a time for taking things further |
For context, check out "College Girl" You say, what if we tried it with a man, the three of us. That you were able to entertain the idea said a lot about how far I had to go. If I had known that by sidling up to me – that dress those heels that hair that smile – you would be rearranging my life I might never have followed you out of that bar into that room onto that bed. Who am I kidding? There was no way to say no then; I will not say it now. We have moved away from the slightest possibility of return. You have too much faith in me for me to willingly disappoint you. I smile weak quivery unconvincing but you give me points for the effort your mouth stretching open wide into the whole body howl of laughter you try to suppress in public because it bears no relation to your sex-kitten status. Although if I have told you once I have told you again that the kind of bone deep sexy you exude has nothing to do with the accoutrements of seduction – even if no one will ever fill out a little black dress in quite the same way – but from the glow of your skin after I made you come that last time when you thought you couldn’t; the little hitch-stutter when I do something unexpected like call you at work or bring you flowers as if you are constantly amazed at my love for you; the way you worry your thumb, not quite sucking, when you are engrossed in your reading and I can get away with staring without making you self-conscious; the way your toffee eyes water at the drop of a hat when you think of anything sad, like the puppies on the ASPAC commercials, or starving children in Ethiopia, or the post-fame lives of washed up rock-stars. These the things I tell you when I see the worry in your eyes that this is one of those lesbian-until-graduation scenarios because being with me makes you stupidly insecure. This is a lightning-bolt-from-the-sky scenario; you scorched the ground beneath my feet. There was nothing recognizable left of my old life. It is not that I like women, lord knows I was a cock-fiend, but that there is no room for anything that does not encompass you; you are made of star stuff a being perfect onto herself and I am the hunk of space dust fortunate enough to coalesce in your orbit. You suffer, I know, from absurdly low self-esteem having bloomed late which I would have guessed even if you had never shown me those horrendous junior prom pictures from before you had grown – you never actually grew any taller, some manner of life-size Barbie doll you buy for eight year olds, or horny eighteen-year olds, and if you topped five feet barefoot I would be mightily surprised – into a beauty. You kept comparing it to those of the effortless glamour of your sister’s, who I met and was decidedly unimpressed with – we made a pact in those first few seconds of eye contact, me and the bitch, hers saying if you fuck with her I will make all the shit that came before in your life seem like a glorious dream, mine saying if only you hadn’t alternately bullied and ignored her into submission we wouldn’t need to have this conversation so don’t ever let me catch you at it or we will have that knockdown drag-out fight you’re trying to provoke me into – and to your beautiful brother, he of the fragile skin and frail eyes, some manner of Byronic hero wannabe who wrote bad poetry and fucked sleazy women, neither one of them worth the dregs of the coffee filter, much less the time energy you devoted to making them happy. I know that my being mostly straight bothers you and nothing I can say is convincing. I have to show you with my hands with my lips my tongue my breasts my navel my cunt that I loved you before I knew who you were. You say, what if we tried it with a man, the three of us. I don’t need a man, I explain, I have you but you shake me off, uncomfortable in a way you rarely show even to me. So I stop my instinctual protests to listen to your proposal. I never have, you say, with a man. Not once in my entire life. I’ve never even kissed one, which did take me aback because you have so many male friends and I am supposed to believe that not one of them tried to cop a feel once or twice in a drunken stupor? I feel it’s something I should try at least once but I would never be brave enough to do it by myself not now after so long. I wouldn’t know what to do but with you there, to help me, I think I could and I… here you stop as if afraid of my reaction. I want to shake you hit you for being so damned insecure. For some reason, being with you has made me want to be that fearless person you think I am, you say after an eternity of silence that could not have lasted more than a minute. That woman wouldn’t be afraid to try it. Then I understand that on some level this is a test; you want to see with your own eyes that I can be with a man and still pick you. But I cannot deny that the idea excites my pussy getting wet at the thought of driving my hand inside you while strong masculine ones hold me down for a nice thick juicy cock to plunder. But I stay quiet. That is not what you want to hear, no matter what you say. If we are going to do this, you will have to be the motivating force all the way. I stay there silently while you work things out in your head. Ernesto, you say finally. My fingers curl up into fists so tight the nails dig painful half-moon circles into my palm. I want Ernesto. I almost cream myself then. That is who I would have chosen. It is not surprising, after all we have in common, that you would want the man I would want, yet it catches me off-guard. Because I trust him and he would understand, I think, the way things are. Meaning that this would be a one-off and he was gentleman enough not to assume the lesbians would want him around, once they got their experimental jollies off. I disagreed, having seen the desperate look in his eye when you smiled and flirted and danced and laughed but I do not disabuse you of the notion. As arousing as it is I think it is an incredibly stupid idea to introduce a third person – a man – into our world. I am letting you call the shots, hoping I do not end up with regrets. -- Author's Note: I decided to break this up into two parts. (For those of you who read the original version, nothing has changed.) The story continues in "Room for Exploration" |