Big Book Of Lesbian Horse Stories Read Online Free Page A

she’d soaked up every last bit of sauce with thick slices of Italian bread. Tonight she just pushed the pasta around on her plate. Luigi paused by her table, his plump cheeks sagging in exaggerated dismay.
    â€œWhatsa matta, Jean? I make your favorite meatballs and you don’t even touch them!”
    Jean tried to smile. “I’m sorry, Luigi, the food’s tip-top like always. I’ve had something weighing on my mind all day and now I guess it’s decided to weigh on my stomach for a while.”
    â€œWhat is it, Jean? A fella? You kids always think every little thing is the end of the world.”
    Jean couldn’t help a wry smile as she reassured Luigi, “It’s nothing, I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.” Glancing at the clock over the counter, she pushed her plate away from her and got up. It was time to head over to the Stonewall.
    Over at the bar it seemed like everybody was in a somber mood. “Who died?” Jean asked Carmen sardonically, but the big drag queen didn’t laugh. “Today was the service for Judy,” she responded heavily. She left Jean standing there, regretting her quick tongue, and went over to the jukebox. The strains of “The Man That Got Away” filled the room.
    â€œJean, bring up a coupla kegs from downstairs,” Tony shouted at her.
    â€œYou got it, Tony.”
    When Jean had brought up the kegs, Stony, one of the women who was a regular at the bar, beckoned her over. “Say, kid, you better be on your toes tonight,” she advised Jean.
    â€œThanks, Stony—I will be. Trouble in the air, huh?”
    â€œYeah,” Stony sighed. “You know, kid, I wish I could say I remembered a time when I could sit and have a drink and not feel like trouble was breathing down my neck.”
    Jean nodded sadly, and bought Stony a beer before she took up her position by the door.
    It was with a sense of resignation, that she saw the police car pull up to the curb sometime after midnight. “Betty Law!” she cried, flicking the lights. The drag queens dancing together in the main bar separated. The go-go boy scrambled down from his gilded cage. Everywhere there were cries of “Oh please!” and “Not again.” Jean quickly snatched a beer and sat at a table, pretending to be a customer. Sullenly she showed her ID to the uniformed detective who came in the door. Tonight she didn’t care if she was arrested. “You a boy or a girl?” the officer smirked. “You got on three pieces of woman’s clothing? You ever had a real man?” But his attention was pulled away by Carmen, who was trying to slip by carrying a cigar box full of cash. “I’ll take that off your hands, ‘lady,’ ” he said. And Jean took the opportunity to slip out the door.
    Outside she was surprised to see that the street and the little park across the way were filling up with people—neighbors, patrons from the folk bar down the street, Stonewall regulars who’d escaped arrest. She stood there too, watching, waiting for something to happen.
    The police were herding the most flamboyant drag queens into the paddy wagon when it started. Jean saw one of the policemen push Carmen, so that she tripped in her high heels and fell hard on the pavement. “Pigs!” someone in the crowd shouted. The police pushed another of the drag queens, and she pushed back. The crowd roared its approval, and now they were throwing things, and everyone was scuffling. Some of the queens were freeing themselves from the paddy wagon. Jean heard the sound of a gun, a warning shot, and suddenly she was back in the hollow.
    She was kissing Cathy’s face, feeling her softness, feeling Cathy’s hands on her. They were half sitting, half lying next to Cracker, who was cropping grass peacefully. The steady munching blended in with the trembling of their bodies as they pressed up against each other. It was