Swamped

So this week has been super duper busy at work, which is why I've been quiet, if anyone was worried. I think I forgot to post my TMI on the TMI blog, for instance, but it's okay because my TMI this week was crap. I'm not really complaining about being busy. A gal has to eat and I've got hungry mouths to feed at home too.

But one of the things we had at work this week was a school play. This isn't a usual occurrence for us, honestly. Most schools around here have their own auditoriums. But this is a smaller private school, religious or something, and for reasons I don't need to get into they wanted to do their school play here. Fine. Whatever pays the bills.

It's not a high school. It's a middle school. Possibly with a grade school as well. So no hanky panky there, not that this would change much if it were a high school because I'm far too old to hanky any high school panky either. But most of these kids are barely in their teens at the oldest. And religious. So buttoned down is the order of the day.

However, and I'll spoil it for you now because it won't work as a story if I don't, the drama teacher is a woman a few years younger than I am who looks a bit like Summer Glau and I'm supremely hot for teacher. No tits at all. Flat as a plank. And I'm afraid I have a thing for flat chested women who look a bit like Summer Glau. What can I say? It's a specific fetish. Anyway, let's call this teacher Erin.

Erin and I hit it off because I know what it's like to teach middle schoolers and what it's like to teach drama, at least a little. They were rehearsing and she was sitting next to me in the booth and cringing occasionally when they would flub lines. Then they took a dinner break and Erin said, "Ok, I've had enough of them for right now, do you mind if I eat dinner up here and let the parents take care of them for a few minutes?" 

Well sure. Why would I complain? So she ate and we chatted about this and that, until she mentioned her husband (of course she's married) in some way or other and I said, "Oh yeah, my wife is like thar sometimes..." or some such innocent thing I might say to anyone chatting.

She got this look I couldn't quite figure out and asked, "Your wife?" And I thought to myself, Lexi you stupid slut, it's a religious school, being a lesbian is probably tantamount to demonic possession. She's probably going to compel you with the power of Christ any minute.

But I also felt a little, I don't know, annoyed. Like, we'd been having a fine time chatting and now all of a sudden she was going to get judgmental? Fuck her, right?

"Yes, my wife." And I showed her my ring. "I'm married to another woman. Is that a problem?"

I cannot stress enough the fact that being queer in this country right now is tough, and even I, a fairly easy-going and untroubled bisexual, am a bit in edge recently, which is the only excuse I can offer for being quite so full of porcupine quills. Because she got a look on her face which I had a much easier time reading as total embarrassment. "Oh gosh no! I didn't mean it like that at all! I just..."

And she was apologizing, which made me feel terrible and led to me apologizing, and good feelings were gradually restored when it came out that she just had never run into a woman married to another woman before and wasn't judging, just curious.

Now, for the sake of my audience, I will state that there's a time and a place for curiosity and it probably isn't the time or place in question, particularly these days, but I will also state that I have a weakness for flat-chested younger women who look a bit like Summer Glau, so I made allowances for her sheltered upbringing or whatever and moved on. Because hey, sometimes curiosity about the ways of Sappho leads to other things, and I'm always on the prowl, apparently. Not really. I just didn't feel like having to spend the rest of my evening with Erin feeling shitty, so I took one for the team and agreed to allow her curiosity to be an excuse.

She took that to mean that I would answer her questions about my marriage. I'm not saying she was prying. The questions were perfectly civil and weren't sexual in any way. She seemed fine with the concept of lesbians (I didn't bother to go into my bisexuality because it really has no bearing on my marriage as far as polite society is concerned and would probably have muddied the waters) just less so with the idea that there could be a wife and wife team which made marriage work. I should probably be more annoyed at that than I was.

I tried to represent for the lesbians out there and probably made a huge mess of it because it's only comparatively recently that I even identified as anything other than basically straight with a chaser of girl stuff. Sorry my sisters. Hopefully Erin will meet some more philosophically-minded and well-rounded lesbians in future. I basically told her about a sanitized version of my home life, that no, my wife wasn't a massive bulldyke nor was I, that the pants were worn at various times by both of us, and then we devolved into general talk about relationships and marriage.

Before I go any farther I just have to say, straight people, are you okay? Because she was describing her marriage and all I could think was, wow, glad that's not me. She got to talking about how her husband was never home and I sympathized, since between various things Sveta and I have been seeing less and less of each other recently. But Erin was kind of happy about it, maybe? She was glad of time to herself, and I get that, but it seemed like maybe she wasn't happy when her husband was around.

Anyway, dinner time was over too quickly and hi ho, hi ho, it's back to work we went. Work, in this case, being pretty minimal on my part. She was cringing a lot. I was sympathizing. I patted her on the shoulder. She leaned into my hand a little. I decided that a nice thing to do, since I wasn't doing much else to help the cause, would be to give her a shoulder massage. I don't want you to think this was premeditated or that she wasn't interested in getting massaged either. So I stood behind her and massaged her shoulders for a while.

"Gosh, I haven't had it this good in years," she said.

"What, your husband doesn't give you shoulder rubs?" 

"No, that's not really his style. He's much more wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am." She giggled a little when she said it. "I guess it's not like that with you and your wife."

"Honey, there are days when that's what we both want," I said, because it's true, in multiple ways.

"Sorry, I didn't mean..."

"Don't start that again, you'll make me feel bad." Throughout I was kneading knots in her shoulders and she was sighing like, well, like I really wanted her to sigh.

"Do you mind if I ask about that stuff?"

"I don't mind."

"What's it like? Making love with a woman?"

"About the same as with a guy I guess." They should have sent a poet who wasn't currently getting wet because she was giving a flat-chested girl who looks a bit like Summer Glau a deep tissue shoulder massage.

"Come on. A guy has things a woman doesn't."

"There are toys for that." No need to go into the nitty gritty of the difference between a strapon and a cock. She giggled and blushed and my God, a weaker woman than myself would probably have buried her face in Erin's neck at that point but I was wearing a mask and believe in enthusiastic consent. "Ok, you really want to know? There's a lot more oral."

"You don't just use, you know, your fingers?"

Sweet summer child. "We do that too."

"Is your wife... good at it?"

"Come home with me sometime and she'll show you." I was kidding. Erin knew I was kidding. And yet...

"I wish someone would show me," she said, pretty much to herself.

"That's not something your husband does either, I take it?"

"No. I mean, I love when he makes love to me, but..." I just stayed silent. You have to set the hook before you can reel the fish in. "I kissed a girl once, on a dare."

Oh sweet summer child. "Oh yeah?" Knead. Knead.

And she starts telling me this story that wasn't that interesting about summer camp and how she kissed a friend of hers, with tongue, during truth or dare. And I'll be honest, at that point I figured, fine, she's getting to confess her extremely banal sin to me, high priestess of Lesbos, who will offer her absolution so she can return, free and clear, to the calm, stayed waters of heterosexuality. I was just enjoying the massage. No biggie, not everyone is cut out for the fast lane of homosexual dalliance.

And then I realized that, much to my chagrin, my hands had strayed lower than I thought from her shoulders and I was massaging what amounted to the upper slopes of her breasts, low hills though those might be. And yeah, she was letting me.

At this point, if it had been a story not for this blog, I would have pulled away and apologized profusely. There was a part of me which almost did that. If it had been a story from unrealistic porn, I would have said something witty about maybe kissing another girl and then we would have fucked hard in the booth while a terrible middle school play stretched endlessly out on stage. This is neither of those things.

What happened was that I let my hands move lower still until I was cupping her tiny breasts in my hands and massaging them, feeling her nipples on the palms of my hands, and she sighed and arched her back a little which pressed those nipples more firmly into my hands.

And then I think we both realized that we weren't paying any attention to what was going on on stage, plus anyone looking would see me fondling their teacher, so she withdrew a little and I did too until I was back on her shoulders. Then I slowly stopped massaging, waiting for her to say something.

"You give a good shoulder rub," she said. I've heard worse. "I expect I'll need another during the show, if you're up for it."

"I'd love to," I said, trying very hard not to mess things up by sounding as eager as I felt.

And we left it at that.

And the show is still to come. Not sure what to make of the situation. Does she want me to fondle her again? Does she think that I'm cheating as much as she is? Is she amenable to additional demonstrations of the thesbian arts? I just don't know. Rest assured, if anything worth reporting happens, I shall report it, albeit perhaps not immediately because, as I said at the beginning, swamped at work.

In more ways than one.