A Matter of Trust: A Carlsbad Village Lesbian Romance

“That’s actually what I want to talk to you about,” Chloë told her before launching into a recap of her night at the wine bar with Morgan. When she got to the point where Morgan had told Chloë she was straight, Vanessa held up one hand.

“Hold up, hold up,” Vanessa instructed. “Straight?” She gave short laugh. “I don’t think so!”

“Aargh, but what does that mean, Vanessa?” Chloë practically wailed, wanting desperately to believe Vanessa. “You don’t think she’s straight; Sienna thinks she’s at least curious, and me…I don’t know!”

“What do your instincts tell you?”

Chloë thought about that. Admittedly, she knew her instincts on these matters probably weren’t as fine-tuned as Vanessa’s and that that was simply a product of her youth. But it seemed that every time she was with Morgan, there was a pull between them. That was the best term her mind could come up with, a pull. And it was more than just the pull of two women who instantly know that they’re going to be great friends. This pull had heat to it, sizzle. Last night, in San Diego, it had felt to Chloë as if there many moments when she and Morgan would just grab one another and lose themselves in deep kisses.

Chloë suddenly thought about that crack she had made to Morgan as they were driving out of Carlsbad, about needing to get her gaydar fixed.

Fixed? It needs to be fucking replaced!

But Vanessa was waiting for an answer to her question.

“I don’t know, Vanessa,” Chloë began. “My instincts are telling me that Morgan is attracted to me.”

“Well, there you go,” Vanessa replied.

Chloë shook her head.

“But it doesn’t make sense!” she exclaimed. She’s, like, your age! Well, a year younger. How does someone that old wake up one day and suddenly decides she’s into women?”

Vanessa glared at her friend.

“Okay, once again,” she began, “making me feel like I’m ninety-years-old. But to answer your question, it happens all the time! I have a good friend who lives in Montana who didn’t discover she was a lesbian until she was forty, which, by the way, is even older than I am. But up until then, she was married to a man, had only dated men, et cetera. It’s more common than you think. I don’t know anything about Morgan, but maybe she was raised in a strict religious household. Or maybe there’s something about her ethnic culture that punishes gay people. Or maybe she’s always been attracted to women but was just too afraid to acknowledge it in herself because she didn’t like the idea of being different from everyone else. The possibilities are endless, Chloë.”

Chloë started the two brewers she had loaded with coffee. Chloë knew most people thought making coffee just meant opening a sack, dumping coffee in a machine and hitting the On button. But before starting this conversation with Vanessa, Chloë had carefully ground the beans of each roast—one Ethiopian, the other Vietnamese—selecting grind settings that would bring out the best flavors of each coffee: the floral notes of the Ethiopian and the undercurrent of cashew in the Vietnamese. Then, she had just as carefully measured the amount of coffee to put in each machine, adding less of the Vietnamese grind, in this case, to temper the earthiness of the flavor a bit.

Now, she leaned against the counter and thought about what Vanessa had said. Vanessa was wise. A lesbian Yoda. And everything Vanessa had just told Chloë made sense, which simultaneously thrilled Chloë and scared her.

“So, what do I do?” she asked.

Vanessa shrugged.

“Be careful, is what you do,” she answered, which Chloë found frustratingly enigmatic. “If Sienna is right and Morgan is just curious, do you really want to be just an experiment?”

Chloë thought about last night. She thought about the pulses of her clit and how slick her center had become from all the times Morgan’s leg had brushed against hers under the table at the bar following the tattoo. And now that Chloë was thinking of it, there had been plenty of times when their legs had touched and remained touching…If Morgan wanted to experiment, then god yes, Chloë was ready to be a lab rat.

But the rational side of her brain—the part not hardwired to her clit—knew what Vanessa was getting at. The potential of being hurt by a woman who was merely experimenting was high and Chloë recognized that she already had enough self-esteem issues to not want to also deal with heartbreak: nearly twenty-five-years-old and still living at home; miles away from finishing her college courses and starting her own business; no steady girlfriend, just a fuck-buddy with zero chance of becoming anything more.

She suddenly felt a touch on her arm and realized that Vanessa had approached and was now standing right in front of her.

“Listen, if you really believe Morgan is in fact attracted to you, then let her set the pace, let her decide what, if anything, she is willing to do. Because if, as you believe, this is possibly her first time feeling urges for a woman, she’s probably scared out of her wits. But, seriously, be careful. I’ll cut a bitch if she hurts you.”

Chloë laughed and hugged Vanessa.

“You are truly wise,” she said.

Chapter 10

Morgan’s go-to man for a quick, I’m-so-horny-I-can-barely-blink-my-eyes-without-orgasming lay was Clint.

They had known each other for years. Clint used to be a teacher at Barrington Woods before moving on to teach at a local community college. He was about twenty years older than Morgan, but had this whole Sam Elliott thing going on: rugged good looks, white walrus mustache, rich baritone voice and still very fit. And because Clint would readily confess to anyone that he preferred the independence that comes with being single, Morgan had always known that a night of incredible sex with him would never lead to him claiming possession of her and expecting her to move in.

“Haven’t heard from you in a while,” Clint commented, accepting the tumbler of whiskey Morgan handed him. “Was beginning to think you up and got married.”

It was Sunday evening. Fortunately, when Morgan had called Clint earlier and invited him over, he said he was free. Now, the California sun was setting, casting a lovely orange glow in the living room of Morgan’s house.