Laura is a worker in a lingerie factory. Never, never did a lesbian thought cross her mind when touching those collarless briefs, those 120-cup corseted bras, those silks, and those lace-trimmed garments. Neither did she move a hair when looking at the locker room of her hundred female coworkers. Such a hotbed of cultivation, only comparable to that of a women's prison, didn't make her doubt her taste for men. Until she entered a phone chat.
The little thing had actually bitten her before, when Omar, her eternal boyfriend and father of her two daughters, would appear with those movies all against all. What excited her most were the moans that the women provoked in each other.
However, as she matured a bit, the idea seemed lowly and sinful to her, just like many other things. She swore, for example, that she had never masturbated in her life. She started doing it months ago, when she broke up with Omar and began having wet conversations with her sisters of gender, as they say now.
It was a whole process, which involved talking to very different people, sharing loneliness, desires, unfulfilled fantasies. And animating herself to bring her fingers down south, in response to the warm voice of a radio announcer who later searched for her anxiously and never found again.
Although the experience turned out to be ephemeral, Laura, 34 years old, five feet six inches tall, plump, dark-haired, brown-eyed, from Adrogue (without saying Burzaco, which always sounds more secluded), knew she could enjoy herself rabidly with another woman.
Then she started talking regularly with Pamela, a teacher from La Plata, around her age, in an uncertain marital state with a husband who came and went. Without seeing each other, they became friends, accomplices, virtual lovers. They shared, among other things, their hesitations. Neither of them had experience.
At the same time, Laura was talking to Graciela, from the Flores neighborhood, also a teacher (casualty or tendency?). The other one was 25 years old and identified as a permanent resident of the island. Greek and she was so decided that, on one hand, it generated tranquility, but -at the same time- gave the matter an air of procedure.
Our Argentine worker was mortified thinking about how her daughters would look at her after having homosexual relationships. But in the end, she managed to separate the accounts and resolved that her debut would be with the girl from La Plata. This way, both would be on equal terms. Doing it with Graciela, she convinced herself, would be equivalent to being with someone who, at least from the waist down, claims to have everything settled. Almost like a man.
One Saturday at 2 pm, like a couple meeting for the first time, Laura and Pamela met in the central hall of Constitución. A neutral and distant place, but also familiar.
As soon as they saw each other, they intuited that coffee was too much, but still fulfilled the pre-agreed ritual of conversation, and took something collectively in San Telmo.
Half an hour later, they were walking frenetically, convulsively, towards a hostel in the lower part, very close to the highway. They entered, gave each other encouragement, and faced the concierge together.
The key appeared in the glass slot. They grabbed it. They touched hands and didn't let go. The corridor in twilight was the scene of muffled kisses, without air. And in the room, paid for by halves, they did the love lip to lip to lip, pure bay. It was Laura and Pamela's second first time.
The little thing had actually bitten her before, when Omar, her eternal boyfriend and father of her two daughters, would appear with those movies all against all. What excited her most were the moans that the women provoked in each other.
However, as she matured a bit, the idea seemed lowly and sinful to her, just like many other things. She swore, for example, that she had never masturbated in her life. She started doing it months ago, when she broke up with Omar and began having wet conversations with her sisters of gender, as they say now.
It was a whole process, which involved talking to very different people, sharing loneliness, desires, unfulfilled fantasies. And animating herself to bring her fingers down south, in response to the warm voice of a radio announcer who later searched for her anxiously and never found again.
Although the experience turned out to be ephemeral, Laura, 34 years old, five feet six inches tall, plump, dark-haired, brown-eyed, from Adrogue (without saying Burzaco, which always sounds more secluded), knew she could enjoy herself rabidly with another woman.
Then she started talking regularly with Pamela, a teacher from La Plata, around her age, in an uncertain marital state with a husband who came and went. Without seeing each other, they became friends, accomplices, virtual lovers. They shared, among other things, their hesitations. Neither of them had experience.
At the same time, Laura was talking to Graciela, from the Flores neighborhood, also a teacher (casualty or tendency?). The other one was 25 years old and identified as a permanent resident of the island. Greek and she was so decided that, on one hand, it generated tranquility, but -at the same time- gave the matter an air of procedure.
Our Argentine worker was mortified thinking about how her daughters would look at her after having homosexual relationships. But in the end, she managed to separate the accounts and resolved that her debut would be with the girl from La Plata. This way, both would be on equal terms. Doing it with Graciela, she convinced herself, would be equivalent to being with someone who, at least from the waist down, claims to have everything settled. Almost like a man.
One Saturday at 2 pm, like a couple meeting for the first time, Laura and Pamela met in the central hall of Constitución. A neutral and distant place, but also familiar.
As soon as they saw each other, they intuited that coffee was too much, but still fulfilled the pre-agreed ritual of conversation, and took something collectively in San Telmo.
Half an hour later, they were walking frenetically, convulsively, towards a hostel in the lower part, very close to the highway. They entered, gave each other encouragement, and faced the concierge together.
The key appeared in the glass slot. They grabbed it. They touched hands and didn't let go. The corridor in twilight was the scene of muffled kisses, without air. And in the room, paid for by halves, they did the love lip to lip to lip, pure bay. It was Laura and Pamela's second first time.
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