Chapter 4

It didn't take me long to become totally immersed in the online dating world of women. The conversations were easier, I related to things going on in their lives, and we all had similar interests. I chastised myself for not giving this a shot years ago instead of picking off one loser after another with a penis. Once I'd gotten rid of the duck-lipped selfies, and what I thought appealed to women, I took off on a path to an endless world of females. True, my standards were ridiculously high, but thus far, I'd had no problems attracting the Jessica Rabbits of the online community. What I had yet to do was meet any of them.

It turned out females were just as eager as males to actually get together in person and not just spend hours talking on the phone, texting, or exchanging "get to know you" emails. Foolishly, I'd assumed women would drag out the whole introductory phase instead of diving right in. But when the rubber met the road, I was the one who got gun shy. I found reasons not to embark on this new endeavor: I didn't like their name, I couldn't imagine hearing their voice in the bedroom, they got too fresh too quickly. You name it, and I engineered a reason for it not to work. But tonight was different. Tonight, I'd meet Rebecca. We were having drinks at a bar down the street from my house-casual, no expectations.

Rebecca was the first of the women I'd talked to that put a tingle between my legs. She also happened to be the only one I'd been honest with. It dawned on me during the initial stages of this painstaking process, the easiest way to get down to funky town was to ask for directions. Beck, as she preferred to be called, was confident enough to show me the way and hopefully draw me a map for later use. I'd endeared myself to her with my tales of male woe, and she thought it was cute I'd decided to give the Y a try.

I came out of my bedroom in a fitted, cotton dress. The red brought out the highlights in my dark-brown hair, made my skin look flawless with little makeup, and elongated my flat tummy. The brown, leather knee-high boots took my legs from long to endless. Every asset I had was now perfectly displayed.

"Damn, Giselle. Why don't you just meet her at a hotel? You look like a high-class hooker."

"I most certainly do not." I spun to give my best friend the full view.

"I'll bet you twenty bucks this girl tries to take you straight home. One drink max. And she'll pay." She squinted her eyes and cocked her head, knowing I wouldn't pass up a bet.

"Fine. Two drinks and I'll return home alone...from the bar."

"You're so full of shit. You're like a cat in heat. Just don't rub up against her leg. You might leave a mark."

"You're foul. Truly. I don't know why we're friends."

"Oh, because you're teaching classes on etiquette down at the charm school?"

"Touché."

I moved to the kitchen to change purses. The monstrosity I took to work didn't need to accompany me to a watering hole. A clutch was much more appropriate for the outing.

"So, what's the protocol here? Who pays?" My insecurity poked a hole in my confident façade.

"Who asked who out?"

"Umm, I'm not sure. It was mutual, I guess."

"Always plan to pay, but don't fight if she insists, unless you don't want there to be a second date. In which case, make an ass of yourself and argue vehemently against your need for someone to carry the freight. She'll roll her eyes, and you'll be done."

"You don't know that." Not all women could possibly follow that code. Just like not all men believed it was their responsibility to pick up the tab. The whole women's lib movement had totally blurred the gender lines.

She shrugged, and her perfect breasts lifted with her shoulders. Her nipples teased the fabric of her thin tank top...I shook my head, pulling my thoughts from my best friend's chest.

"How do you practice safe sex?"

Ronnie's attention jerked up from the magazine she'd been scanning to face me and about fell off the barstool from laughing so hard. "What difference does it make? You just bet me a crisp Jackson you'd be home after two drinks."

"Future reference. I need to ask these things when they come up; otherwise, I might forget."

"You're in deep shit. Are you sure I can't come and tape this from the sidelines? We could put the footage on YouTube and make a mint. I guarantee it'd go viral."

My scowl demonstrated my irritation. "Well?"

"Jesus. I don't know. What are you planning to do?"

"Do you carry female condoms?"

"Not if you plan to actually be intimate."

Condoms were gross in heterosexual play as well, but a necessary evil-luckily, once they were on, I didn't really have to think about them. I didn't have a clue how female condoms even worked. For all I knew, they were like Saran Wrap you laid across the hooha. I didn't see any point in them being internal since there wouldn't be any penetration.

"Oh my God. Should I carry condoms in case a girl wants to finger me?"

"Do you make a guy put a condom on his fingers? Jesus, Giselle-think this through."

I kept the rest of my questions to myself. I didn't plan to sleep with this girl-at least not tonight. I had time to learn, and there was always lesbian porn if I still needed answers.

"Are you going to be here when I get back?"

She slid off the stool and pulled at the frayed hem of her shorts that had bunched on her thighs. Only Ronnie could pull off a tank top, cut-off jean shorts, and heels-and fuck did she rock it. "No. Trish has me on a short leash ever since the whole shopping fiasco. It was one pair of shoes, but you'd think I'd slept with Holden or something."

One thing I loved about Veronica, not much got to her. She knew she'd pissed Trish off, but instead of complaining about it, she took her lumps, stayed with Holden, one of her bosses, overnight while her girlfriend cooled off, and then laid low until it blew over.

She swatted at my behind as we walked out the door together. When she turned to me, her face had gone from playful to serious. "If you get in over your head, you don't have to go through with anything. Just like a guy-dating is still dating, regardless of whether it's a man or woman, and you're never under any obligation to anyone. Okay?" Her brow furrowed, and her lips tipped up in a half-hearted grin. "Peer pressure still exists in your forties...and you're a hot piece of ass." She winked, but I knew she was concerned.

"First of all, I'm not forty. Secondly, I can handle myself...but thanks, Mom."

I hugged my best friend goodbye with far more self-assurance than I actually felt and slid into my Camaro. I kept the top up to prevent my hair from falling apart, but the moment the engine roared to life, so did my confidence. There was something in the way the car hummed that turned my insides out and caused my flesh to burn in the most erotic way. It had been a post-divorce present to myself. Men loved it, the black racing stripe only added to the intrigue of the sunshine-yellow exterior-and if men loved it, women would swoon.

With my aviator glasses perched on my nose, I checked my lipstick in the mirror, buckled my seatbelt, and drove to the bar to meet Beck.