Just her acknowledgement of my existence was enough. It immediately elevated me to a higher place, a wonderful Utopia that lesbians try to visit frequently. Resisting the urge to linger was unpleasant. But I managed to make it back to my post unharmed. She drifted past “You going to the lake?” I liquefied into my own lake and whispered “Of course.”
Once the shift was over and the dishes were done (including breast inspection), I clocked a personal best for preparing for an unsanctioned MichFest date. The record time allowed me to hail the ‘late’ bus moments prior departure. Because I was last on I was forced to stand. And because I was forced to stand I was able to see Ms Hot Stuff cycling wildly toward the automobile on a poorly assembled apology for a bike. I hung out the window as we approached. When she saw me she squealed and grabbed my hand “Don’t worry, I will get there.”
She honestly could have had ANYBODY at MichFest; in fact, probably any ‘single’ lesbian on the planet, but she wanted me. Hot Stuff was a head turner. Correction. She was a head detonater. I know, I saw it happen every time she stirred. There was even an occasion when we were out in the truck inspecting the festival line (about 400 women camped on the side of the road waiting to get in) and I watched as women combusted or melted when we cruised by.
And I would throw my coat over these puddles of lesbians to ensure she only saw me.
To Be Continued...
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