If I want to co-star in wild lesbian sex stories, I go to the gay bar down the street.

Who doesn’t enjoy lesbian sex stories? Lesbianism has a wide appeal, and not just to the ladies. If anything, I’ve met more men who told me they dig lesbians than chicks. One of my favorite places to go to meet sexy, carefree ladies who are DTF is “Goth Night” at one of the bars in my neighborhood. Once upon a time, I used to be a hot goth chick. Nowadays I like to pick them up and take them home.

I started going to “Goth Night” recently thanks to one of my girlfriends cajoling me at just the right time when I was in just the right mood. She’s not quite “goth” anymore, but she and I did apply more than one layer of black lipstick together as teenagers. But we still both have a thing for brooding types with spike collars. She and I go every week now looking for fresh meat to take home.

I remember the first time I stepped into “Goth Night” at the gay bar. It kind of looked as if I’d teleported to that opening scene from The Matrix. But, the Cincinnati version of that scene. And since “everything comes to Cincinnati 10 years later” (as Mark Twain, smug prick that he was, once wrote), you can imagine the multi-faceted anachronistic-ness of it all. I loved it.

Between puffs of smoke and blinding flashes of LED light, I caught glimpses of her.

Her as in, the woman I decided was going to be my “target” for the night, seduction-wise. The bizarre non-future the scene inside the bar and on the dance floor harkened to only made me feel more excited. And it seemed like the perfect surrounding for her, my soon-to-be date. Although, then again, she was such a fucking babe she would probably look super hot in any context. And I had a feeling she had a few lesbian sex stories of her own to share.

She wore dark red lipstick on her thick, full lips. Sharp rings and long black nails adorned her pretty fingers. Easily 6’0″ tall, she loomed even higher because of her hair, which she wore in a messy Lydia from Beetlejuice-esque bun on top of her head. And her denim cutoff vest (a status symbol and/or means of social posturing amongst many “subcultural” groups) had studs that could kill and a giant The Craft back patch. I had no doubt she’d sewed it all on herself. I just wanted to see what else her nimble fingers could do.

“Goth” types are usually WAY kinkier than most people.

When I was a teenage goth girl, it wasn’t just about the music. It was about a lifestyle that was a natural enemy to propriety, the way “nice girls” (or “good boys”) are supposed to act. The androgyny of goth fashion appealed to me. I’ve always had a thing for boyish girls and girlish boys. I couldn’t wait to get her out of all those layers of ankh and upside cross necklaces and earrings. And I really couldn’t wait to peel off those knee-high doc martens.

After buying her a few drinks and sharing a couple of flirtatious cigarettes, she dragged me out to the dance floor. I should say pulled because by that time I was so smitten and deep in lust with her she couldn’t have “dragged” me anywhere. Past the twink in the giant horse head mask, past the post-punk leather fags dosing each other we went. Everyone was deep in their own world in the alternate reality landscape that was the dance floor. Anything was possible.

She moved in close to kiss me. I happily returned her move, feeling more turned on that I had in a while. And just when I thought I couldn’t get any wetter, she slowly moved her hands around mine up around her neck. She wanted lesbian erotic choking right here, right now, apparently. My kind of girl.

Keeping her intense eye contact, I squeezed my strong fingers around her pale neck. She let out a slight gasp of excitement.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

Can’t wait to hear what happened next? Call me for our phone sex chat now. Because I’m right here, waiting to tell you ALL my lesbian sex stories!