Betrayed Chapter 4

"Date?" Dianna finished, smiling bemusedly. "Sometimes. A few are closet lesbians who convince themselves they aren't really making it with another woman because the girl is hung. Some are just into chicks with dicks, like the guys who come in here."

"Have you ever dated any of them?" I inquired, out of genuine fascination.

"Sure," my girlfriend chirped enthusiastically. "Their money is as good as any man's. Besides..."

She massaged my tight, now-shapely tush.

"... I like girls; the sexier, more feminine, the better. I thought you understood that by now."

I waggled my tush under her hand.

"Am I sexy enough for you?" I asked coyly.

"Oh, Honey," she murmured in my ear, "if you only knew."

With that kind of positive reinforcement, I could really get into this.

I was astonished to spy two empty bar stools, side-by-side, along the front side of the bar. As we approached, I saw why they stood unoccupied. In the middle of each was a white placard which read: Reserved in flowing script. Dianna approached one stool, picked up the placard, draped her fur over the seat and back rest, then perched regally, like a queen on her throne. She removed the placard from the other stool and motioned me to sit. She handed the placards to the bartender and placed the Capezio bag on the bar.

"Thanks, Ritchie," she intoned with her most sincere smile. "Please take care of my bag for me, won't you? And do you think you could scrounge up something special in honor of my girlfriend's coming out?"

I surreptitiously removed two bills from my purse and reached behind me, holding my hand so only Ritchie could see. He discreetly accepted the proffered bills, noting Ben Franklin's portrait on both, and winked.
"We have a bottle of Taittinger Blanc de Blanc we save for special occasions," he informed us. "I think this qualifies, Miss...."