Between Lovers (9 page)

“Sex or sex partners?”

“Okay, sex partners. I stand corrected. And outside of listening to women talk, I read all the magazines and watch television, so I know a lot of what I feel isn't that unusual. You should see the personal ads in the back of the
Guardian
—not that I read those skanky personals.”

“Of course you don't. Go ahead. Stop tap dancing and ask.”

“I don't want to offend you. I don't want you to, you know, think bad of me.”

“Go ahead.”

“We've done a lot of, for lack of a better phrase, carnal experimenting together. Got our freak on in parks. At the library. Did it pretty much everywhere but a Burger King bathroom. Had our little toys. Found out what worked. Gave everything at least two tries.”

Again she pauses.

I say, “Right now. Now stop tap dancing and ask.”

“It's a whole new level.”

“Ask.”

Her mouth is open, but no words appear. The clicks and whirrs are getting louder, sounding like an Amtrak rolling down the tracks of her mind. Her forehead crinkles and her thin, arched eyebrows almost touch. She gets back in the bed, holds my hands in hers, asks, “So, you're open to new things?”

“Define new.”

“Multitasking lovemaking.”

“Don't turn into a nerd. What does that mean?”

“Like in all those films we watched together, it would be erotic to have both of you please me. Have me please both of you. I think I'm more interested in trying to please the both of you than the other way.”

Words come, but my lips don't move. “You're talking about a menage à trois.”

I blink a few times. My hands are still in hers.

She pulls her lips in. “Well? Give me some feedback.”

“Have you and your friend done that before?”

“No. It would be my first time trying something like that.”

“Her first time?”

“As far as I know. But you never know what people do when you're not around.”

“True. Only know what people let you see.”

“Would it be yours?”

Silence is my answer. I go to the service bar, get a bottle of water.

She asks, “How do you feel right now?”

“Like I've been suckered into an Amway meeting.”

I'm not really thirsty, just have to move with my thoughts. In two gulps, the bottle is empty.

With softness she asks, “Would being able to experience something that wonderful turn you off?”

“Is that what your friend wants?”

“Whatever, wherever, whenever. I never hesitated to please you, to help you get to the next level of satisfaction, because I love you. Not because I thought you wanted a slave or a serf, because of love.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Ask away.”

The phone rings, slows our roll. I answer. No one is there.

My tongue traces my gum.

She repeats, “Ask away.”

“You go down on her?”

“AmIacarpet-licker?”

“You eat her out or what?”

“Don't believe you asked me that.”

“Believe it.”

“Why ask me that of all things?”

“Because... that's what I see in my dreams.”

She puffs air. “Pussy is scary. It looks like a monster.”

“One man's god is another man's monster.”

“It's still ugly. Like roast beef.”

“Yours is a pretty nice cut. Grade-A all the way.”

“Thanks. I think.”

She never answers my question. She's tapping her fingers on her flesh, arms folded under her breasts, and I don't press the issue. I'm thinking about her pussy, about how I set it on fire. When I'm with her, she tells me that she's mine, but my heart tells me that it's the part of her beyond the pussy I can't reach.

She tells me, “It's not gonna be a nasty, free-for-all kinda thing.”

“What would it be?”

“Sensual. Sharing. Erotic.”

“What's in this for me?”

“It'll squash all of this tension. We'll all walk away enlightened.”

“Educated.”

“Yep, edified to a new level of love and appreciation.”

“Edified,” I repeat. I swallow to push my heart from my throat. “Is that what you and her were talking about all evening?”

“Yep.”

“And she's down with your extended educational program?”

“Don't worry about Ayanna. Just tell me what you think about it.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“So, if it's cool with her, then you're down with it?”

She tries to hide the enthusiasm in her voice, but it's too late, it's rising like ocean waves during a full moon. I want to understand Nicole without reservation. I'm curious. Very curious, I can't deny that. Curious about who Nicole is, what mask she puts on, or what mask she takes off, when she's with the other, about what my reaction will be when I see them side by side, or in a passionate embrace. Curious about what makes her friend so damn special.

Maybe I need to see that. Maybe that will rupture me to the point of freedom.

I nod. “Let's think about it. The consequences. How would you feel, morally?”

“After all I've done with you”—she chuckles—“I know you're not preaching morals.”

“Well, this is different.”

“Everything I did for you was different.”

I pause. “How would something like this work out?”

“I'll make the rules.”

I say, “Sounds like it'll be like Simon Says.”

“Yep. The adult version. With a little Twister added.”

“And who gets to be Simon?”

“I do, of course. I've been reading about situations like this that worked, ones that didn't. Their boundaries weren't clear. We'll have rules. That way nothing can go wrong.”

She sounds eager, has changed in ways I can't comprehend. I walk over to the window, stare out toward the bay, become as still as the hard, gray statue of Jack London that stands near the waters.

Nicole says, “Sweetie?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't stand in the window naked. They might think you're a pervert.”

I come back to her. Sit on the bed.

I tell her, “You didn't answer my question. You eat her out or what?”

“Well, this way you can find out.”

I say, “You used to think that was disgusting. Whenever you saw Heather Hunter munching carpet, you turned your head.”

“To tell the truth, I turned my head because I didn't want you to see what it did to me.”

“So now you're telling me that you didn't think it was a turn-off?”

“I used to think a lot of things were disgusting. You changed that.”

“Sell that guilt trip to the airlines. The seed was already in you. I didn't plant it.”

“If there was a seed inside me, it was living in a desert. Didn't grow until you watered it. With all of your erotic videos, making me watch women with women, with your fantasies, you made it grow.”

“You were so ...uh... well, you were—”

“An inexperienced, body-shy, and frigid country girl from Elvisland. Your exact words.”

“I never said no shit like that.”

“You did. No biggie because I was, was I ever, and—”

“Didn't say all that. I was trying to get you to not be inhibited.”

“You did a good job. Now I'm not.” Then she sings, “Seems like you are, though.”

Her pager hums. We look at each other.

I say, “Turn it off. You're on my dime.”

She does just that.

This is what I know about Ayanna: nothing. Never wanted to know her name, because I might hear it and go insane. Never wanted to see a picture of her, because I might hunt her down and skin her alive. Never wanted any information about the five senses of her, never wanted anything that would make her solid in my mind. Wanted her to fade into the night. Never wanted her to become real. The thought of her is as solid as smoke, and that's more than enough.

I ask Nicole, “What's the most extreme sexual thing you've done since you've been here?”

“Being with her. Never planned on being in this situation.”

“Outside of that. Outside of her.”

“This is Oakland and San Francisco. It's just as wild as Paris up here.”

“Other women?”

“Nope. Just her.”

“Other men?”

“Your penis is the penis I adore.”

“That's cute, but not an answer.”

She falls into silence.

I say, “Truth or truth.”

“Sure you want to go there?” She sighs. “You have condoms in your travel kit. Maybe I should be asking you about other women.”

“What do you expect me to do while you're living with some bitch?”

“She's not a bitch. What you said is not nice. When you insult her, it insults me.”

“Pardon my insensitivity. You fucking anybody?”

“Apologize.”

“You fucking anybody?”

“Apologize.”

“I apologize. You fucking anybody?”

She doesn't answer.

I rephrase the question, “Are you having sex with anyone else?”

“Maybe I should be asking you what are you doing out on the road. You heard me the first time. Don't think I never notice the condoms you have in your luggage.”

We've put each other in check. Serious check.

She says, “I know why you don't use a condom with me.”

“Do you?”

“I'm not stupid. You want to get me pregnant.”

“Dunno. Maybe I do.”

“Even if you did, that won't change anything, sweetie.”

The clicks and whirrs from her thoughts grow, her lips move, getting ready to articulate something that is difficult to bring to the table. Stress lines bloom in her face.

I say, “When was the last time you were tested?”

“December first. AIDS awareness day.”

“Same for me. What about your friend?”

“Same day. We went together.”

Silence.

I rub my palms together; massage my hand with my hand.

She asks, “What are you thinking?”

“Thinking about how when people move away from all they know, they either become something remarkable or something undesirable.”

“Which do you think I am?”

I take a hard breath. “What you're asking, it's not... not...”

“Normal?” Her eyes are dry but tears dampen her voice. “Normal, normal, fucking normal.”

With measured calmness I say, “I wasn't going to say that. Maybe I was.”

“Who in the hell gets to define what's normal?”

“Society. The majority defines normality, you know that.”

“I've been living my life according to my mother's rules—”

“How did you mother get in this?”

“She always made me go to this school, that college, this guy isn't the right complexion for you, that guy isn't good enough for you, that one isn't from the right family, do this, do that. Always feeding into their definition of who they wanted me to be because of my fear of rejection. Fear is a bitch.”

She takes a breath, slows herself down.

She whispers, “I did so many things for you because I was afraid of being rejected by you, know that? If you love me, you'll suck my dick. Yep, better suck the wee nie or he won't love me. If you love me, you'll let me come in your mouth. Well, better let him come in my mouth, or he won't love me. Better swallow, because his last girlfriend did, and if I don‘t, he won't love me. Better let him get his anal sex groove on, or he won't love me.”

“Nicole. Stop.”

“How many times did I have to prove how much I love you? How many ways?”

“Stop. Nicole, knock it off.”

“Now I'm asking you to do for me.”

I say nothing.

She goes on, “What is it about my wanting more that makes you want less? Do I intimidate you?”

I shift.

“Why does the man have to be the one who drives the sex? Why?”

I let her vent, hope the batteries run down pretty soon.

She says, “Every day I have to review my life, ask myself how I got here, what's more important, pleasing others or being true to myself. I do that every day.”

“What's your point?”

“What I'm trying to say is that you should feel me on that. You broke away from what was expected of you. You had to disappoint a lot of people, but you found yourself.”

“True, I write.” When I say that, I feel like a nervous teenager, young and wishful, the same teenager who stood in front of his old man and told him that he wanted to take a different road. And I wonder what my old man would think if he could see me, hear me now, in this moment. My voice sounds younger, almost as if I'm talking to my daddy now when I say, “That's who I am, what I do. I write.”

“And I'm proud of you. I'm your biggest fan.” Nicole pauses, thinks, speaks with ease, “I don't get it. Why does everyone want me to change when I love who I am?”

“Because... because we're assigned roles. Men do this, women do that; normal people do this—”

“Normal.
There's that biased, subjective, insensitive word again.”

“Give me a break. Damn. You know what I mean.”

“People can't heat me up, pour me into a mold and make me be whatever they want me to be. They can't make me... conform. I don't conform.”