The Last Place She'd Look by Arlene Schindler Page A

was thirsty; I needed to ease the heat in the room. I was a nervous stranger in a strange land. I stared at the bartender, wondering if she could tell I was a “newbie”, some woman otherwise out of her element. Would I be found out and asked to leave?
    Marvin Gaye's Sexual Healing—a slow song—began to play. Corinne took the bottle from my hand and placed it on a counter. With her other hand, she encircled my waist, gently placing her hand on my back. After about a minute of dancing, she slowly drew me closer. I fidgeted a bit, trying to keep rhythm with the music, anxious that a beautiful woman wanted to hold me tight and flirt with me. Corinne nuzzled my neck. I felt her heated breath near my ear and smelled her freshly shampooed hair. My heart pounded with excitement and uncertainty. My head and neck broke out in a sweat. The music now sounded like garbled voices underwater. Was I afraid or aroused? Or both? I didn't remember this song having such a drum beat —oh wait—that was my heart pounding. Could she feel it? Attraction or fear? Or fear of attraction?
    When the song ended, I asked to go back to the bar for some ice water. Corinne got it for me in seconds, and two more beers as well. We talked and drank, sitting on side-by-side bar stools. This all seemed surreal, worlds away from any moment in my real life. It was a play, a theater piece in a dark bar, and I was a character, a nervous virgin far from home.
    Corinne stroked my hair. My arms twitched like a marionette whose strings were pulled too quickly. Stroking her hair, I took a long breath and then complimented her long golden mane. The moment felt terrifyingly tense, weirdly unfamiliar, yet happy. It was warmer and more caring than recent dating experiences; I was eager and open to see where this would lead. I decided, if I copied everything she did, like a mirroring exercise in acting class, I'd be fine. She wouldn't know I'd never done this before.
    I saw Beth at the other side of the bar with Theresa and another woman. Our eyes met. She toasted me with her bottle. Corinne ordered two more beers, still refusing to let me pay. By now, I'd had more beers than usual and had lost count. The room was getting hotter and more crowded as it filled to capacity, brimming with women. I wiped the sweat from my brow, embarrassed to be visibly heating up. I held the chilled beer bottle to my temple for some relief.
    “I don't want you passing out. Let's go to the back garden,” said Corinne. She tilted her head, using the same gesture she used to get the bartender's attention. Fresh air in the breezy black night cooled me down immediately. There were women whispering, smoking, and getting cozy together. I cooled myself off more with the beer, first holding the bottle to my neck, then drinking it down like water.
    She took her bottle and held it to the back of my neck, leaned in, and grazed my cheek with her lips. As electricity raced down my spine, the rest of me felt numb. In this moment, realizing I was drunk, she kissed my mouth. I kissed her in return. Corinne's passionate lips were now exploring my mouth and tongue as her breasts pressed up against mine. It was a first kiss that seemed intuitive and more thoughtful than a man's lips would feel.
    Suddenly, something was in my throat, as if I was being choked from the inside. I pulled away and gasped for air. Thinking it was fear, I swallowed hard, then tried to cough away the tightness. Instead, I threw up all the beers Corinne had bought me. I was mortified; she was horrified.
    “I'll get someone to clean this up.” Corinne flew back into the club. I stood still as a statue until someone arrived with a mop and bucket. Then I slowly walked back inside. Corinne was gone. Beth was looking for me.
    I drank ice water, and then Beth drove us back to our real lives. In the car I was silent, simmering in my humiliation.
    “Did you have a good time?” quizzed Beth in a motherly tone. I remained silent, replaying