“Ash does it for you?”  Gail was interested in this young woman who was just so ***** that she didn’t mind hearing details of heterosexual *****.  Ever since the first day she had walked in the library and gotten the woman to assist her, Gail’s eyes had been on Bette’s.  It was almost a month now.  She didn’t care if it appeared inappropriate; she wanted to hear about Bette’s ***** life.  She imagined that this woman who was so passionate about art, so motivated about the career she’d one day have as the owner of an art gallery, who walked through life with elegance and determination, must be incredibly sexual.  “The ***** is…good, you say?  How?   I know it sounds odd, but I’ve never been with a man.  What’s it like?”

“Never?  Wow.  I don’t know.  Regular.”  Bette wondered if Dave, the server could hear them.

“What do you guys do?  Man on top, missionary stuff?  Do you ride him?  Do you guys go down on each other?”

Bette turned bright red and began stuffing the muffin into her mouth.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.  I can’t talk about this.”

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.  I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.  I’m just so curious about relationships and what makes them work.  That’s why I like doing research, I’m basically just a nosey person.”  Gail laughed hoping it would lighten the conversation.

Bette kept chewing and adding more and more muffin into her mouth.  The sooner she could leave Willoughby’s the better.  She was truly mortified.

“Changing the subject entirely…”  Gail cocked her head and said, “Did I just hear a loud sigh of relief?  She laughed heartily.  “I’ll get that information out of you eventually, ya know…?

* * * * *

“Big deal, Bette.  She told you she was a lezzie and that she was in her thirties.  As usual, you gave up virtually nothing about yourself.”

“As usual?”

“As friggin’ usual,” Alice said as she stood, collected the pitcher and glasses and walked back into the kitchen.  “What I want to know is how she finally wormed her way into your jeans and what did you do about your man?”

“I was getting to that, Alice.  You’ve never known patience.”  She heard Alice fill the glasses with ice and pour equal parts Sambuca and Bailey’s into the large shaker.

“Patience-schmatience.  Don’t make me make these more potent.  Just tell the damn story.”

“They couldn’t be more potent.  Okay,” Bette said, stretching her arms over her head and resting them on the sofa seat.  “What happened after that?”

End Part Three