In The Dawn’s Early Light

This was my first attempt at writing a story with lesbian sex in it. At the time I was concerned that the sex scene itself started so late in the story. It was as if I couldn’t get to the sex until I knew who the women where and why they were having sex. I still haven’t made up my mind if I was avoiding something or just taking an appropriate approach. I like the people in this story but I think it needs more energy from somewhere.

Wrapped in a robe that isn’t mine, I step quietly across the unfamiliar room, to sit in the window-seat and watch the breaking of a new day. I smile as, involuntarily, my mind provides “In the dawns early light…” as the soundtrack to my wakefulness. Today is July 4th, my favorite holiday. It is also the first anniversary of my humiliating divorce

Normally just thinking the D word would tie me up in knots for an hour as I went over and over the pain and the hurt of it all. I had expected to spend the first anniversary of the event in bed, hiding from the world; instead I shall be spending it in bed with my new lover.

Last night was one of those “Sliding Doors” moments; my whole future altered because my best friend had the flu.

I had intended to meet Joan in Brannigan’s and drink Margaritas until my anger at the divorce no longer felt like a knife twisting in my guts. Joan, a good listener and a supportive friend, had had to cancel at the last minute because a flu bug had confined her to her bed.

So I was sitting in a booth at Brannigan’s with a pitcher of Margarita in front of me, having decided that I was doomed to drown my sorrows alone. I was part way through my third glass when someone said, “Mrs. Schwartz?”

Without looking up I replied, “Not anymore. And good riddance!” Then I emptied my glass in one gulping swallow.

“Wow, you really know how to drink that stuff don’t you?” The voice was familiar but I couldn’t place it. It belonged to a tall slim young woman, expensive short haircut, distinctive batik dress and large dark eyes.

“You probably don’t remember me, Tessa Clarke, I was in your English class at high school, must be six years ago now.”

I remembered Tessa Clarke, a tall shy girl who wrote passionate poetry that didn’t scan. I flinched at how school ma’amish that sounded even in my own head.

I sat up straighter and tried to pretend that I wasn’t already slightly drunk.

“Hello Tessa, well haven’t you blossomed,” I say.

“Thank you. May I join you or are you waiting for someone?”

And so I found myself talking to a young woman I barely knew. I tried not to get into it. I explained that I was drinking to numb myself against the anniversary of my divorce. She was a good listener. She told me that her partner, Chris, had just left her after four years. Then she asked me questions. She sounded like she really wanted to know.

I decided to let it all out. I told her how I had known for months that our marriage was going sour; how I’d felt guilty about it; assuming it must be my fault somehow, how we’d had what I think of as The Fight.  As soon as I started to tell her the story I was back in that room with Jack, reliving the whole thing.


I’d finally worked up the courage to accuse Jack of having an affair. I’m not sure what I wanted to achieve or what I expected him to do. Maybe apologize. Maybe just be my husband and my friend. The violence of his response caught me by surprise.

“And if I had had an affair do you think anyone would blame me, Connie?

Don’t you think our friends see what an emasculating manipulative bitch you are?

Connie, who keeps Jack on a leash because she paid his way through college.

Connie, the ice queen who’s never done it with the lights on and now won’t do it at all.

Connie, who’s thirty pounds over weight and looks ten years older than me?”

He didn’t shout or get angry. He stood not ten inches away from me and spoke calmly straight into my face.

I was crying. I didn’t know what to say. I could barely breathe.

“Oh please,” he said, “spare me the tears. Act like a grown up. You come in here and accuse me of things and expect me to roll over like a whipped dog. It’s not going to happen, Connie.”

He turned away from me and headed for the door. I was sobbing, my shoulders shaking. He just kept walking.

“But we’re married,” I said, knowing as I spoke that I wasn’t making sense, but I didn’t want him to leave. Even after all he’d said, part of me just wanted him to hold me and say that everything would be all right.

“We’re not married, Connie. We’re just playing house. Married people have sex. Married people have children.”

His face showed contempt, not anger. I was so shocked, I stopped crying. He held eye contact for a long couple of seconds and then walked out of the house.

It was another three months before I got the call from Jack’s lawyer, but that was the evening that the marriage ended.

I spent the night balled up in our bed, thinking about what Jack had said, feeling his barbed words working their way into my wounded soul. He didn’t come home for three days.


I’d started to cry quietly but unstoppably as I told the tale, but I only realized it when Tessa touched my face. Then she was holding me, letting me cry. She was the first person who didn’t feel obliged to say that everything would be all right.

There comes a point when you can’t cry anymore and you have to go to the restroom. Tessa came with me. As I fixed myself up I asked her, “What about Chris, what kind of man was he?

She looked at me in the mirror and said, “Chris isn’t a man. I’m gay, Connie”.

She looked like she was waiting for me to comment. I said “Silly of me to assume. I’m sorry. How long have you known.”

“I think I always knew but it didn’t seem important until I had my first big crush on a teacher”

“Who?”  Connie smiled. “What me? Really?”

“It wasn’t really a sexual thing,” Connie said “But I was excited just thinking about being near you.”

“But I never…”

“No you didn’t. But I got over it. Chris was my first lover. We went through college together.”

After a pause when neither of us knew what to say, two women came into the restroom so we returned to the booth. Apparently wanting to change the subject, Tessa asked me how I reacted when Jack told me he wanted a divorce.

“Oh he didn’t even tell me himself. His lawyer called me to ask the name of my lawyer. Bastard.  My first thought was, ‘How could he do this to me, after all I’ve done for him?’  I know it’s a cliche, but I couldn’t stop thinking that. I only just stopped myself from saying it to every person I met.

I imagined taking out an ad in the paper, a big picture of Jack and then text reading: ‘This is the man I married after High School, supported while he went through law school, kept house for, had sex with and gave up all my friends for for twelve years before he divorced me for a trophy wife who still has her ovaries. If you think that stinks ring him on 555 2323 and let him know how you feel.’ I felt better for writing that out but I couldn’t bring myself to get it printed.”

“Oh you should have,” Tessa said “That would have been wonderful.”

“Maybe, but the truth is I was ashamed of myself for being so stupid and I was worried about what he might do in return.”

“You think he might have come after you?”

“No, Jack isn’t a physically violent man, but his words can shred your soul and poison your mind.”

Another uncomfortable pause when this time I wanted to change the subject.

“Look, I’m hungry,” Tessa said. “Let’s go somewhere nice and get something to eat”.

“Good idea, but not somewhere stuffy. I want somewhere cheerful.”

“OK. I know a place. I was on my way there in fact.”

It was only around the corner but I’d never noticed it before. There was security on the door but once we got inside a beautiful black woman greeted us warmly, saying “Welcome to ladies night at Raj O’Reilly’s home to Indian food, Irish booze, and some of the best music in town.”

It was a mixture that shouldn’t have worked but which was all the more enjoyable for that.

For a while we talked travel. Tessa had been everywhere. Chris had loved to travel. My biggest trip had been to Las Vegas. Joan and I had gone for the weekend to try and cheer me up just after the divorce. It hadn’t worked.

“So what did you do with your new found freedom?” Tessa asked.

It had been a year of self-loathing. I had two unsuccessful liaisons in twelve months. Nice men who were polite enough not to call me frigid.

“Freedom turned out not to be much fun,” was all I said to Tessa.

“What was Chris like?” I asked.

“Chris never grew up. She was great fun but we were always fighting. She said she had a restless spirit. Every time we traveled I felt she didn’t want to come back. It was like she was only alive when we were away. I knew she’d leave me one day.”

The word sounded calm but the hurt was still there.

I looked around to give her time to recover herself. It was than that I noticed that all the couples dancing were female.

“Is this a gay venue, Tessa?”

“Only one night a week,” she smiled, “Do you mind?”

“No. Not at all. I was just wondering… what it is like?” The questions surprised me. Sober I would never have asked it.

Tessa looked at me. She leant forward, head moving very slowly, so I could back away, but I didn’t. She kissed me. Slowly. Softly. Giving me her complete attention.

My whole body quivered on that kiss. At the end of it she sat back; eyes asking a question. She seemed to find an answer looking at me. She stroked the side of my face and said, “Welcome to my world.”

After that I knew that I wanted her. I didn’t want to think about whether that was right or wrong. I just wanted to go with it but I didn’t know how. She led. We danced and smooched. Just like everyone else. I felt so alive. Then suddenly I was exhausted.

Tessa called a taxi and took me back to her house. I knew what was happening but I managed to stop it being real until Tessa said “I’d like to make love to you, Connie.”

I looked down and said nothing.

Tessa started to undress. I did the same, embarrassed to be so much older and so much heavier. Then she made love to me.

I don’t know what I had expected, maybe plastic toys and leather straps. It wasn’t like that. She was so lean and so beautiful. Small high breasts that I envied. A belly that curved out just enough and a thick forest of hair between her legs. She grinned at my inspection, then held my hands above my head, gently but firmly. She kissed my eyes and my mouth then moved down my neck to my breasts. She didn’t touch me with anything but her mouth. I groaned and moved to try and touch her.  She came back to my mouth, still holding my hands above my head, but letting her body touch mine. The heat of her seared me.

I wanted it. Whatever it was. I wanted in now.

“Please,” I said.

Still kissing me she ran her hand over my belly and down between my legs.

“Wet,” she grinned.

Who would have thought two fingers could possess me like that? They became the pivot of my world, the center of my soul. She rocked me and rocked me until everything flew apart.

“Are you alright?” Tessa sounded concerned.

“Yes. God, Yes. It’s just I’ve never… Thank you. Thank you.”

“Shh”, she said and held me.

I don’t remember falling asleep. When I woke I felt the need to come out here and think. About Jack, about all those wasted years, about how I won’t waste any more. Today will be my Independence Day.

“You OK?”

I didn’t hear Tessa approach. She’s still young enough to feel comfortable naked. The sight of her pleases me at a profound level. I think I am starting to fall in love.

“I’m fine. Just thinking about things. The anniversary. You know.”

“I know,” Tessa lifts my hand and kisses it gently “and I want to make it all go away. Come back to bed.”

I look up at Tessa as she holds my hand and for a moment I can’t believe I’m really here. I smile at her. She bends and kisses me on the lips. It takes a long time and while it goes on I think of nothing at all, losing myself in the warm intimacy of her touch and her taste.

© Mike Kimera 2001 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from

A story without a reader is incomplete. Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment below.

One thought on “In The Dawn’s Early Light

  1. you call it sex too much in your stories, not as much in this because it was ultra soft, but the few others i have read so far you call a pussy sex, try out cunt or pussy or something, more vulgarity, saying “sex” makes me feel like there is a black bar over it like on television.

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