Free The Last Place She'd Look by Arlene Schindler

Julia. “Some are overweight, but most are slim or bodybuilders who get turned on by a fleshy form.”
    “You see yourself as a fleshy form?” I was surprised.
    “There's a goddess inside this vessel! I see myself as lovable, desirable, and silky to the touch.” Julia threw her head back and laughed. We clinked glasses. “You should see yourself that way, too. I can get laid whenever I want.”
    “And who were you with last?” I inquired.
    “While I was waiting for this guy from Craigslist to call me back, I met a woman at the Outfest Film Festival. ” She adds, “We're both Ida Lupino fans.”
    “I wish I could be gender-flexible,” I sighed.
    “I think you already are. You just need to loosen up a bit. When you see a woman you find attractive, just say 'hello.'” Julia smiled, stroked my arm, and downed the rest of her drink.
    I admired Julia's confidence, and the way she dressed and carried herself, —quite a provocative package. No wonder she always had a devotee when she wanted one. Could I, a goofy ex-gamine who barely fills an A-cup, find a roster of receptive lovers, too?
    “Hello is a brave word right now. I'm feeling invisible in the real world, rejected in the writing world, and without mojo or a live body in Diana's world,” I blurted the second Julia put her empty glass down.
    “Diana can be a steamroller, Sara. Don't let her get you down,” soothed Julia.
    “She doesn't get me down. She just flaunts her sexuality in such a way that I feel like I'm a different species.”
    “You are, dear,” Julia replied, “And that's okay. I'll make you feel better about yourself. Remember, I'm your have-a-good-time, get-a-sex-life sponsor. Friday night I'm taking you to a party … a dungeons-and-fantasy party.”
    “Wasn't that a geek-boy computer game?” I asked.
    Julia laughed. “You're thinking Dungeons and Dragons.”
    “What do you wear to a dungeons-and-fantasy party?”
    “I'm wearing black leather pants and a bustier,” said Julia.
    I gulped. “If I had your body, I'd wear one, too. You wear a bustier out in the world more than anyone I know.”
    “Everyone should flaunt their assets,” Julia said. “For me it's tits. For you, it's wits.”
    “Okay. I'll polish my wits and see you Friday.”

Chapter 10
    Divas of the Dungeon
    Friday night, Julia's dusty Corolla was outside my house at 9 p.m. I slid into her car wearing all black: pants, a long jacket, and a simple, sheer tank top. Julia was in her high-cleavaged glory, with full make-up and lips glossed like a soap opera actress on Univision.
    “Are you ready for a fantasy evening?” she asked in a mock Ricardo Montalban accent. We drove for almost an hour, out near the airport, where all the buildings housed U-Hauls, rental cars, or storage units. There was a nondescript, dimly lit building where cars were lining up. “That's it. That's the place.”
    We parked. The couple walking alongside us looked like corporate office workers who'd arrived straight from their jobs (except for the fact that he had a leather dog collar around his neck and she was holding the chain, walking him to the club). At the doorway stood a woman who looked like Vampira and another dressed in a Catholic school girl's uniform with a thigh-high red plaid skirt.
    I exhaled as we entered, thinking I'd be the squarest, most uptight woman there. We were escorted down a long entrance hall by a security hostess dressed in a slinky black jumpsuit á là James Bond's girlfriend. Another door opened … into the party.
    Some party. A cavernous room that was probably a storage facility during daylight hours, with décor resembling a church basement. Wood-paneled walls provided a backdrop for cheap folding chairs, card tables, and a bar that was merely two tables covered by a paper cloth and offering beers and hard liquor.
    Every former 6th-grade geek, freak, misfit, and outsider was dressed up in their best fetish finery. Men were either emaciated or rotund—and