Piss Queen — Reprint
Originally appeared at the Weeklings July 2014
Content warning- Pee Kink
I DID NOT GROW UP to be a Piss Queen.
After a month or more complaining about my unrequited baby lesbian love, I was set up on my first blind date by my patient friends.
She was slightly older than me, Butch, kinky, smart, funny and above all not looking for a serious girlfriend — according to her text message.
She met me at a prearranged bus stop and stood with flowers in hand and looking dapper. When we hugged I put my nose against the skin of her neck and smelled a spicy resinous scent that I discovered was actually a hippie oil knock off of Obsession. I blushed when she stepped back from our hug, made shy by her gaze that sped from my eyes to my tits to my shoes. She licked her lips.
There was a moment when we started walking hand in hand, that I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She gave people that Yes this is my girl look. Being a chubby femme Black girl, I rarely saw that kind of want on the face or in the eyes of my dates and I’d realized then, I ached for it. I remember her warm hand on the small of my back as we walked to the restaurant. When people looked at us, she tightened her grip on me. She didn’t try to pretend we were just friends; it was obvious to everyone that I was hers.
