The Adult Story Hub

"Why can't things just work out right for once," I whispered softly, as my eyes began to water.

"Hey, where'd ya hide the salt?"

I moped over to the bedroom door, slowly slipping my arms in my jacket. Then suddenly, Rachel appeared in front of me.

"Can't find the salt," she said.

While buttoning my jacket, and without looking up, I told her it was in the spice drawer.

Rachel stood there for a moment watching my hands slowly work the buttons.

"I think she has a girlfriend," she said softly.

I raised my face and brushed the hair from my eyes.

"Pardon?"

Rachel stood staring at me, not smiling, but giving me an almost sympathetic expression. I had been fighting back my tears, something I'd become good at over the last few years.

She shrugged.

"She's probably not... you know... interested in you like that."

Then she shrugged again and gave me a weak smile.

"I dunno," she said. "I think she's seeing someone, but I dunno for sure. Maybe, maybe not."

I returned her smile, though it was a bit forced, and followed her downstairs. I picked up my keys and purse and walked over to the door. And there I stood briefly, wondering if I should do this. Were my hopes simply going to be dashed once again? What made it seem all the worse was that I had built myself up to this point.

For a second, I was almost angry with this Gayle person, someone I hardly knew, someone who, for an instant, I tried to blame for allowing me to climb to the top of the mountain only to suddenly feel a strong gust of wind trying to push me off the other side.

I wanted to blame Gayle, but I couldn't. I couldn't, because I didn't know her or her motives. And worse yet, I was basing my assumptions, which is all they were, on something as benign as whom she preferred to sleep with. Still, it had been a benign something that tore my life apart before. Now the question became not what were her motives, but was I going to let this stop me? Was I willing to take a chance and let go of the flotsam I was clinging to and try for something else? Was it worth the risk?

Life's a gamble, no matter how much you try to avoid it. Making this proposition even less palatable is the notion that unless you're willing to take chances, you're never going to find what you're looking for.

Happiness doesn't find you. You have to create it.

I turned from the front door and told Rachel I'd be home no later than 10pm. She was moving about in the kitchen and stepped into the doorway and nodded.

"Ok," she said. "Have fun."

That's what I decided I wanted: fun and happiness for once, and to Hell with the risks.

Within fifteen minutes, I was driving into the parking lot of Gayle's condominium complex. It was nice, but large and anonymous. Rachel and I lived in an older part of town with big houses and large trees lining the streets. There was plenty of room to move around and spread out, as opposed to here, where everything and everyone was compacted into small modular habitats. There was very little in the way of personal outward trappings, expressing that unique individuals lived inside.

Looking for a place to park, I was becoming more anxious. Gayle was a lesbian. She found me in the park that Saturday and struck up a conversation. She sat and we talked, and I had invited her to do so. Now she had extended an invitation to me to come to her home.

Did she see me at the park that day and make some kind of conscious decision? The thought almost made me wince, to think that she was interested in me, as Rachel implied, "that way". But what if she wasn't? Just because she's a lesbian, doesn't mean she has sex on the brain around the clock. Then I thought about it. It suddenly popped into my mind: sex with another woman. I pulled into an empty parking space and turned off the car and quickly shook my head.

"Ok," I mumbled. "You're reading way too much into this."

I gathered up my purse and stepped out of the car.

It was early September and the evening sun was casting an orange and gold hue. I gazed up at the building in front of me, looking for any sign of a dinner party in the open windows. There was one on the second floor, the curtains open, and I could see two people standing with their backs to me. A light was on inside, and they seemed to be talking.

"Must be it."

I took a deep breath and followed the sidewalk to the door of the building. Inside, I checked the mailboxes and found Gayle's. Then I turned, and before me was a set of steps, one leading up, the other down. Based on her condo number, and where I had seen the people standing in the window, I guessed she lived on the second floor, so I trudged up the steps.

Standing inside the hallway of the second floor, I could hear music emanating from the other side of the first door to my right. It was Gayle's number on the door: #521. I glanced down at my watch and grinned. The time was almost exactly 6:30pm, with a minute to spare. It was one of those things I took a wee bit of pride in, that of being punctual. Then I looked up at the door, took a breath and exhaled, put on a smile, and knocked. Instantly the door swung open.

And there was Gayle.

As she opened the door, she was turned away, saying something to someone inside the room and laughing. She had a glass in one hand, it looked like wine, and I chuckled nervously, in response to her, and then she turned to me and smiled.

"Hey! You made it," she said with a broad grin.

Gayle stepped back, bringing the door with her.

"C'mon in," she said, extending a long finger and brushing the hair from her eyes.

Inside the living room were a dozen or more people. Some standing, some sitting, all of them chatting and laughing in small groups. Against one wall was a large entertainment system in an equally large wood cabinet. The television was off, but I could see the little red and green lights of the stereo flickering in time with the music it played.

"Wanna take your coat off?" she asked.

I turned and smiled, as Gayle stood there holding her glass in one hand and the other jammed in her back pocket.

"Oh, um... Sure," I replied.

I went to remove my coat, but Gayle, taking a sip of wine, shook her head and smiled.

"Mm, no. C'mon," she said, gesturing for me to follow her.

As we walked toward a lighted hallway, she'd let her hand land on various people we passed, eliciting a quick turn of the head and smile from them. Then their eyes would land on me, and I'd smile back, almost embarrassed. But their grins broadened, when they saw me, this stranger in their midst, perhaps an unconscious way of welcoming me into their circle.

I followed Gayle down to an open door, which led into a dark room. Just outside the doorway, she reached in and flipped on a light. It could have been a bedroom, but it looked as though she used it for other purposes, numerous in fact, as there was a desk, computer, a radio, assorted books and a stationary bike. But strewn throughout the room, here and there, were other coats. Gayle said I could leave mine in there, as well.

As I took it off, I could sense her looking at me. Staring at me. Watching me. And the gears in my mind started turning again. She's a lesbian, I thought quietly, and could feel myself blush.

I gently laid my coat on the seat of the chair in front of the desk, and then turned to her, brushing my hands down my side. She was holding the glass of wine to her mouth, taking a sip, and smiled, when our eyes met.

"You look nice," she said softly and with that same curious smile I'd seen the previous Saturday in the park.

I glanced down and could feel my face burning red.

"Thanks," I replied sheepishly. "Your note said casual, so I, uh..."

"Want something to drink?" she asked, but in a tone that seemed livelier, as if changing the subject.

I looked up and nodded.

"Um... Yeah, sure."

Gayle's suspicious smile faded into a more amiable expression.

"C'mon," she said, nudging her head toward the door.

As I followed her back into the hallway, I found myself staring at her from behind.

Gayle was a few inches taller than me, and she most certainly had the figure of an athlete, perhaps more that of a dancer. Long, slender legs extending up to a small round butt. She was wearing jeans and a white, buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled slightly up her thin forearms. And down from the back of her head cascaded her long brown hair, stopping midway between her shoulder blades.

That was the first time I consciously thought of her as an attractive woman. But, of course, she was. There was no denying it. Any man in his right mind would find her attractive. I also noticed how she moved with a certain ease and grace, her limbs seeming to flow, as she walked and gestured and went about the mechanical business of being a hostess. There was a degree of finesse in her every movement, even elegance, as if choreographed and rehearsed many times over, but coming at such short notice as to be wholly an unconscious act. When she laughed, her body would gently bend like a lithe reed, slowly arcing back, her hands clasped around the glass of wine they held in front, counterbalancing her delicate movement. And then her teeth would shine, as her lips slowly receded and her jaw dropped, almost like that of a marionette, straight downward, while her eyes narrowed and brows rose high. And her smile was infectious. When Gayle smiled, so did everyone else.

She kept me close to her side, as she made the rounds between friends, introducing me to all of them and actively engaging me in whatever conversations we stumbled upon or initiated, and there was nothing contrived about her performance. When she asked me what I thought about one thing or another, the sincerity of her interest was evident in her eyes, how they wrinkled at the corners and her nostrils would twitch and flare. And it was intriguing to watch her speak, as she did so not only with her voice, but her entire being, moving her body and hands and legs, gesturing and touching someone with a delicate hand. Several times, I'd feel Gayle's hand on my arm, my shoulder, my back; a soft touch, as she spoke to me or someone else. Then she'd turn to me and smile, a soothing grin. And, as the evening wore on, I slowly became more enamored by her subtle grace.

After we had made an appearance at each small circle of friends, we found ourselves alone and sitting on the couch. Gayle asked if I was having a nice evening, and I couldn't help but notice how she seemed to avoid looking at me, when posing the question, as if too embarrassed to make eye contact. When I said yes, she rolled her nearly empty glass of wine between her fingers and smiled and nodded.

"I'm glad," she replied, glancing at me with a smile, but quickly hid behind her glass, as she held it to her lips.

My stomach fluttered and my gaze drifted down to the glass in my hands.

"Can I get you some more?" she asked, with a light gesture.

"I'm fine," I replied. "Gotta drive home, anyway."

Gayle turned more toward me, lifting one knee onto the couch.

"I'm sorry," she said, almost plaintively, resting a hand on my thigh. "I shoulda asked first, if maybe you'd like a soda or something instead of wine."

"S'ok," I replied, taking my turn to hide behind my glass.

Then I felt the hand on my thigh give an almost imperceptible squeeze, and then pull away.

The party was slowly winding down, and soon the conversations became less animated and more demure. Gayle and I spoke quietly on the couch, sometimes giggling, sometimes leaning close and speaking in nearly a whispered tone. And the topics ranged widely and changed smoothly. Gayle knew how to live and enjoy life, expertly combing for the smallest morsels and finding joy in them, something I had long since abandoned. We discussed books and movies and songs and the people we knew and those we didn't. She told me about her mother and sister, the friends she had in high school and college, as well as those with whom she worked and those in our presence. And she listened with great intensity to my story, though never broaching the subject of my husband, something I came to assume my daughter may have already imparted to her.

One by one, and sometimes in pairs, people slowly departed, stopping by to thank Gayle for inviting them and shaking my hand, taking a moment to say it was nice to meet me, to which I replied in kind. She would stand and escort them to the door, and, when she came back, she always seemed a bit sad to see them leave. When the last of the partygoers had left, Gayle came and plopped down onto the couch next to me with a long sigh.

"...the one thing I've never liked," she remarked, as she leaned to the coffee table to pick up her glass.

"What's that?" I asked.

Gayle took a long sip.

"Whenever a party ends," she replied.

We sat for a moment, gazing around the now empty living room. Music was still playing on the stereo, though so low as to be nearly inaudible. A few empty cups sat about, one in the windowsill and another on an end table. Gayle inhaled deeply, and then let out another long, exasperated sigh.

"Well," she said, slapping her hands to her knees and motioning to stand. "It's getting late," she said and smiled at me.

I looked down at my watch and gasped. It was five after ten.

"What is it?" she chuckled. "Got a curfew?"

I snickered and explained how I had told Rachel I'd be home by ten. Then Gayle gestured toward the kitchen.

"You can call her, if you'd like. Phone's right over there."

While Gayle walked around the room cleaning up, I called my daughter to let her know I'd be home shortly.

"How was it?" she asked.

"Pretty nice," I replied, holding the phone close to my mouth, as I watched the hostess from the corner of my eye move deftly about, picking up one item or another. Then I told Rachel I'd be home within half an hour.

When I hung up, Gayle was walking into the kitchen with the empty cups and stepped over to the trash. I stood for a moment, fidgeting with my hands and asked if there was something I could do to help.

"Nah," she said. "There's not much. I can get it."

Then a peculiar mood seemed to sweep down between us, something I hadn't felt in years, but when I recognized it, I felt my face turn red and blush. Gayle seemed to sense it, as well, and when she hooked her thumb over her shoulder toward the room with my coat, I smiled sheepishly and nodded.

"Um... You wanna get your..."

"Yeah," I stammered. "Gettin' kinda late."

I followed her down the hall to the room, and she leaned inside to flip on the light. I slipped past her to get my coat, draping it over my arm, and then back down the hall we went, stopping at the front door. As I pulled the keys from my coat pocket, I could see Gayle jam her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and rock gently on her heels, as if she were nervous. When I looked up, she was staring down at the floor, pursing her lips tightly, almost as if she wanted to say something. And then my keys jingled and she looked up and smiled, brushing the hair from her face. I grinned fitfully in reply and reached for the doorknob.

"I guess I should..."

"Yeah," she replied quickly, nodding her head. "Can I, um... let me walk you out? That ok?"

I pulled my hand away from the door and nodded with a sputter.

"Oh, uh... yeah, sure."

Gayle chuckled nervously and reached for the door.

"Can't be too safe," she added with a tense giggle.

Then she opened the door and gestured for me to go ahead of her. As I walked out into the quiet hallway, I felt as though I were on a date, back when I was a teenage girl.

We walked downstairs and out to my car in the parking lot, and the entire way neither of us spoke. Honestly, I wouldn't have even known what to say. With each step, I was consciously trying not to think of Gayle as being a lesbian and how peculiar she was acting toward me. In fact, if I had to describe it accurately, it was just as I said, no different from when I was in high school and on a date with a boy who was nervous about how the evening would end.

She stopped at the front of my car, while I took the last few steps to the driver's side door. Then I carefully pushed the key into the lock and looked over at her. Gayle was standing there with her arms folded tightly against her chest, her bosom hardly visible, and a broad smile on her face.

But it wasn't merely a smile, a simple display of politeness, rather a grin expressing a genuine happiness within. And, when I saw it, I couldn't help but feel the same way. Warmth suddenly filled me, and my stomach fluttered at seeing her standing there like that. I blushed and looked down at the door and slowly pulled up on the handle. The door gently popped loose, and I stepped back to open it.

"Well... Thanks again for inviting me," I said softly, not quite sure what more to say, but feeling as though those few words weren't nearly enough. And, when I gazed over at her, I giggled, as she stood there still wearing that precious grin for me.

"Thanks for coming," she replied with a little wave of the hand.

I fidgeted with my keys, smiled nervously, and, as I stepped down into the car, Gayle spoke.

"Oh... Um... Hey."

I quickly poked my head out the door and tried to stand.

Gayle held out her hand, saying, "I was, uh..." Then she chuckled and glanced down at her feet, playfully kicking one foot, adding, "I was wondering if, uh... if you'd like to go to lunch maybe... sometime... no, uh... no big deal." And then she snarled her lip for emphasis, giving a wave of the hand for more effect. Just a routine departing question, was what she seemed to be implying.

My eyes darted to the steering wheel, as my brain tried to register this sudden and unexpected request. It was beginning to feel more like a date.

"I, uh... Yeah, yeah... Um... Sure, you know, yeah. That'd be fine. Sure. I'd like that."

Gayle's smile returned and she shrugged, leaning from one foot to the other and asking if any particular day would work best for me. My eyes roamed the interior of the car once more, as I tried to think and make sense of all that was happening before me. Then I noticed my hands beginning to tremble.

"Any... Any time would, uh..."

I cleared my throat and tried to speak again.

"Any time's ok... with me," I stammered. "I, uh... Did... Did you have a certain day that'd, uh... work for you?"

She brushed a hand over her forehead and looked off for a moment, as if in thought. Then she slowly shook her head.

"Um... No, not really. Would, uh... Would tomorrow be ok? Would that work?"

My head jittered up and down.

"Yeah, sure. That'd be fine. So... Should I call you?" I asked.

Then I looked around the dashboard for a pen and paper to write on. When I finally found something, I turned back to Gayle, ready to take down her work number, but found that she had stepped over to the door. I looked up and blinked, as she stood there in front of me with her arms still folded. I went to place the small scrap of paper I'd found on the door to write, but saw that my hands were now visibly shaking, so I quickly pulled them down to my lap, placing the pen and paper on my thigh. I glanced up and nodded, and she gave me a number I could reach her at during the day.

So it was settled. I'd call her in the morning to arrange meeting her for lunch. We then parted with a few more quick, uneasy goodbyes, and, as I pulled out, I watched as Gayle slowly trudged back inside, staring down at the sidewalk, her arms folded and wrapped tightly around her chest. And in that instant, I felt sorry for her.

I could empathize with her, and it ached my heart that someone like her, so alive and wonderful, would have to return to a darkened, desolate room to be left alone. But what made a tear come to my eye was the knowledge that I was now doing the same thing, what I'd been doing for the last several years, and I did so passionately hate it.

When I arrived home, I checked myself in the rearview mirror, to ensure Rachel wouldn't see that I'd been crying, and then I slowly followed the sidewalk to the front door and stepped inside.

As I lay in bed, once again alone in my own dreary tomb, I rolled over, and my eyes landed on the phone sitting on the nightstand. I wanted to call her, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. In my heart, though, I knew if I did, she'd understand. So, instead, I turned away and faced the ceiling, wondering if Gayle was doing like me at that very moment, lying in bed wondering if there was any way out of this, if there was really any hope at all. Then I sighed and closed my eyes, drifting into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning, I awoke feeling hung over, weak and tired, and emotionally, if not physically, exhausted. Gayle's party had been a wakeup call for me. Something had to change in my life. What I was looking for, whatever it might be, wasn't going to come find me. I had to go get it myself.

As I stood in the shower with my hands behind my back, letting the warm water splash over my body, long strands of wet hair dangling around my face like a curtain, I began thinking about Gayle, thinking about how this person whom I barely knew made me feel. There was just something about her, some unknown, intangible quality I couldn't quite define. My subconscious kept trying to regurgitate her being a lesbian, but I shook it out of my head.

"I'm not a lesbian," I replied softly. "And so what, if she is? That doesn't mean anything."

But my mind kept dwelling on it, kept going back to her curious smile and the way she acted when we were sitting alone in her living room or standing outside by my car. My mind was working feverishly to convince me that her motives weren't as amiable as I thought, but I knew the impetus for this notion was purely conjectural.

"You're jumping to conclusions," I mumbled, and turned to rinse my face.

And then my subconscious slipped a thought into the light where I could see it.

"She's pretty."

I stopped rinsing the shampoo from my hair and let my hands slowly drift down over my mouth. Then I turned from the spray and opened my eyes, brushing the water from them.

Did I just think that?

My subconscious presented me with a myriad of mental images, as proof of the assertion her smile, her slender fingers and lean legs; her flowing brown hair and the way her body moved. And then I began thinking of the details, the things I couldn't see, the things hidden under her clothes. I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of these sudden bizarre thoughts. Not once had I ever looked at another woman and admired her sexuality. And the less I attempted to thwart these thoughts, the more emboldened my subconscious became and began sending a flurry of them racing to the forefront of my mind.

Standing there in the shower, I thought about Gayle and how she acted towards me. When we talked, it was as if we were connecting on an emotional and intellectual level. In short, trying to become friends. And I was genuinely interested in getting to know her, and there seemed no doubt in my mind she felt the same toward me. You can tell, when someone's faking it, when their motives are transparent.

Sometimes it's overt and at others merely a gut feeling that something isn't right, but I didn't sense any duplicity in Gayle's words or actions. And what difference did it make, if she was attracted to me? Was it such an awful thing? In fact, if she were, I'd almost be forced to take it as a compliment.

Over the last few years, several men had made passes at me, though I wasn't all that interested in following through. Sure, they were nice, and I was even friends with one of them, a colleague at the school where I taught, but nothing ever transpired from it. We remained friends and nothing more, and that friendship didn't seem to suffer for it. It's entirely possible to be attracted to someone, yet still maintain a purely platonic relationship with no ill effect.

As I stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel off the shelf, I found myself actually becoming flattered that Gayle would be attracted to me. I smiled and giggled at the thought, as I dried myself: another woman attracted to me, of all people. The possibility had never even crossed my mind, not once in my life.

I used the towel to wipe the steam away from the mirror, and, just before I started brushing my hair, I stood staring at my reflection. My wet hair hung limp around my face, stopping just above my eyes in front and below my neck in back. Red and long, my husband always like it that way. Many years before, when Rachel was very young, I came home one day from the salon with a new hairstyle, much shorter than I'd ever had it before. My husband took one look and gasped, making me promise never to cut it that short again. And that evening, as we lay in bed, he kissed me and held me close, saying I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known.

It'd been a long time since someone had said that to me.

After dressing, I walked downstairs to breakfast. Rachel was sitting at the table, and we ate together. She was reading the newspaper, as usual, and asked a few questions about the dinner party at Gayle's, but otherwise it was just a routine morning.

When I arrived at school, I made my way quickly to my classroom. Today I was going to give my first period students a pop quiz, something I really disliked doing, but it was a way to keep them on their toes and ensure they did the required reading. It would also afford me a good fifteen minutes to make a call to Gayle.

The bell rang, and the last of the stragglers slowly made their way into the room, taking their seats. I announced there was going to be a quiz, and then came the obligatory groans of protest, but I apologized, saying it was for their own good, and promised to be holistic in my grading.

Once my students were fully occupied, I quietly excused myself and quickly made my way down to the teacher's lounge, not far from my room. As I opened the door, another teacher was walking out, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Mornin', Jess."

"Hey, Todd."

Then I dashed over to the phone, before anyone could walk in on me.

I pulled out the slip of paper with Gayle's phone number at work and dialed.

"Good morning. Physical therapy. How can I direct your call?"

"Um, yeah," I said softly, looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was walking into the lounge. "Is Gayle in yet? Gayle Martin."

"Yes, she is. Can I tell her who's calling, please?"

I sat down on the couch next to the phone and squirmed.

"Uh, yeah, my name's Jess. Jessica. She's expecting my call."

"Ok, I'll let her know you're on hold. Just a moment, please."

But before I could thank her, that wretched music they always play came over the line. I glanced at the clock on the wall and grimaced.

"C'mon," I mumbled.

"Hey, Jess."

Startled by those sudden words, I shot upright and grinned.

"Gayle? Hey, uh... So, I, uh, don't have a lot of time here."

I glanced at the clock again, then to my watch.

"Ok," she said. "Yeah, a client just showed up here, so we better keep it short. Thought I'd grab the phone quick, when they told me it was you."

I held the phone to my ear with both hands and felt my face turning red.

"So, um..."

"Ya know, you have a really pretty phone voice," she said with a chuckle.

I giggled in reply, and she added, "Well, and off the phone, too. I'm just saying..."

"I don't have much time," I laughed. "I gave 'em a pop quiz a few minutes ago, and they're probably done by now."

Gayle laughed, saying, "Ugh. God, those sucked. Ok, what time? When and where?"

"I, uh..."

"Want me to come over and meet you?" she asked.