Geek Porn Girl

It had been raining all week and my shoes were wet.

I stood at the counter of my local coffee place, watching as the barristas rushed around clattering cups and spoons. The espresso machine hissed like the Vermithrax Pejorative demanding sacrifices from the people of Urland, and the smell of toasted coffee beans filled the room.

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The clocking was ticking its way toward 9 p.m.

On Thursday night, February 14, I found myself not only miserably alone, but alone, bored, and restless. It seemed that everyone I knew either had a girlfriend, partner, or date, or had at least arranged a quick trip to a warm climate for the long President’s Day weekend.

I suppose I could have gone to bed, but after work I’d tried to drink myself to death with a large cup of French-style hot chocolate topped with a double dose of whipped cream. Calories be damned, I was celebrating Valentine’s Day by myself and desperate times call for desperate measures of chocolate.

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I looked into my glass, swirling my the ice cubes around in my coke. The music continued around me, one song blending seamlessly into another.

About a year ago, a local lesbian group began promoting these monthly “Dyke Dance” nights at a club in a town nearby. The first hour of every evening is a dance lesson in a featured style, usually swing, foxtrot, waltz, or salsa – that kind of thing. Part of the fun of the evening is seeing all the butches and femmes dressed in their dance best, interacting. And naturally, all the butch girls are there to learn to lead.

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Happy New Year!

I really wanted to finish this story in 2007. So, this is the last installment in a 5-part series. (Also, as a geek clarification, I should point out that my blogging service runs on GMT – Greenwich Mean Time – so although the post date is Jan. 1, 2008, I really did finish this story on Dec. 31, 2007, PST – Pacific Standard Time – as I intended.)

To read the entire series, in sequence, in one file, click here.

Part V

Kingman was fine.

Actually, it was exactly as I expected.

By the time I pulled up in front of Angelina’s place, the sun had dropped below the horizon and I was squinting at my printed sheet of directions in the dark. I sat there for a moment, double-checking the address, before I realized it was still 85 degrees out. My skin was hot and sticky, and my favorite traveling shirt was a rumpled mess. With some effort, I peeled myself off the seat of the car and began to climb out into the airless night. (more…)