Chapter One

 

Kennedy was used to guys looking at her everywhere she went. It had made her feel uncomfortable when she'd first noticed it in junior high - especially when some of those guys were grown men! But over the years it was just something that happened whenever she went out, like sun on her head or wind in her face.

It was something, as far as she was aware, every girl got used to. Certainly, all her friends had the same experience, some greater than others. It didn't always depend on what they wore, though what they wore could make the attitude of those watching them change for the worse or the better.

Kennedy was a girl who had a progressive mother. Her mother had told her since as long as she could remember that she should take pride in her accomplishments, not in her looks or how often she was complimented. Her mother had also let her enroll in pole dancing classes when she was twelve. She said it was just exercise and had nothing to do with stripping.

Now that she was older, Kennedy had come to realize that her mother often had an odd view of reality sometimes. She had an unrealistic belief that all people were basically the same, and basically kind and caring. Kennedy knew that was just plain nonsense.

Her mother applied that rule not just to people in their city, or state, or country, but spread it across the world. To her, everyone, everywhere, had the same basic motivations, the same sense of fairness and belief in respect and equality.

Kennedy had learned to tune her mother out whenever she got on one of her lectures about such things. Her experiences in life had taught her that nothing could be further from the truth. Some people were smart, some dumb. Some were nice and some nasty. And people could have far different motivations from each other, especially men from women.

Women (or girls) tended to want closeness, sharing, romance, and a life partner in men who would respect and care for them.

Men, in her experience, wanted to fuck. And they weren't all that particular about who. Or sometimes even what.

Men would fuck anything that would sit still for it, not excluding an apple pie, a sock, or a particularly attractive goat.

They probably got better when they got older and more mature, she thought, but as yet she hadn't experienced much maturity from the guys around her. Then again, she was still a teenager, at least until next year. And the guys around her were of a similar age. Maybe they got better when they moved deeper into their twenties.

Not that fucking was ALL they wanted from girls, of course. They liked the status of having an attractive girlfriend they could hang on their arms to show off. They liked it even better when that girlfriend was the cooperative type who'd let them have naked pictures of her so they could show it to their best buddies as a demonstration of what a great catch they'd landed and pretend they were studs.

Kennedy was not feeling very high on men just now as she'd broken it off with her boyfriend Sean. Sean was good-looking, and had a nice personality, but at twenty-one years of age his true love in life seemed to be a video game. After that came football and basketball. Then cars. Kennedy was not about to be some guy's booty call - especially when despite her efforts to coax and coach him he wasn't all that good at sex.

She wasn't a high school girl anymore anyway. She didn't need to have a boyfriend to avoid catty girls in locker rooms or hallways who would subtly and not so subtly imply there was something wrong with her if she didn't.

No, she could get by without one for now. If she decided she wanted a booty call, she would have no difficulty finding some stud online who'd be delighted to get his hands on her body. It was a very nice body, after all. Her mother had been quite correct about pole dancing being good exercise. In fact, it was great exercise.

It gave a powerful workout to just about every part of her body, from her shoulders, arms and hands to her thighs, legs and butt. Not to mention her stomach. Kennedy was proud of her midriff. Too proud, her mother said with disapproval. To which she replied that at least it wasn't her boobs or butt she was proud of.

Though, really, she was proud of them, too. Or at least, she was content that anyone looking at them would... approve. She knew she shouldn't care if people approved of her looks. Her mother certainly believed that. And that was especially so about strangers. But she was proud that she had a fit, beautiful body.

She wasn't comfortable showing it off much in public, though, especially on her own. She didn't tend to wear really tight tops, much less low-cut ones. She didn't wear short skirts except to clubs or parties. She wore form-fitting pants, but that wasn't the same as tight. She did, however, tend to wear midriff tops, especially on hot days like today.

She had heard there was a job opening at a bar. And she had pondered applying for hours before deciding to give it a try. Jobs weren't that easy to come by for a girl a year out of high school with little on her resume beyond working at a coffee shop.

Bars brought tips. Yes, the job tended to be in the evening more, but she had her evenings free, so why not? The problem for her was it was a lesbian bar. Kennedy was not a lesbian, but on the other hand, it wasn't like she hadn't messed around a little with girls. Maybe she hadn't quite gone as far as to say perform oral sex on a girl, but she'd done most other stuff.

As an experiment.

It wasn't bad, really, but she had found that the one thing that really excited her about sex was penetration, preferably by someone with a very big cock. She also liked it if he was strong and kind of... manhandled her a little. She'd had difficulty communicating that to guys, though, because she had feared getting a reputation and also feared giving them the wrong idea.

Guys tended to be pretty stupid about stuff like that.

So, girls didn't really do it for her. She had considered pretending she was a lesbian but given that up. She had long hair, and not many lesbians did. And while she was a little tomboyish, she also had distinctly female wants and needs when it came to sex.

On the other hand, she was young and attractive, and if she was going to be ogled by people in a bar, she'd prefer it was women. They were less dangerous. And if they got too annoying, she'd quit and be no worse off than she was now.

It made her a tad nervous opening the door to the bar. It was called Mollies, and she had very little idea what she'd find inside. She wasn't allowed to drink, after all, though of course, she had. But that was in clubs with music, not some bar. She'd never waste her fake ID on a mere bar.

She was a little surprised when her eyes adjusted. The place looked pretty upscale. There were lots of booths with dark leather seats and some kind of polished, dark brown wooden tables. The floor looked like some kind of black and grey tile, the bar was a long, smooth, mahogany with a huge arrangement of liquor bottles behind it. The lighting was restrained but not too dim. And at this hour, early afternoon, it was not very busy at all.

She'd called ahead, and had been told to ask the bartender, who's name was Nicole, for the manager, who's name was Emily.

She'd dressed in her black sneakers, and grungy, low slung grey cargo pants that she figured looked kind of tomboyish. Which was the closest she could come to what lesbians might wear. She also had a black halter that was a little tighter than most she wore. Together, they revealed a lot of very firm, lightly tanned midriff.

Nicole was a tall, imposing looking black woman with very short hair that was flat on top and almost absent everywhere else. Now she looked like a lesbian, Kennedy thought as she tried to keep from looking nervous.

"May I help you?" the woman asked in a Jamaican accent.

"Hi. I called earlier. My name is Kennedy. Emily said I should ask you for her when I arrived."

The woman gave her a cool once-over, then nodded and pointed at a door just past the end of the bar.

"Go through that door and straight up the hall."

"Thanks."

She walked past the bar and headed for the door, regretting her outfit a bit. This place looked more upscale than she had expected. She probably should have worn something nicer. She pushed open the door and found herself in a narrow hall that led both left and straight. She went straight and the first open door on her right had a desk and a small, blonde woman that was perhaps in her late thirties.

"Hi, Kennedy?" she asked.

"Yes. Hi," she said, shaking the woman's hand.

The woman waved her to a wooden chair and then looked at her.

"So, you want to work in our little establishment, do you?"

"Yes, please."

The woman laughed.

"You've never worked in a tavern before?"

"No. I only graduated a year and a half ago."

"Well, you have customer experience, and that's a big box to check off. Customer experience means you've dealt with idiots before."

Kennedy nodded earnestly.

"But you haven't dealt with many drunken idiots."

"Well, not that many, but some. Usually coming in to get something to help them sober up."

"Well, you've done some waitressing. That's good. Of course, nobody calls it that anymore. Now it's server. I wish they'd left it at waitress."

"Why?"

"Because too many wiseasses will pick up on the word if you tell them you're their server." She raised her voice and pointed downward - perhaps at the floor, or perhaps not, "Serve me!"

She grinned and rolled her eyes. "That's especially common in a bar which is associated with sex. And any place that is gay or lesbian is associated with sex. The gay and lesbian community have a higher proportion of people into kink than the cis community.

"Uhm, kink?"

"You know, BDSM, power exchange, slave girls, that sort of thing. I think it's simply because gay men are all sluts while gay women have a lot fewer trust issues with their partners than cis women."

"Uh, does that happen here much?" she asked uncertainly.

"Oh no, not really. You might see a few couples with one wearing a collar, say, or even a collar and leash. But that's mostly performative. Though if you ask a girl in a collar what you can get her, she'll just look at the other one who will order for her."

"Okay," Kennedy said, feeling somewhat startled but not showing it.

"I presume lesbians don't bother you since you were aware this was a lesbian bar."

"No," she said as casually as she could. "I doubt they'd give me as much of a hassle as a bar full of cis men."

"Well, not the same kind of hassle. That doesn't mean a girl that looks like you won't get a lot of long looks and the odd invitation. Just thank whoever asks and tell them you're not allowed to date customers."

"Okay. Uhm, I shouldn't say I'm straight?"

"Honey, anyone looking at you can tell that."

"What, do I have a sign over my head?"

Emily laughed. "I have pretty good gaydar. So do most lesbians. You're obviously into some kind of sports or fitness because you have a very firm stomach there. But contrary to clichés not every girl who likes sports is queer. The hair is a dead giveaway, of course. A girl into sports who keeps her hair that long does so for a reason."

"Uhm, well, I like my hair, to be honest."

"And boys like it too, right?"

"Well... yes."

She laughed again.

"We need a girl right away, so I'll give you a try. But be warned. At least at first, they'll see if they can startle you, embarrass you, or seduce you. A certain segment of the gay and lesbian community loves the thought of seducing cis people, or better yet, turning them."

Kennedy wasn't sure what to say to that. "No way!" would probably be seen as insulting. And she sure wasn't going to tell the woman about her particular sexual preferences for penetration and the guy being a bit rough.

"Your best response to anything is a polite smile. If you feel insulted or offended, do not show it. You can ask the bartender or me if something or someone is making you uncomfortable, but don't take it up with them yourself. Clear?"

"Sure."

"It is a bar, though, and a lesbian bar. Women tend to be a lot freer about their behavior when there aren't any men around to judge them. If you do get offended easily, this is not the place for you."

"I don't," Kennedy assured her.

"Don't be so quick. Suppose you walk up to a table and one of the women there looks at your chest and says, "Are those real?"

"Uhm, yes?"

"No. Don't say yes. It's none of her damn business! But don't tell her it's none of her damn business. We don't want you to be rude to the customers. Just smile like you have a secret."

"Oh, okay."

"Now suppose someone slides a hand across your backside while you're leaning in and putting drinks on the table."

"Like that's never happened," Kennedy snorted.

"Give them a quelling look, like a raised eyebrow, like they're being naughty children. Or if it doesn't bother much, you just smile and wag your finger at them. Unless it gets persistent or unless it really makes you uncomfortable. Then tell me or the bartender."

"Okay."

"You have to remember this is a different culture. Women touch each other more without it being particularly sexual. Especially when no men are around. Gay women even more because, well, we're just relieved to be in a place where we're the majority for a change and no one is judging us. Understand?"

"I think so."

"Just remember, you're a bit of an outsider being new and cis. You have to adapt to them and their culture, not the other way around."

Kennedy nodded earnestly.

"Do you get a lot of people in the evenings?"

"It's rarely jam packed except on Friday and Saturday nights. But we get a nice group almost every night. Enough to keep our cook busy. We don't do a lot of complicated meals. It's mostly burgers, fries, nachos, chicken wings, salads and wraps."

"Okay."

"Now, about your dress."

"I would have dressed up more, but I didn't know how uhm, classy this place was."

Emily laughed. "Classy? Well, we don't have sticky floors and people throwing up at the tables, but well, anyway. The point I was going to make was that there's absolutely nothing wrong with showing off that you have a nice, firm body. Just don't go too overboard unless you're prepared for more comments and more touching."

Kennedy looked at her uncertainly.

"What I mean is, if you wear something low-cut so half your tits are hanging out, expect to have them looked at, commented on, and maybe even grabbed a little."

"Oh, I won't!" Kennedy assured her.

"You're lucky in one thing. You can wear high heels if you want, but you don't have to like you do in most establishments. Most of our customers won't wear them as a kind of rebellion against male expectations. But anyway, do try to look kind of sexy, but not cheap sexy."

"I... I'm not sure what that means," Kennedy said.

"Leather pants or skirts are good. If it's a short skirt, try to combine it with boots. Leather vests are fine, even with nothing underneath. Short, tight halters are good. Cleavage is okay, just so it doesn't look cheap. Tight sweaters, with or without a bra are good. I don't want to see any bra straps, by the way. I don't mean you can't wear one. But if you're wearing something like a halter don't show the bra straps. It looks cheap.

"You're walking a fine line in how you dress because the sexier, the hotter you look, the better the tips, but also, the more, let's say friendly, the customers will be. If you can diplomatically handle the friendliness a girl like you can get a ton of tips. There is a cliché that women don't tip well, and it's usually true. But in here, our customers like to go against the grain."

She eyed Kennedy carefully. "I'm not sure what's best for the hair. It's too long to wear loose in here."

"I usually wear it half up, half down. Though I can put it in a braid, too."

"Okay. Like to start tonight?'

"Tonight?" Kennedy said, startled.

"I'm short staffed. That's why I'm trying a straight girl with very little experience. I'm taking the chance you'll go screaming out the door if someone gives your ass a squeeze."

"I won't," she said with a snort.

"Okay. We'll see. Minimum wage for servers is $10.75. We pay $14. And a good server can make the same again in tips. A really good one can make double that in tips."

"Oooo, how can I be really good?" Kennedy asked with a grin.

"Don't screw up orders. Don't spill them. Be friendly, be helpful, be playful, be sexy. Be the unobtainable cutie."

"Well, at least I have experience in that."

Emily snorted in amusement. "I bet you do."