was outfitted for a family… kid-sized lifejackets or water toys. Nothing visible. Ambera the mystery. Kael was up for a day of adventure and discovery. And if it went right, hot outdoor sex.
Ambera guided the speedboat expertly. How marvelous, thought Kael, as Ambera’s curvaceous physique rolled with the chop of the lake, hair flowing, breasts heaving, manicured fingers lightly touching the wheel.
“A beer, please?” Ambera placed her hand on Kael’s shoulder and then held on to her T-shirt for a few seconds. Her touch was needing and possessive.
“Sure thing.” Kael rifled through the ice chest, feeling her hand freeze up. One of the hangovers from chemo… cold temps forced her hands temporarily into claws. She managed to fish out two Pacificos and warmed her hand under her thigh while pretending to look for the bottle opener. Ambera didn’t notice the delay.