Frosting, by the way, is my weak spot, especially the cream cheese frosting we make for the red velvet cupcakes. And here we are, back to red velvet again. But that frosting, whipped at high speed—forever—becomes the lightest, most amazing confection. A generous dollop on each of Fran’s nipples will keep me busy for a while, at least until the frosting’s gone. The stuff is like sweet, sticky air.
We make savory sweets, too. Chipotle peppers and tender bodily tissues don’t really go together. At least, they don’t in my opinion. But the perfect mixture of chipotle and chocolate can be an aphrodisiac in its own right. That particular frosting tops a banana cake. We have a maple and bacon cupcake and a lovely vanilla cupcake with vanilla frosting, drizzled with a balsamic glaze.
Of course, we also have the cupcakes everyone already knows and loves, like chocolate/chocolate and vanilla with strawberry frosting and sprinkles, marshmallow, custard crème-filled cupcakes with colored frosting—everything you’d expect, but it’s the unexpected flavors that make life interesting, in my book.
The woman with the annoying child finally made up her mind. She ordered a dozen vanilla cupcakes. Half with vanilla frosting and half with chocolate. I wasn’t surprised, really. You can tell the adventurous from the ordinary. As I stepped from behind the display case with my bottle of glass cleaner, I couldn’t help hoping that Fran would have something interesting up her sleeve when I got home. Maybe I should text her and tell her I thought it might be time for something new; compliment her on her awesome research skills; tell her we needed a new flavor; tell her I needed a new flavor.
Vanilla’s fine for some people and I’m not saying I don’t like it sometimes, but Fran and I? We’re anything but vanilla. Hey, that could have been a good name for the shop… Oh, well, Spun Sugar and Dandelion Fluff is fine—I’ve learned to love it. (I still think Big Lesbo Cupcakery would have been better.)
LAKE TRAVIS STEAM
Lucien C. West
Kael coaxed her Miata into the Central Market parking lot. As usual, titan-sized SUVs and shiny BMWs aggressively roamed, vying for a spot closest to the entrance. The vibe was uptight, but nothing compared to the extensively entitled one over at Whole Foods.
Spring in Austin was in full swing, and Kael dug catching the scents of mountain laurel and magnolia as she buzzed through the city. It was the ideal time to have the Miata’s top down; the sun was yellow, kind and far from the scorch of August. She zipped into a space that seemed miles away from the entrance, but was actually only half a block. Since it wasn’t August, she wouldn’t melt. Kael hiked up her belt and then lowered it on her firm hips as she strutted toward the Central Market courtyard.
Kael was on a mission to meet an intriguing stranger she had connected with through Craigslist’s “Woman to Woman” section. Kael’s post was on the romantic side; no “Where all my femmes at?” repartee for her. She stated her desire to rendezvous with a mature high femme to compliment her very butch nature.
She felt the hot stare of a seemingly straight woman carrying a bag full of beautiful, expensive produce. Kael gave her a slow nod and continued. She had her share of women staring. Her tousled silver-gray hair was set off by a pleasant, mildly tan face, and hazel eyes, while her masculine-of-center demeanor preceded her unapologetically. After her bout with breast cancer in 2010, Kael had begun weight training to gain back the tone she’d developed from years of competitive swimming. Now nearing sixty-two, Kael was fit, although her body was still coming out of the crazy months of chemo that she countered with IV vitamin therapy. Her hormones were also raging, which perplexed her oncologist, but delighted Kael. Truth be told, she was ready for anything in heels.
The woman she was meeting used the screen name fierce2femme. She had refused to send a photo after several emails, but Kael was so drawn to the way fierce2femme expressed herself—in writing that was intelligent, honest and simply touching—she forgave the lack of a pic. The only characteristic fierce2femme allowed Kael to know was that she wore lipstick “as a personal and political statement.”
Kael buzzed into the Market teeming with foodies eager to part with their hard-earned cash. She grabbed a Topo Chico, snagged a lemon wedge from the salad bar and made her way to the register. The checkout girl, a sweet number with an elaborate tat running up her arm, gave Kael a nice smile.
“Day going okay?” she asked.
“Hey, yeah, it’s been great,” Kael responded. “You might not know it, being stuck in this shell, but the sun’s about to set.”
“Oh, I know it all right,” the checkout girl stated melodically, “because I get off in two point three hours.” She rested her hand on her generous hip and gave Kael a come-hither look. “In case anyone wants to know.“
Kael smiled wide enough so it wouldn’t be mistaken for a smirk.
“I’ll make a note.” She popped off the cap off her Topo and headed out to the courtyard to hunt for fierce2femme.
The grackles, blue-black feathers glinting in the dark-orange sunlight, were conversing in their varied and loud way, cleverly angling in on the remains of an abandoned Caesar salad. Kael loved the mischievous birds and their song/chatter, which caused a pleasant vibration in her solar plexus. The world was truly spectacular at that moment. And even more so when she spotted fierce2femme, a leggy blonde with a classically beautiful face wearing a trendy shade of lipstick, and showing, Kael gratefully noticed, a bountiful, jutting cleavage. She smiled and waved, which caused Kael to immediately shift into an earnest swagger.
“I’m Kael,” she offered, giving fierce2femme’s hand a polite shake. In short order, she learned fierce2femme’s given name, or at least the name she chose to use in the moment, which was Ambera.
Kael understood why Ambera declined to send a pic. Any butch-in-search would fall as hard as a cut pine upon meeting such a lovely woman, feminine and straight in appearance but with an edge. There was something tough, something smoldering underneath. And dang if she wasn’t wearing very high, chic heels, somewhat at odds with her rather conservative floral-print dress. Yeah, something was smoldering underneath, Kael thought.
Kael placed her powerful, stocky legs on each side of a metal picnic bench, took a healthy swig of the Topo and nearly choked on the now-freed lemon she had wedged in the bottle. It was not cool for a butch to have sparkling water splotches on her dark-gray tee. Not cool at all. But Kael brushed it off. Goddess knows, when she was headlong into her chemo treatments, she had learned to forgive the body much.
“So, I’m glad you met me. A lot of women turn off when I refuse to send a pic,” Ambera said, as she sipped from a glass of white wine, luminescent as the sun kissed the day good-bye. Artfully strung Christmas lights turned on at the first hint of dark, giving the courtyard a festive atmosphere. The last plague of grackles flew off.
Kael leaned in. “I didn’t figure you to be a troll.” Kael’s deep voice, as thick as agave, had a positive effect on femmes she knew. Ambera leaned in. Her breasts hovered an inch off the table. Kael thought briefly of sliding her hand under that heavy tit, discretely palming the soft round until she could feel Ambera’s nipple harden.
“A man I am defiantly not,” Ambera said, gently tossing her head back and showing a thin line of pearls at her throat.
The pearls got Kael’s attention. Her post did specifically state she was looking for a lesbian, not interested in marrieds or experimenters of any kind. She’d been out a long, long time, before it was remotely cool, when writing for the Boston Gay Community News was considered a rogue career for a tyke dyke from Minnesota. While she had sympathy for those newly negotiating the hot, thorny path of lesbianism, Kael had run the distance and knew what she wanted: a mature, attractive, high-femme LESBIAN, available for sensuous adventure.