A Flying Fuck

Each time she came close to the zipless fuck, the zippers or something worse, like her inhibitions, got in the way. Stacey was often left with an achy feeling after sex, like she had missed something, or her orgasm wasn't complete.

"Close but no damn cucumber," Stacey said to her computer screen, which now promised her a new realm of sexuality.

Stuck in some cross-dressers loop, desperately searching for pictures of chicks with dicks, someone caught Stacey's eye. RosaLee was a tall lanky blond, not too bad of a cross dresser, actually looked quite, well, transsexual.

On a whim, Stacey checked out her site. "Hum, older than me that is for sure, but ooohhh look. She goes to Phat Pat's!" Phat Pat's was THE lesbian bar in the greater Omaha area. There isn't much out there in the Nebraskan prairie, but Phat Pat's was the hippest lesbian bar between Chicago and Denver.

Stacey couldn't believe her eyes that this person actually lived around here! She decided that even though she missed her former collection of dildos and vibrators, she should masturbate with cucumbers more often; it gave her some kind of sexual luck.

The following three Saturdays, Stacey headed out to Phat Pat's. It was a 45-minute drive and she was a broke single mother, not much cash to spare, but she felt this was a good cause. Something about RosaLee's website made her manically horny, hornier than she had been for a long time.

She sat in the smoky dimness of the bar, sometimes dancing, sometimes being picked up by matronly corn fed lesbians. On the third Saturday Stacey decided to give up, it was too good to be true in any case.

Stacey resolved to leave and never come back. She hopped off her barstool and smack dab into the middle of a pair of 36C's, and looking down, a garter belt with fishnet hose played peek-a-boo with her from underneath a much too short skirt!

"Oh sorry," mumbled Stacey, turning beet red. She felt a pair of hands on her tiny little waist. Looking up, Stacey almost peed her pants!