Ethel's

By Terry Brewer

Three couples, connected by a lesbian bar in NYC. Angela is bi, but in a long-term relationship with a man. When she rids herself of him, she's intrigued by an encounter with a lesbian couple at a wedding, who lead her to Ethel's where she meets Nicole. Nicole tends to be on the prowl, but soon she prefers to love of one woman. Angela.

Angela's ex-boyfriend's sister, meanwhile, struggles with desires to be a slave to a Domme, but seeks the love of Connie as an equal.

Finally, Val is a butch and Michelle a femme. A closeted femme (at least to her parents). And it almost costs her the love of a good woman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Apr 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463088128

Book preview

Ethel’s: A Lesbian Bar in NYC

By Terry Brewer

Copyright 2020 Terry Brewer

ISBN 9780463088128

Copyright © 2019, 2020 Terry Brewer

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the express written permission of the author.

Cover Photo by Rian Adi on Unsplash (https://unsplash.com/@palimirmoadi).

* * * *

Ethel’s: A Lesbian Bar in NYC

By Terry Brewer

Author’s Note

Introduction

Part 1: Angela & Nicole

Angela Johnson

Four Months Later: January

One Month Later: February

Two Months Later: April

Two Months Later: June

One Month Later: July

One Month Later: August

One Month Later: September

Twelve Hours Later

Part 2: Paula & Connie

October: Outside Ethel’s

One Day Later: A Party

January: Crisis

April: One Wedding

July: Sag Harbor

Friday: Shelter Island

Saturday: The LIE (Long Island Expressway)

July: Two Weddings

July: And A Party

Part 3: Michelle & Val

Everyone Else Is So Fucking Happy

Cindy

I’m Not the Groveling Type

Don’t Leave a Message at the Tone

It’s Estelle

Lunch with Connie

The Waiting Was the Hardest Part

Take Two

I’ve Seen Her Do Horrible Things

Author’s Note

This story contains explicit scenes of consensual sex.

This was initially published as three related parts but I received a criticism that part 1, at least, was terrible/all over the place/skipped around/didn’t make sense/too many open ends/was really bad. Since some of the confusion may have been that there were some loose ends in that part, I decided to put all three of them together. The stories are, however, chronological.

But I make this note to forewarn. I encourage readers to comment. I hope that by putting the parts together, some of those barbs may be resolved.

Also, part 2 contains a scene involving a consensual Dominatrix/submissive relationship.

Finally, part 3 includes a brief appearance by the main characters in London ‘Honeymoon.’

Introduction

Ethel’s is a bar in Manhattan’s West Village, just off Hudson Street. It sits on a corner. When you enter there are tables to the right—the ones in front are at the corner—and up the wall as well as some on the left towards the front. The bar itself extends along the left wall, with the entrance to the kitchen in the left-rear corner. The restaurant offers typical pub-fare, well prepared, and top-notch desserts (and fresh bread) from a bakery around the corner, and the bar offers a surprisingly large selection of vintage wines. Ethel’s is subtly but tastefully lit. The music tends to get loud on Friday and Saturday nights but it is softer the rest of the time, the playlist leaning towards guitar-centric alternative, often in the Brandi Carlile vein—a picture of her taken when she was at the bar hangs, signed, in a place-of-honor—but always including songs people can dance to.

The bathrooms are at the back to the right and though it is infrequently used there is a men’s room. The ladies’ room has three stalls—there are certain understandings about their use—and three sinks. It is clean and regularly and discretely checked by a staffer.

In the restaurant/bar, there is a small dancefloor to the rear and a small stage, capable of holding two guitars and a bass but not much else. In winter, a small foyer is created so that one needs to open two doors to get in, protecting everyone from the invasion of frigid air.

When Alice Johnson, who you’ll meet shortly, walks into Ethel’s for the first time, it was well after the early-Fall-semester rush. That’s when groups of four, five, or six grad students just starting at Columbia or NYU come down on Friday or Saturday nights for a taste. Invariably these groups are a mix of women, often in the Big City for the first time, who fall into three categories. There are those who, as the Brits say, are taking the piss and it is a lark. There are women genuinely and honestly curious, who may later come back without the piss-takers. And there are the women who are more than curious and hopeful of finding a place where and, better, a person with whom they can feel themselves. The regulars are always on the look-out for this last type (although some of the pretend-piss-takers are of this type), always discrete in their approaches (one of the understandings about the ladies’ room being its use as a safe-space). Many were in the same boat in the same place themselves and they sometimes develop Big-Sister relationships, providing guidance and protection—Ethel’s is not free of predators—and in three or four cases those relationships have evolved into marriages.

There was no Ethel. There are varying stories, legends really, but the one with the greatest currency is that Alice Jenkins and Shirley Evans founded the place in 1990 and named it for a Cheers episode involving Sam Malone boasting of having danced with Carla like a modern-day Fred and Ethel. Whether this is true will never be known, Alice and Shirley both having gone to the Open Lesbian Bar in the Sky, Shirley shortly after she was able to marry the woman she loved for 45 years.

The place is now run by Alice’s niece, a Smith BA/Columbia MBA butch called Maggie Owens, named after Alice’s long-time lover and partner in a tacit bit of solidarity between Alice and her sister, Maggie’s mother, who told everyone (including for a time her husband and parents but never Maggie) that it was and still tells everyone that it is simply a name I liked the ring of.

Maggie and the staff make quick but polite work of gawkers who enter or stand with their noses against the windows hoping to see…something and ultimately Ethel’s is itself a safe space for everyone who comes in. The stage is used on Tuesdays for an open-mic for the local LGBTQIA+ Community. And LGBTQIA+ Karaoke Thursdays!

Part 1: Angela & Nicole

Angela Johnson

Angela Johnson and Billy Wilson met in high school, got close in college, and became lovers when they shared a two-bedroom apartment in Jackson Heights, Queens with Josh Elder, a fellow Vassar grad. Each was a poor intern and each needed a cheap place to live while working in Manhattan. It was rented by Josh’s brother and another guy and when they moved out the three moved in.

The men shared one bedroom while Angela took the other. Within six months, though, Angela and Josh swapped after she and Billy become lovers. About six months later, Josh was gone, moved in with a girlfriend he met at work. Since they could then afford it, the remaining two kept the second bedroom as a spare.

About a year after that, they were guests at a wedding in Westchester County, north of New York City. The groom was one of Billy’s college buddies. Black tie, so she needed a gown. Angela found something nice at a consignment shop in the neighborhood. It fit her. It was rust-colored.

After the ceremony and after the dinner in the large but fancy barnlike structure, Angela went down a long hall and down a few steps to the ladies’ room. She heard from one of the stalls, Fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME. Then a squeal. Angela was standing by the sink in shock when the stall door opened and two women emerged, both flushed and one holding—were they?—they were: blue silk-panties. As the two left, holding hands, the