On the L

It was hot as hell on the L train despite the air conditioning. Jet rolled her shoulders, trying to resist tugging on her bow tie. She wished she had worn just a vest over her button-down shirt as opposed to a full suit. But she had wanted to look her very best today, and that meant dressing to the nines despite the heat. Later, after she had made her first impression, she could ditch the suit jacket and roll her long sleeves neatly to her elbow, pulling the cuffs out just so.

At least she knew she looked good. She’d spent more time in front of her full-length mirror than she would normally have done, holding bow tie after bow tie up to her throat. She had finally chosen a dark-bronze-and-navy floral one that picked up the tones of her midnight blue suit and shirt and her brown oxfords. After tying it expertly, she had slicked a bit of mousse into her pompadour, plucked a few stray brow hairs, and judged herself good to go.

Now she was sitting on the train second-guessing her outfit. Cut it out, she told herself. Hoping for a distraction, she turned her gaze outside the train as it coasted into the 6th Avenue station. There was the usual assortment of people on the platform: students, parents with toddlers, a family clearly on vacation. There was also a couple who looked like they might be having an argument. The woman certainly looked annoyed, anyway, and she whirled away from the man as the train came to a halt, hoofing it down the platform and squeezing into Jet’s car just before the doors slid shut.

Jet watched idly as the woman skirted a knot of people to stand just in front of Jet, ignoring the empty seat across from her. The curve of her full, round ass was right at Jet’s eye level–though Jet tried not to stare, she couldn’t seem to help herself from letting her gaze roll down the woman’s shapely legs and back up. Her legs were encased in tight houndstooth-print ankle-length slacks, her toenails painted a soft pink. She wore a floaty ivory blouse and looked much cooler than Jet felt. The woman shifted, and Jet saw that her fingernails matched her toenails–short, neatly trimmed, no ragged cuticles. Heat crept up her cheeks as she realized she was paying way too much attention to this woman’s fingernails.

She cleared her throat, telling herself to think of something else. Just then the train pulled into the 14th Street station, jerking to a stop as it always did. Jet barely took notice, but found herself reaching out automatically to steady the woman standing in front of her as she stumbled on her pin-thin heels and nearly fell into Jet’s lap. Her hips were soft and lush and felt very good in Jet’s hands. She also got a whiff of the woman’s perfume–something floral and slightly spicy.

Then the woman looked up, clearly embarrassed, and their eyes met. Jet felt the jolt run right through her as they did. This woman was fucking gorgeous, with a wavy, artfully tousled mop of black hair, sharp green eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles. Her eye makeup was masterful–a skill Jet had never learned. Jet had the strangest urge to pull her down onto her lap and kiss her silly. She wasn’t usually into super femme women, but this one pushed all her buttons. The woman gave her an swift assessing look in return, but Jet was too jaded to think it might be actual interest she saw sparking in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, her voice deeper and huskier than Jet had expected. The sound of it sent a thrill through her, and she felt her core pulse in response. Not now, she urged herself.

“No worries,” she managed, reluctantly removing her hands from the woman’s hips now that she was steady on her feet again.

The train had nearly emptied as everyone headed off to the 6 Train. But the woman didn’t move. She was looking through the doors into the next train car, and her face took on a distinctly strained expression.

“Oh god,” she muttered.

“Something wrong?” Jet asked.

“Just this guy. He was hitting on me in the station. I said I wasn’t interested. He didn’t care. Then I told him I was taken, even though I’m not. Didn’t work. So then I told him I was a lesbian, hoping that would get him to leave me alone.”

“Are you?”

“Am I–” The woman looked briefly confused and then broke off, blushing. “Oh. I…” She hesitated.

“Doesn’t matter. If he comes in here, I’ll deal with him.”

“Really?” She seemed painfully relieved at the prospect of not having to face him alone.

Jet hoped the guy would stay in the other car now that the train was in motion again, but…men. Especially now his quarry was alone.

“What’s your name?” Jet asked.

“Rosie.” Rosie took her gaze off the window and looked at Jet again. “You?”

“Jet.”

“Jet?” she repeated.

“It’s Jeanette, really,” Jet said with a grimace. “After my grandmother. It doesn’t suit me.”‘

“Jet does,” Rosie said with a little smile.

The door at the end of the subway car opened, and a man walked in, his eyes fixed on Rosie. He was tall, just a bit taller than Jet was, in athletic gear that showed off his lean muscles. Jet lifted, too, though, and she figured she could give him a run for his money if she had to.

“Hey there, sugarpie,” he said, grinning at Rosie. A flash of anger burst through Jet, as did the impulse to stand in front of Rosie and shield her. The notion startled her, but the anger was genuine. Couldn’t a woman just ride the subway without being hassled?

Rosie froze, appearing to steel herself to respond, but before she could Jet stood and crossed her arms.

“Who are you?” she asked, frowning over at him.

“Who are you?” the man countered, clearly just noticing Jet for the first time.

“I’m Jet. ‘Sugarpie’ here is my girlfriend.”

“Bullshit, she’s no dyke.”

It was hardly the first time she’d had the word thrown at her, but the soft flinch Rosie gave beside her told her it was likely her first experience with that particular invective.

“I said,” Jet said evenly, “she’s my girlfriend. And she’s not interested in you.” She slid her arm around Rosie’s waist in a proprietary way. Rosie stiffened slightly, but turned into her as if seeking protection.

“Maybe she just needs a good fuck from a real man.”

Derisive laughter bubbled up out of Jet’s throat. “I can give a better fuck than you any day of the week.”

“You don’t even have a dick.”

“I don’t need a dick.” She gave him an assessing look. “And I can still do better than a Two-Pump Chump like you. I can go all night,” she grinned. “She can ride my face for an hour and when she’s tired I worship her body with every part of mine. I make her come like a firehose until she’s limp and exhausted. When’s the last time you even saw a pussy, much less made one come?”

The man just stared at her, and she felt Rosie’s attention riveted as well. Acting on impulse, she turned to cement their little lie with a kiss. Rosie’s eyes widened slightly as she guessed Jet’s intention, but she lifted her chin just slightly in acquiescence.

Jet’s mouth came down on Rosie’s harder, more possessively, than she’d intended. Rosie stiffened briefly before relaxing into the kiss, nearly melting in Jet’s arms. Jet felt like she was on fire. She hadn’t wanted a woman this badly in months–maybe years. She wanted to just say fuck the wedding and take Rosie home to bed.

Instead she pulled away from Rosie’s petal-soft lips and glanced back at the man. He was glaring at them now with a sour expression on his face.

“Fucking dykes,” he spat as he turned to go back the way he had come.

She had heard it all before, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t painful. It was always jarring to be reminded that, to some men, her only worth as a woman was her fuckability. On that scale, she thought, Rosie was worth about a thousand times more than she was. Rosie’s body was lush, curvy, sexy as hell. Rosie was probably also straight–odds were, anyway. She’d played along, but that was all there would be.

“Are you okay?” she asked, withdrawing her arms and shoving them awkwardly into her pockets.

“Yes, thanks to you,” Rosie replied, sounding just a bit breathless. “That was amazing.”

“Not the first time I’ve had to give that little speech, or something like it,” Jet said.

“Oh. Well, thank you anyway.”

Jet lifted a shoulder and sat back down. This time Rosie did sit, tentatively, next to her.

“You look nice,” Rosie ventured. “I don’t usually see women in suits, but it, well, it suits you,” she said with a half-smile.

“Thanks,” Jet said. “I’m on my way to my ex-girlfriend’s wedding.”

“Your ex-girlfriend? Won’t that be awkward?”

“Again, it won’t be the first time.” Jet sighed. It was true. Three of her former girlfriends had gotten hitched, and she’d gone to two of their weddings. “It can be awkward, yeah. More so because it’s kind of a small community. A lot of my friends have gotten married, and I haven’t yet. I usually have a date, at least, but I’m not seeing anyone right now, so I’m likely to get a lot of the ‘poor you’ looks.”

“I’ll be your date,” Rosie offered. Jet looked at her sharply. “You know,” she said, blushing again, “as a kind of thank you, for dealing with that guy.”

“Oh. You really don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Rosie insisted. “If…if you’d like that.”

“I’d be proud as hell to walk in with you on my arm.”

“Do you think I’d have enough time to go home and change?”

“You look pretty damn perfect to me already,” Jet said honestly.

“Oh, I can do better.” Rosie smiled now, a real smile and a look in her eyes that Jet hoped like hell was a peek at her “bedroom eyes.”

Jet checked her watch. “I am a little early. You live out in Williamsburg?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Chelsea.”

* * * * *

Rosie was as good as her word, although Jet hadn’t honestly thought she could look any hotter. She had swapped her slacks and blouse for a chocolate-brown cocktail dress and refreshed her makeup with bronze shadow tones and deeper eyeliner. Her shoes had an even taller heel, which put her almost eye to eye with Jet.

The wedding wasn’t nearly as awkward with Rosie by her side. There were no pitying looks, no murmurs. A few of the guests eye-fucked Rosie, who didn’t seem to notice. Jet introduced Rosie as her date, and told her friends truthfully that they’d met on the subway. She left out the fact that they’d met that afternoon, and Rosie gamely followed her lead.

The anxiety began to creep back into her stomach as dinner drew to a close and couples followed the brides onto the dance floor. Jet and Rosie stayed at the table and chatted a bit, getting to know each other. A few times the silences between them drew out and got slightly awkward, as Jet glanced toward the dance floor. Eventually Rosie got her attention by bumping her knee against Jet’s.

“Aren’t you going to ask me to dance?”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m your date. You can ask me to dance.”

“Uh, okay.” Jet stood up and swallowed. “Would you like to dance?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Rosie said breezily, and put her hand in Jet’s.

Jet led Rosie to the dance floor just as a slow, sweet song started to play. She couldn’t believe her luck. She was holding this incredibly beautiful woman in her arms. This woman who, even if she wasn’t into women, was doing her a wonderful favor. Not all straight women, she knew, even those who were comfortable with their lesbian friends, would be willing to dance with her. Not to slow songs. Not so close.

The scent of Rosie’s perfume was muddling Jet’s head. She couldn’t stop her hands from caressing Rosie’s back as they swayed and circled together. Rosie rested her head on Jet’s shoulder and made a soft little sound of contentment that almost did Jet in entirely. She could have danced all night. Then Rosie lifted her head, met Jet’s gaze, and spoke in a soft voice.

“Did you mean what you said, earlier?”

“About what?” Jet asked, guardedly.

“About being able to make me come like a firehose.”

Jet almost choked, ridiculously aroused by the straightforward manner in which Rosie had asked the question. Then she did something she never, ever did: she blushed. Rosie’s eyes sparkled, the corners of her mouth lifting.

“Ah…yeah,” Jet finally managed. “If you can, then I could. If you were into it, of course.”

“Mmm. And can you really go all night?”

“I can,” Jet said quietly.

Rosie bit her lip. “I’ve never been with another woman.”

“I don’t want to be your experiment.” It was only partly true. Rosie was so beautiful, so sweet, that Jet would practically have sold her soul for one night. But she wanted to be able to look herself in the mirror the next day.

“No, I…I didn’t mean that. I wanted to be honest, and it’s just that you’re so–” Rosie broke off, swallowed hard. “You’re so sexy, Jet. There’s just something about you.”

Jet’s skepticism must have shown on her face because Rosie glanced around surreptitiously, then stood on her tiptoes and whispered against Jet’s ear, “I am so wet right now.”

When she dropped back down, Rosie was blushing furiously. Jet felt the heat in her own face and marveled that Rosie had caused her to blush twice in one evening. Ordinarily she was the one who preferred to take control, liked to do the chasing. But this shy, flirty little femme was seducing her as completely as she’d ever seduced anyone before.

“Jet,” Rosie murmured, and this time Jet bent her head slightly to catch the next few words. “Please, take me home and bang me like a drum.”

“Jesus,” Jet said under her breath. Her knees were nearly weak from arousal, and she could think of nothing but getting Rosie naked. “Let’s go,” she said, taking Rosie’s hand and walking off the dance floor at a clip.

She knew her friends were smirking at each other as she made their excuses and left the party early, but she really didn’t care. They understood.

Her inclination was to call a taxi, but Rosie wheedled her onto the subway. “It’s only three stops, and it’s always half empty this time of night.”

They went to the far end of the platform to wait for the train, Rosie pressing her trembling body against Jet. Sure enough, the last car was completely empty. Jet chose a seat, and was surprised to find Rosie slide onto her lap, straddling her.

“I want to kiss you,” Rosie said.

Jet looked up at Rosie’s flushed face and said the only thing that made sense. “Yes.”

Rosie’s lips were tentative on Jet’s, but when Jet opened her mouth Rosie made a soft sound of pleasure before sweeping her tongue inside. Jet thrust one hand into Rosie’s hair and slid the other down her spine to cup her rear. She used one hand to tilt Rosie’s head back slightly and kissed a hot line down Rosie’s throat.

“Touch me, Jet,” Rosie gasped. “Feel how wet I am for you.”

A quick glance told her they were still alone in the train car. Jet slid one hand slowly down Rosie’s front, brushing the back of her hand over one hard, thrusting nipple, and down to her inner knee. Her fingertips grazed Rosie’s inner thigh, sliding up to find her hot, molten core. She wasn’t just wet; she had soaked through her panties until her inner thighs were slick with her juices.

Rosie whimpered. Jet pulled her hand from beneath Rosie’s dress and brought her fingertips to her nose, inhaling Rosie’s musky scent.

“Oh, please,” Rosie begged urgently. Jet slid her hand back between Rosie’s legs and brushed her fingers over the front of Rosie’s panties–twice, three times. Then used her thumb to press gently just at the apex of her thighs. Rosie threw her head back and moaned softly. No matter how old she got, or how many women she had, Jet knew she would never forget the site of Rosie abandoning herself to pleasure right there on the L Train.

The train came to a grinding halt again. Rosie seemed to come to herself and rocketed off of Jet’s lap, blushing furiously. Jet grinned and held out her hand.

The walk to Rosie’s apartment was quick and silent. Jet was thoroughly pleased that Rosie seemed at least as eager as she herself was. Rosie fumbled the key, but eventually opened the door. She dropped her keys and her purse on the little table in the entryway and clipped smartly off down the hall. To the bedroom.

Jet grinned again, unable to believe her good luck, and conscientiously locked the door behind her before following Rosie to her bedroom. When she entered, she saw Rosie seated on the edge of the bed, her knees pressed tightly together and her hands clasped. Jet shut the bedroom door softly, but Rosie jumped at the sound anyway.

Nerves, Jet thought. She sat beside Rosie, making sure not to touch her. Not yet.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

“Just nervous.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“Sort of, not really.” Rosie twisted her fingers together. “It’s true I’ve never been with a woman. I’ve been attracted to a woman, here or there, but never so much as flirted. But that’s not really what I’m nervous about.”

“What are you nervous about?” Jet placed her hands, palm down, on her thighs. She could be patient. Rosie glanced at her from beneath her lashes.

“Orgasming,” Rosie blurted out.

Hmm. “Have you had an orgasm before?” Jet asked slowly.

“Not with another person.”

“Are you a virgin?”

“No,” Rosie said, softly. “But I can only come by myself.”

“That’s probably not true,” said Jet. She touched Rosie’s chin and tilted it to meet her gaze. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Rosie. I just want you to relax and have a good time tonight. I want to pleasure you. If you come, that’s great. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. You don’t have to come to have great sex.”

“Really?”

“Really. But I should warn you about something.”

“What’s that?” Rosie said, suddenly looking worried.

“This might ruin you for sex with men.”

Rosie looked down for a moment, then back up at Jet.

“Ruin me,” she said.

Jet flashed her a quick smile, then took her mouth again. They kissed hungrily this time, even though Jet wanted to take it slowly. Most men went straight for the pussy–or at least that’s what she’d been told. In her experience women were much more likely to come with a little, or a lot, of warmup first. Even if, as Rosie was, they were hot enough to burn up already.

It was Rosie who made the next move first, unbuttoning Jet’s jacket and pushing it off her shoulders. Jet untied her bow tie without taking her lips from Rosie’s, as Rosie started unbuttoning her shirt. When her shirt was open and Rosie’s hand was sliding over her undershirt, she tilted Rosie’s head back and feasted on her throat. Rosie cried out softly as Jet kissed her just below the ear, nuzzled her collarbone, and moved her mouth lower still, to the soft planes of Rosie’s breasts.

Jet reached around and unzipped Rosie’s dress–slowly, trailing her lips down each millimeter of exposed skin as the dress fell away from her body. She pushed the bodice down to Rosie’s waist, waited until Rosie lifted her hips to tug the dress all the way down. It pooled on the floor around Rosie’s ankles, and Jet knelt to unstrap her shoes. Jet ran her lips up the sole of Rosie’s foot, watched the other woman shiver.

Not content to be still, Rosie leaned forward to unfasten Jet’s pants, gazing up at her as she did so. It was incredibly arousing, and Jet again felt her knees weaken as Rosie drew her pants down, untied her shoes so she could toe them off.

“Lie back for me,” Jet said, her voice slightly hoarse with arousal.

Rosie stretched out on her bed, in a matching bra and panty set of pale pink cotton. Or they would have matched, if her bra had also been soaking wet.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jet said. She stretched out over Rosie in her undershirt and boxer briefs, lowering her hips in the cradle of Rosie’s and reveling in the burning heat she felt through their underwear. Rosie wanted her.

She kissed Rosie again, rocking her hips against Rosie’s in a gentle thrusting motion. Rosie moaned into Jet’s mouth and her hips rose to meet Jet. Rosie wrapped her arms around Jet, and Jet wondered briefly if she could bring Rosie off this way. She could, she thought. She could do that, and have Rosie’s trembling body against the length of hers, Rosie crying out in her ear as she came.