Becky

Last week I joined a lesbian erotic writing workshop. I think it’s going to be great fun and I’m looking forward to what it will bring.

Our homework, for presentation at the next workshop, is “a sexual encounter that went wrong”. The tutor had barely stopped talking. I immediately thought about Becky:

I knew Becky when I was 18/19 years old. She was an out lesbian, a few years older than me and a friend of a friend. Becky had her own flat and car and worked for a bank in the City (of London).

Women wearing trousers is frowned on by some City employers even now, but back then, it was generally not allowed, full stop. In the rule book.

So, Becky’s work wardrobe consisted of black, knee length skirts and white shirts. She made no secret of how much she hated these clothes, and was visibly uncomfortable wearing them.

Outside of work Becky didn’t wear “girls” clothes. She never wore make up and kept her hair short. She was solidly built, in to sports and driving her car like the proverbial boy-racer.

When she got home from work she’d immediately change in to something that involved trousers - jeans & a t-shirt maybe. Dressed in her “own” clothes, Becky seemed to magically grow a good few inches taller, and carry herself in a way that, the women around me then, didn’t.

Becky was funny & charming and I liked her a lot. I was (immediately, I think) attracted to her and was always keen to be included in any social activities that involved her.

Although at the time I was in what felt like, and turned out to be, a serious relationship with a man, I flirted with Becky. (That didn’t and doesn’t make me feel good.) And Becky flirted back.

One night, after hanging out with some friends, Becky suggested a 30 mile drive to the coast in her car. What just me & Becky I thought? This late? Yes, please! During the journey the flirting that had started earlier in the evening continued.

When Becky pulled over at our destination, a parking bay on the seafront, I was fraught, excited, nervous and turned on. I put my hand on her thigh.

I can only guess at what Becky was thinking. Probably something like: beware of straight girls messing with you, especially straight girls in a relationship, especially those straight girls in a relationship who are friends of friends.

Anyway, she looked at me, and pausing for a moment said “don’t do that unless you’re serious”.

Oh my god! Well yes, I was serious, but after what seemed like an eternity of mental strain (what if I kiss her / what about the boyfriend / what is happening etc etc) I took my hand away.

The drive back was a pretty quiet affair and I didn’t see Becky much after that.

So that’s my sexual encounter that went wrong! For dramatic effect I could go on to say……”Not just for that evening - for the next 20 odd years!!” But that wouldn’t be truthful because there were other “encounters” before and after the situation with Becky.

I think Becky came to mind immediately because she was butch and if you’ve read my previous posts you’ll know that’s kind of relevant.

I remember what happened with Becky with warmth and affection. I don’t have any regrets about what I should have, or could have done. Even though sometimes I can be quite critical of my choices, generally, I’m proud to own my life exactly as it is.