That was the girl. She was perfect. She had entered the bar nervously, looking around, and done the "I’m a hot and available" femme sashay over to bar, where Terry was now making her a girlie-drink. I caught Dee’s eye and eyeball-motioned to her, and Dee nodded, coolly. She had already seen her and come to the same decision, herself. That’s why I hang with Dee.

We made our way to visit with the little lady, who was trying to look suave by chatting up Terry, and occasionally letting her eyes wander over the bois playing pool. I could see the surprise register on her face when Dee and I sat down, in perfect formation, on either side of her. We can be pretty impressive, both dressed in black worn-in Dickies with bullet belts, black tees with the sleeves rolled, and bleached spiked buzz-cuts. Some girls can’t tell us apart – and we encourage that.

Terry nodded at us and went to make us Cuba Libres – sans rum. Dee and I do drink, but not at bars. We are too busy to drink when we are at the bar. The girlie tried to be cool, but we had the advantage, and ran with it.

"My friend and I were wondering if you liked butch girls," I said, making what was not even a question in my mind seem like one to her.

She sucked up a huge straw-full of what might have been a Cosmopolitan and managed: "And if I do?"

I dropped the bomb: "Well, then, Pretty Lady, we’d invite you to join the both of us ‘round back for some fun."

Now, this approach has failed a few times, early on when Dee and I took up working – well, playing – together. But we haven’t had a girl dump a drink in our laps or gasp and storm away in pseudo-moralistic disgust in ages; we have it down to a science, by now.

This girl took a moment to work things out in her head. Dee and I looked at each other over her head (she was just a wee thing) and I felt the excitement growing in me as I saw the look in Dee’s eyes, which I guess echoed mine. Sometimes, I just don’t really start to feel the rush of electricity until I see that Dee is feeling it, too.

"Yeah," the girl said in a husky voice, "Let’s go." Dee and I got up, and I held out my arm for the girl, and said, "This way, milady," all gallant and stuff.

Dee caught the key Terry tossed at her, and we made our way to the back. After Terry had complained to us about how we were causing the customers severe inconvenience by keeping the one bathroom in the bar busy so frequently and for so long, we worked out an agreement with her that we’d take our girls to the back, where there was a decently clean alley with the bar’s dumpster on one side, and a selection of broken barstools and other furniture on the other.

I escorted the girlie to the wall of furniture, and she giggled. I controlled my impatience, knowing that my cock would soon be filling her mouth and rendering her silly noises inaudible. Dee took over for me at this point. I’m the talker – I don’t know why but the words femmes like to hear just spill out of my mouth if I open it in the presence of "ladies." But, Dee, she really goes for the silent physical seduction, and watching her is just like watching some European movie or something, that shows lots more sex than American ones do, but is still considered a real film. Dee took the girl and pressed her against the wall, and began to kiss her neck. I leaned on the wall to watch, knowing this would take a while. Dee ran her fingers lightly along the girl’s naked arms, and she shuddered – and so did I, as if I could feel Dee’s fingers myself. Dee’s fingers wandered up to the girlie’s neck, and then her lips followed her tracings, while Dee’s hand swept away and held back the long hair. So suave. The girl was melting right there, as Dee’s hot breath eddied around her hairline and ears. I could feel my heart beating faster, and, in the briefs under the fake balls attached to my cock (they gave it good stability), I started getting wet.

When Dee’s other hand reached for her breast, the girl sighed, then moaned as Dee traced a spiral into her nipple, which was poking rigidly out of the thin knit half-shirt that clung to her top-half the way the lowrider flares of the same material clung to her bottom-half. Dee’s hand soon insinuated itself under that fabric, and I watched in a half-trance as the girl thrashed and moaned and cried aloud as Dee’s ever-knowing fingers found all her little buttons and pressed them.

It was a hot show, leaving me panting, feeling like I couldn’t get enough air to my brain. It was all the hotter to someone who knew what was coming, like I did. Suddenly, Dee had the girl’s little wrists in one big hand, and was delivering them to me. We twist and bent the dazed girlie over a wooden barstool, and my cock was out, and Dee’s was out, too, thrusting erect and proud out from the black denim – and the sight of it nearly undid me. My cock plunged into the girl’s open mouth as Dee’s lunged up into her pussy, and we met each other’s eyes and began to fuck with every ounce of strength and lust we had.

Dee’s eyes are brown and are soft as velvet and rich as chocolate. They have unexpected depths that I trip over and fall into every time I look into them, which is usually only for short periods of time unless we’re in the back of the bar with a girl.

I could feel Dee’s thrusts like waves running through the girl’s body, and she could feel mine. We matched our rhythms, and it took me to the best place I know, lost in pulsations of our mingling energies. Dee’s eyes stayed on mine and my whole body tingled as I felt the climactic thrill building in me.

As it came on, my mind flashed back to a night, soon after Dee and I had met, when we had drunk beers and talked all night and ended up on the roof of her apartment, sloshed out of our minds, playing a game where we would sing lines of songs at each other, and then counter them with other lines of songs, in a strange disjointed musical conversation. At one point we got real close to each other, and I could smell the tang of the beer on her breath, and her cologne, and under all that the smell of her skin, and I didn’t know what to do or say, except that I had never felt anything like this before. But I didn’t say it, and she didn’t say anything, and we didn’t touch, but what was between us was more than touch, like an electric current, or something even more powerful and dangerous.

It came back to me now, and I could feel the current running from her to me, and we were the only things in the world, just us, just our energy. As my body spasmed, somewhere far below me, below us, I was coming, but it was nothing to what Dee and I shared. "Morgan," she said, not from her body but up here, and hearing my name from her lips was the most intensely erotic thing I had ever heard, and my essence trembled, and I said her name, and I said it over and over, until I found I was in my body again, and I had never opened my mouth.

We escorted the worn-out little girl to the bar, and bought her a drink, and pretended to listen to her high-pitched babble, which, if it was like the others, was about how we had just made her fantasies come true, and that was so hot, and we should all meet up and do it again. But I didn’t even hear her, although I could hear Dee’s every breath.

Dee and I walked to the usual place where I went to my apartment, and she went to hers. Some nights we boast about what we’ve done, but tonight we were quiet. I think Dee’s eyes shone with an extra-luminous bronze glow as she said "Well, goodnight," but I didn’t do more than glance into them.