Date: Tue, 16 Nov 1999 13:55:42 EST
From: Janelle T <janelle_1974@hotmail.com>
Subject: One Night in Montreal

One Night in Montreal
By Janelle
November 16, 1999
Janelle_1974@hotmail.com



***  The Morning After  ***

"Get your lazy ass out of bed before you're late for Church", Mom said
while pulling the curtains open.  As my eyes attempted to adjust to the
morning sun, Mom carried on.  "I don't know what's gotten into you?
Coming home at 3 in the morning!  You should be ashamed of yourself.
Your lucky your Father went to bed at 1, if he knew you got in at 3-
Oooohhh boy.  You went to Canada again didn't you?  You know how I
feel about that.  Too many kids are getting themselves killed over there.  I
hope Greg didn't drink and drive.  God it stinks in here."

"Mom." I barely utter through my cotton filled mouth while my head
continued to spin and my stomach violently protested its contents.  I've
had hangover before, but this was by far the worst.

"This is what happens when you go out drinking.  Not very lady-like, or
smart.  You do so well in school, why do you have to do this?  You do
realize you're only 17?  And what is this?"  Mom said while lifting my chin
and touching a sore spot on my neck.  "Tell me that's not a hickey!"

"Mom!!!" I started to plead.

"Don't 'Mom' me.  Greg did this didn't he?"  She stated more then asked.
"That boy had best keep his hands to himself.  You can't let your Father
see that.  There is no telling what he would do.  Its too warm for a
turtleneck, plus that wouldn't fool him.  Dab some make-up over it, wear
your collar up and brush your hair down.  Hopefully he won't notice.  Now
get your ass out of bed and try to make yourself presentable."

I knew Mom was upset because she hardly ever swore.  "I'm sorry, " I said
hoping to defuse the situation.

"Sorry is what you will be if you don't get going." She said has she
slammed the bedroom door shut.

Almost as soon as the door shut, she re-opened it.  "Don't think this is
over."  She stated while pointing a finger at me.  "After Church we are
going to have a long talk.  Things are going to change."  And with that she
slammed the door shut for the second time.

Has I pulled the sheets off I noticed I was in my "Pepe' Le Pew" nightshirt,
a small miracle with all things considered.  Mom was right I did stink.  I
smelt of smoke and beer, and my hair was matted on one side with
something caked into it.  I hoped I hadn't gotten sick in my hair, but knew
the odds were against me.

Has I made my way to the bathroom; I noticed that through each stride I
was sticking between my legs.  Once I got into the bathroom, I removed
my nightshirt and noticed a thin film covering my crotch area and inner
thighs.  I felt like a glazed doughnut.  While scratching the matted pubic
hairs free I discovered that I was super sensitive, like after a lengthy frig
session.

While reaching for a towel I caught a glimpse of something dark on one of
my butt cheeks.  Had I gotten a tattoo?!  Mom would kill me for sure.  With
the use of a hand mirror and the wall mirror I was able to see something.
Licking my hand wet and rubbing it over the black spot, I was able to fade
it a little.  At least it wasn't a tattoo.  But what was it?  It appeared to be
some type of writing, numbers actually, possibly a phone number.  A
phone number?!?!  Has the memories of the night before came flooding
back into my mind, the violent rumbles of my stomach finally won, forcing
me to pay homage to the white porcelain god.


 ***  The Night Before  ***

The legal drinking age in Vermont is 21, and in Canada the legal drinking
age is.  well I'm not sure.  Whatever the age is, it isn't enforced.
Needless to say this loophole hasn't gone unnoticed by the under 21 year
olds that live along the Canada boarder.  On Friday and Saturday nights
16-20 year olds invade the Canadian boarder in search of high
adventures.  I must confess that I was no exception.  One Saturday night
during the beginning of my senior year of high school, I found myself in
downtown Montreal sitting in a secluded booth of a dance club.  It is in this
booth that I first felt the hands of another woman.

Louise was a year older then me and was just beginning her Freshman
year at McGill University majoring in Art.  When she saw us, my date Greg
and I, she took the opportunity to say "Hi".  If she hadn't approached us,
we never would have recognized her.  Louise had always been a bit
different from the rest, but it was never as obvious as it was now.  In a
matter of a few months she had transformed herself from a small-town-
country-girl to a kind of "gothic" college student.  While I was dressed in a
lightweight floral summer dress, she was wearing a black leather jacket
over a simple white t-shirt, military boots and a pair of black jeans that
contained numerous slashes and cuts.  It was obvious because of the
large tears in her jeans that she was also wearing black stockings; a
strange combination that I found hard not to stare at.  She dyed her long
auburn hair raven-black and had a "buzz" cut on one side.  One of her
eyebrows was now pierced and she wasn't ashamed to show us her newly
pierced tongue.  She wore thick black make-up around both eyes and
painted two little teardrops on one cheek.  To help complete her new look,
she wore an oversized crucifix that seemed very inappropriate to me.  All I
could think about was how horrified her parents must be, or did they even
know?!?

Greg invited Louise to join us, and she accepted by climbing into the seat
opposite us.  After a few minutes of the usual "How's it going?" and "What
have you been up to?" Greg excused himself to get us some drinks.

"You have got to tell me what's up with your hair." I asked.

"It's the newest thing.  A lot of the students have done it.  Do you like?"
she asked.

"To be honest-not really.  You use to have such nice hair, and the way
you're dress, you could almost pass for a dude, if it weren't for the
stockings that is.  Do your parents know?" I just had to ask.

"Mom does, but not Dad.  Mom says I can't let Dad know cause he'll blow
a gasket." She explained while lighting a cigarette.

"If you let your hair grow and take the studs out before you go home, he'll
never know", I suggested.

"My looks aren't the problem.  Mom doesn't want Dad to know I'm coming
out." She explained.

"Out?  You're not saying you're gay are you?!?!"  I bewilderly asked.

"Come on", she said, "you know I'm gay.  I've been doing chicks for almost
3 years now.  Everyone at school knew." She explained.

"Not everyone." I said totally lost.

 "Okay.  It's not like I was jumping girls in the locker-room, or had it
tattooed on my forehead, but a few knew.  If I had it my way a few more
would of known, maybe even you", she said smiling through the smoke of
her cigarette.

 What does a person say after something like that?  Was she making fun
of me, had she just complimented me, or was she coming on to me?
Before the unknown words escaped from my lips, Greg saved me from the
moment by delivering a large pitcher of Molson O'Keefe for us and a
kahula and milk for Louise.

For those of you who are unwise to the nature of Canadian beer, let me
explain.  Most Canadian beer, real Canadian beer, not the water down
version they export the to the US, is about 6 to 7% alcohol.  In comparison
the average US beer is around 3 to 4% alcohol.  Thus it is about 2 for 1.  If
you drink 3 Canadian beers, it has the effect of about 6 American beers.
So for lightweight like me, that means a lot.  And if you're not carefully it
can hit you fast-and that is what happened.

Has the night progressed our dark secluded booth became quite popular.
Many of my friends showed up, along with several hockey players from
Greg's team and even some of Louise's "Gothic" friends came over.  In a
matter of a couple of hours, and I don't know how many beers, it became
difficult for me to maintain a thought.  Needless to say I had a "buzz" going
and felt no pain.  I was reduced to simple nods and an occasional laugh,
but I wasn't the only one.  A good time was being had by all.

At some point during the evening, I found myself sitting in the corner of the
booth with Louise by my side.  She had one arm around me and we were
sharing a cigarette, my first cigarette I might add.  Greg wasn't anywhere
to be found, probably dancing with some slut or maybe one of my so-
called friends.  When the last couple at the table left to go get more beer,
Louise and I were all alone, and that is when it happened.

Louise removed the cigarette from between my lips and kissed me full on
the mouth.  I reacted by pulling away, but she followed.  The more I
retreated deeper into the booth, the more she pursued me until it came to
a point where she had me trapped, and was lying almost on top of me.
Her hands groped at my chest while her tongue penetrated my lips.  I wish
I could say I fought her, but I was in shock and numbed from too much
beer.  I was more frighten then anything else.  I knew this was wrong and I
was scared to death that my friends might return.  What would they think,
and more importantly, what would they say in school?  I pushed Louise
away and told her to "stop".  Her response was to reach between my legs
and firmly grab my crotch.  Only my underwear separated her probing
fingers from my opening.

"You little tease, you know you want it", and with that she pressed her
fingers harder into me, causing my panties to become saturated with my
own juices.  While doing this she bent over and started sucking my neck.
After a few moments Louise pulled her hand away and held her fingers up
to my face.  "You nasty little slut.  Look how wet you are.  Don't try and tell
me you don't like it".  And with that she licked my juices off her fingers.
During this brief moment I took the opportunity to roll off the bench seat,
and crawl out from under the booth.  To someone watching this must have
looked quite humorous-after all-how often do you see a girl crawl out
from under a table?

Staggering to the dance floor I found Greg dancing with some trashy
blonde.  Instead of being upset, I rudely pushed his dance partner away
and wrapped my arms around him.  If I hurt the blonde's feelings, I'm
sorry, but at that moment I wanted to be held, and whether Greg acted like
it or not, he was suppose to be my boyfriend.  He held me in his arms,
gently stroking my hair has I quietly cried into his chest.  We danced in
each other arms for several songs, even though they weren't slow ones.
After the third or fourth song, while Greg was gently kissing my neck, I felt
something poke me just above my belly button.  Looking down it was quite
obvious that Greg had become aroused, and was starting to dry-hump me
like some horny dog.

"Why don't we go someplace?  It could be fun" he offered.

"I don't think so", and with that I broke his grip and headed for the ladies
room.  I was getting sick of people treating me like a sex toy.

The ladies room was down in dungeon.  At least that's what I called it.
The dungeon was a dimly lit, smoke filled room located on the lower level
that contain public phones, cigarette machines and restrooms, and it was
in the dungeon that most of the "Freaks" hung out.  In the past I always
made it a point to go with a friend, because one just didn't know what
lurked in the shadows.  People were talking on the phone, some were
obviously doing drugs and some were on the verge of having sex.  And
although I'm not positive, I could have sworn I saw someone getting a
blowjob.  Trying not to look around I made my way to the ladies room, but
before I could reach it, someone grabbed my ass.  When I turned
around-the mysterious hand was gone.  This now marked the third time
in less then 30 minutes that I was used as someone's sex toy.  Mom and
Dan would not be proud of their little girl.

The restroom was almost as crowded as the dance floor, and although it
was brighter then the dungeon, the containment of cigarette smoke in this
small area made the room seem darker.  There was a tight group of
women congested around the sinks, using the mirror to check their hair
and make-up.  Another group of girls huddled in one corner obviously
doing drugs.  Fighting my way to the stalls, I open a door to find it
occupied by a man and a woman.  Instead of being embarrassed by my
presents, they seemed to be quite annoyed that I had interrupted them.
So much for this being the ladies room.  Before making my way to an
empty stall, I passed one with no door.  Inside were two girls hugging and
kissing.  At least they seemed to have found someone.

I sat on the toilet not needing to use it.  Instead I used this private place to
help collect my thoughts.  I would have latched the door, but like most of the
stalls the latch was broken.  Fortunately the spring hinges held the door
closed giving me at least some privacy.  It didn't take long before the tears
came rolling out.  I started balling like a baby and couldn't stop myself.  I
wasn't sure why I was crying; I just knew I couldn't stop.  While drying my
eyes and trying to compose myself, I heard the screech of the spring and
through water filled eyes I saw Louise staring down at me.  I expected her
to say or do something, but she didn't.  She just stood there smoking her
cigarette.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why?  Cause you wanted me to", and with that she moved into the stall
causing the door to close in on us.  She knelt on the filthy floor and
wrapped her arms around my waist, resting her head against my stomach.
Not knowing what to do, I cradled her in my arms and after awhile I started
stroking the back of her leather jacket.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. can forgive me?... you just make
me so hot. and you let me put my arm around you. I thought you
wanted me."  Louise explained, has her tears soak through my dress filling
my belly button.

"It was how you acted that made me angry.  I don't like being mauled."
With that I lifted her chin and gently kissed her.  While I kissed her, I could
taste the kahlua that still resided in the corner of her lips.  To this day
whenever I taste kahlua I think of Louise and of that kiss.  But why did I
kiss her?  I still don't know for sure.  I do know I felt sorry for her and
didn't like seeing her cry.  But was there more to it?

We started kissing slowly, exploring each other.  Louise ran her nails
gently up and down my back causing chills to run through my spine.  She
undid the top of my dress so that she could reach in and play with my
chest.  After a few moments of messaging them, she released one my
breast from the cup of my bra and started applying soft kisses.  Slowly and
with great care she nestled my nipple between her lips, tracing her tongue
over the top.  Goose bumps filled my body.  I had never felt this way
before.  I felt so alive.  Using her free hand Louise made her way between
my legs.  This time my legs were spread open and she didn't have to force
herself.  As she moved my panties aside I felt her naked hand on my
pussy for the first time.  While rolling my clit under her thumb, she traced
her fingers up and down my wet slit.  She inserted one finger and then
another, while never releasing the pressure on my clit.

Prior to this I had only achieved orgasms through masturbation, but never
with a partner.  Louise was quickly changing that.  She continued to flick
the rough side of her tongue over my nipple.  She increased the speed of
her fingering while continuing to strum my clit.  I felt the familiar pressure
of an orgasm building inside of me.  My stomach became hard.  My eyes
closed tight.  Breathing was only possible in short shallow breaths.  My
moans became louder and louder.  Just before I released my screams of
delight, Louise kissed me deeply, muffling my cries of passion.

As I grasped for air, trying to gain my breath back, Louise removed her
hand from my over sensitive clit and for the second time in one night, she
licked her fingers clean in front of me.

"You really do taste good you know." she stated matter-of-factly, with a
devilish smile.  I stood up, tried to make myself presentable and left the
stall.  I think Louise wanted more.  I think she wanted me to do to her what
she had done to me.  But I wasn't ready for that.  I wasn't sure if I ever
would be, but she gave me a lot to think about.

While fighting my way to the sinks, I could feel my pussy juices trickling
down my inner thighs.  After wedging myself in front of the sink, I noticed a
hickey on my neck.  It must have happened when Louise attacked me in
the booth.  Next I felt someone press tight up against my ass.  Looking in
the mirror I could see Louise sporting a wicked smile while rotating her
crotch into my butt.  Concealed by the crowed of women consumed with
their vanity, Louise reached under my dress and started rubbing my ass.
Then she whispered into my ear, "I know you liked it.  I can still smell you.
Call me when you want more."  And with one fluid motion she lifted my
dress, pulled aside my panties and literally wrote her phone number on my
ass.  I felt like a cow being branded, and this time Louise's boldness did
not go unnoticed.  Many of the girls stopped and starred, and then the
hooting and hollering started.  Some laughed, others were in shock; some
even congratulated Louise by patting her on the back.  I ran away as fast
as I could, slamming the door on the roar of the crowd.

I found Greg dancing with the same blonde.  Grabbing his arm I made him
take me home.  On the way over the Champlain Bridge Greg noticed the
hickey.

"Hey, what do have there?" he asked.

Looking in the mirror, I found again what I had forgot; the hickey Louise
had given me.  "You asshole.  If my Father see this we're both dead."

"Sorry, I didn't think I did it that hard", he smiled arrogantly, taking
pride in what he thought he had accomplished.  I felt it best to give him
this little bit.  It was easier then explaining the truth.  Regardless of
what story he was going to tell his friends at school, this would be our
last date together-even if he didn't know it.

On the way home Greg had to stop the car 3 times, or risk ruining his
interior.  In between my sessions of being sick I kept telling myself that I
wasn't attractive to Louise, but if that was true, why was I so wet?  I felt
like a water pitcher that had been cracked, and no matter how hard I
squeezed my legs, my juices kept seeping through.


***  A Question  ***

The question that I pose to you is this; "Can this experience be classified
as sex?"  Ever since Monica went down on the Presidents and Bill did
Monica with a cigar, the line between what sex is and isn't has gotten
fuzzier.  Our President, Bill Clinton, seems to think that only intercourse is
sex, and that oral sex and the penetration of an item that is not a penis,
does not constitute has sex.  If we use Bill's definition, then many
Lesbians have never experience "real" sex.  Isn't it bad enough that the
government will not recognize the marriage of lesbian couples, but now
the President is trying to diminish our intimacy by not calling it sex?  Thus I
leave it up to you the reader to determine what sex is.  Whatever your
decision is, I hope we can all agree that the story you just read is at the
very least memorable.


***  My name is Janelle and these are my stories.  ***