Woman, Woman (Lesbian Story)

Chap 1.

Woman, Woman.

Had this on my mind for a while now. The title of this story and the song mentioned along it is Woman Woman by Little Comets. You should give it a listen while you read those parts. And also the second song where some lyrics are mentioned is Real Talk by Bloc Party.

Hope you enjoy!

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I.

A few weeks ago you discovered a small coffee shop near your flat.

You’re not sure how you missed it. Maybe it’s because it’s not nearly as famous as Starbucks or Costa, and you thank God for that because you hate crowded places. You don’t even get why people like them so much. They’re clearly overrated.

You’re there all the time now and it’s almost like you’re already a part of the furniture. The owner, Joe, always smiles at you politely and makes small talk as he prepares your order. Sometimes you don’t even have to ask. Sometimes you’re already sat at the table, your laptop on and paper sheets scattered all over the table, when you feel a paper coaster being set on the table and your peach tea on top of it. He’s a sweetheart.

It’s a rainy (go figure) early afternoon on a Thursday, when you walk in the establishment, the ring above the door going off when you open the door. You smile inwardly when you see your usual spot by the window empty. You wave politely at Joe when you see him and he tells you he’ll be ready with your tea in a few minutes.

You sit down facing the door (sometimes between breaks you like to watch people coming in and out of the shop) and pull out your books. You groan silently when you realize you have so much to study and you really don’t feel like doing it. But you like this subject; it won’t be that bad.

You’re right.

You somehow lost track of the time. When you look at the clock on the brick wall you see it’s 5 already, and some of the streetlights are already lit. You were hoping to get more work done so you think to yourself you might as well stay a couple more hours. You’re not worried about walking home in the night, your flat’s just around the corner.

You take a ten-minute break and realize the shop’s full. You’re taken by shock when you see every single table occupied. The environment is loud, but not loud enough to make your ears cringe.

“What’s going on?” You ask Joe when he comes over to make sure you don’t need anything. You don’t intend to sound rude, but you blush when you realize after you basically just asked him why this place is so crowded when it’s almost always empty, apart from you and some other elderlies reading the morning paper.

If he feels offended, he doesn’t show it.