taco chop: When one woman approaches another woman and delivers a swift, hard, upper-cut, “karate chop” between the other woman’s legs. Also known as the, “pussy punch.”
The rolling sky had darkened to that mysterious cyan that is found in the coldest part of colossal ice. It was too dark to see the brightly painted corrugated tin roofs that populated the tops of houses that are nestled up against the mountain. Yellow, pink, blue, green, their cheerful demeanor faded into dark shadows with the thousands of pines looming behind them. It is a horizon that I’m not used to. So different from the sky in Los Angeles with it’s flatness. The sound of waves crashing on broad, golden beaches replaced with the roaring of wind through ponderosa. Was it nighttime? I checked out the color of the sky, not quite dark. Dusk here must last for over an hour.
Dusk. One of those ‘tween areas. Hanging in between the reality of day and night, like a doorway to another place.
Sidestreet Reny began to do their thing and I noticed that for a very small town, (not more than 900 people), there were sure a lot of lesbians running amuck. Moving to the music while also observing those moving around me, I noticed a very sturdy looking woman in a hoodie and a ponytail walk up to another woman wearing overalls and deliver a blow straight to her crotch. The recipient of the seemingly sudden pubic violence doubled over in pain, only to rise again with a face contorted with giggles. A new friend of mine saw the expression of surprise and dismay on my face and quickly grabbed me by the arm. “You’ve never seen a taco chop, have you?”
“A what?” The whole idea of this type of thing was foreign to me.
“The taco chop. Pussy Punch,” she laughed as I still couldn’t comprehend.
“It’s a game the women up here play. Only women are allowed to play and you can only do it to women who have agreed first that they are playing. Can I give you one?”
I raised my eyebrows. My new friend, T, assured me that she would be gentle. “Okay,” I relented and braced for impact. There was a gentle pat on my pubic bone. I opened my eyes and thanked her for so kindly initiating me. And then we danced.
And we drank much more.
Young, cute butch eyeing me. Short hair, streaked with blue. Couldn’t be over 25. We flirt, intelligently at first, the way women do even when totally wasted. I end up moving with her on the dance floor. My Venus rises as does my blood alcohol level. Everything seems like it’s bubbling up out of the uneven wooden floor of the tavern.
I think my brain caught up as I began realizing myself back into cognitive realization and found myself with hands all over this little one’s breasts, flicking my tongue all over the back of her neck, scraping my teeth against her soft skin. She turns her head to the side and we touch tongues and lips together. A feeling of overwhelming intoxication is replaced with a concern for the spectacle I might be making of myself. It’s my first night out in my new town. There goes the low profile I was meaning to cultivate.
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