What Makes Three

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.


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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"