Unashamed (22 page)

We shared sexual fantasies before I invited her to spend the night the next evening. Ramifications of a new student caught sleeping in my barracks were severe, not to mention, we were both girls. What I asked of her was deeply rebellious and wrong on so many levels, but she walked to my room the next evening with her book bag and computer, fully prepared for a sleepover.

During a dry hump session, it was clear that there was an experience gap between the two of us. You see, she came into my world after my discovering interest in rougher sexual encounters. Everything Private Marche knew how to do was simplistic, soft, and sensual. Though a pleasant refreshing change, it bored me a little.

Twenty minutes into heavy petting, this little harlot had to remind her fledgling that clothing was optional. A seven-year gap in age can sometimes put clarity on experience differences. Case in point, the older, more mature Charlene wanted me to explore her vibrator collection within the first five minutes of our encounter. She didn’t think anything of it, while I felt like a vibrator Nazi. But, I digress.

Age aside, Marche was simply inexperienced, so I couldn’t be mad at her as long as she was willing to try new things. If I could hold a vibrator to a clit, Marche could hold my neck to the wall.

Philandering with, and training, Marche distracted me from the trio who held down the fort in Las Vegas. Their phone calls became nuisances as I tried to find whatever it was that kept me searching. It seemed I wanted freedom to be gay on my own terms. Not Doug’s, not Patty’s, and certainly not Zelda’s. All three of them had ideas of who they thought I should become.

Marche had none. She accepted me for the lesbian she thought I already was. Truth be told, booze and women numbed me from those complexities. It’s the easy way to be out of the closet without actually going through the drama and heartbreak and it was delightful for a change.

Being around inexperienced Marche and all her sweetness was definitely pleasant, like an easy listening station, or pleasant, like the mellow Christopher Cross song, “Sailing.” If someone was in the middle of a full on, red-eyed road rage war and “Sailing” suddenly began to play, who wouldn’t fucking pause to sing the words? That’s the effect she had on my life.

Charlene, although older, was closer to the craziness my life was accustomed to. When she invited me to the club with her roommates, Kathrin and Jill, I immediately accepted. A night out with the girls was required to be carefree.

Jill picked me up since she was a fellow soldier who lived around the corner from my barracks. We stopped for gas outside the installation and broke the ice on the drive to Kathrin’s house. The minute we walked in the door, I realized my phone was forgotten in the gas station bathroom. We returned to retrieve it, adding an hour to our trip.

I was overly apologetic as we made the trek back to the house for a second time. She was a dull conversationalist with moments of humorous sarcasm, enough to keep me mildly entertained. The most interesting subject of our forced conversation was her occupation.

“A lesbian chaplain’s assistant. Wow, how does that work for you?” I asked.

“I still have a life. I’m not the preacher or minister, I’m the assistant.”

“Amen, honey.”

Jill was a thin girl with short dark brown hair, reminiscent of Rachel, only thirty pounds lighter. She had a very pretty face much like the description of Snow White in childhood fairy tales. If I was attracted to feminine women, she would probably be a good catch, but there was no chemistry.

Guilt and an undeniable voice challenged my attraction to fat butch women. Doug and Rico were heckling me from somewhere deep within my brain, so I forced myself to make flirtatious sideways glances. It was torture.

Once we arrived at Kathrin’s house, I was excited to get the party started and remove myself from Jill’s returned flirtation. I rushed from the frigid February night through the front door, displaying my rescued phone. With a huge relieved smile on my face, I presumed a cheerleading pose, complete with wiggling spirit fingers, yelling like a teenager, “I’ve got it!”

My eyes immediately locked on two unfamiliar faces standing at the back of the room holding pool sticks. The bigger girl had shoulder-length brown hair and beautiful piercing eyes that widened when she saw me. Charlene straightened from the shot she was about to take at the pool table. She asked where I found it, but as she spoke her words became gibberish as I was fixated on the butch girl. She, too, was entranced as she nudged the other lesbian without discretion and without breaking eye contact with me.

“Um, it was in the bathroom and, uh, the manager found it. How lucky was that?” I stumbled through the words.

Kathrin walked to me with a glass of red liquid. “You got to catch up, girl. We’ve been pregaming it for an hour.” I swallowed the delicious unknown contents and everyone clapped in unison.

Charlene was the first to offer introductions. “This is Mandy and Rhonda. We met them last weekend and invited them out. The more the merrier.”

I can’t remember if I shook Mandy’s hand or stared into her eyes.

Regardless, the group wasted no time rushing to the cars. Mandy did not hesitate to assert that my seat was reserved in her vehicle. Charlene sat next to me while Rhonda perched herself in the front passenger chair. The ride to the club was full of tear-inducing laughter that had each of us claiming we were going to pee our pants. The three of them spoke with deep southern accents, which at times threw me into hysterics. My vibrant personality and quick wit kept them on edge. Between knee-slapping jokes we either caught our breath or inhaled cigarettes as Mandy intensely starred at me through the rearview mirror. I didn’t say anything.

Once we arrived, our club experience was full of dancing, wild lights, drag queen shows, cigarettes, and alcohol. Everyone had an exceptionally good time, except Jill and Rhonda, who were semi-locked into sitting at a table for most of the night. Lord knows we tried to get them onto the dance floor, but they were cemented, minus one or two songs they just couldn’t refuse.

Toward the end of our evening we met a couple that had just announced their engagement. The feminine one put on a glittery tiara that said “Bride” as her attractive butch partner lit a cigar. Everyone celebrated their engagement until the bartender flicked the lights, signaling imminent closing.

As club goers exited, our group of six became eight. We assembled our little clique in the parking lot while Kathrin concluded that we were all starving and had to get something to eat. I shivered uncontrollably while chatting with the bride. At that point, fuck food; I wanted to be warm.

The bride, feeling left out of the important restaurant decision-making process, turned from our conversation to vote, holding her partner’s hand. When she moved forward, it pulled her partner right in front of me, uncomfortably close. So close in fact, we could have leaned forward to kiss. They were still holding hands when the butch girl boldly flirted. “Whoa, hello, what’s your name again? You
are
going to eat with us, right?”

“Um, I’m not really hungry, I’m sort of col…”

Her breath was loaded with liquor as she stopped me. “Listen, I
want you
to come.” She grabbed my arm with her free hand and glared deeply with an agenda in her eyes. Her grip tightened on my skin.

Before I could answer, Mandy grabbed my free arm. “She can ride with me.”

“I’m not really hungry. I don’t want food. I want a jacket!” I said in a loud last-ditch effort to be heard, as if my shivering wasn’t noticeable.

“Well, let’s get you in the car and I’ll turn the heat on,” Mandy comforted.

“I don’t want to go, Mandy. I need a jacket. This shirt is paper thin, guys, I’m really freezing,” I said, as Mandy squeezed my left hand and the butch girl continued to tightly grip my right. Between them I stood, crucified.

“I’ll take you to my place to get a jacket. I just live ten minutes away. We will meet you there, guys. I’m taking her to get a warmer shirt,” Mandy said to the crowd.

The butch girl continued to stare at me with my arm in her hand. “You
have
to be there. You
have
to come.” As Mandy pulled me away, the girl reluctantly let go while shouting, “You’ll meet us there, right? You’ll be there, right?” Her bride tugged her in the direction the group was moving, oblivious to everything.

In the car, Mandy and I discussed the evening as she drove to her rental home. She was gracious enough to let me smoke in her new car.

“…right in front of her fucking wife! Can you believe that?” I said astonished.

“Girl, that is crazy! I didn’t know she was going that far! I just rescued you because I saw her with a vice grip on your arm. You did not look happy, girl.” Mandy giggled.

We pulled into a luxury home complex thirty minutes later; shame on her for lying to get me alone. The complex completely impressed me on every level, although I knew it wasn’t hers.

She unlocked the front door and held it for me to walk through. The second she shut the door, I attacked her with ravenous desire. Our first kiss involved the acrobatic process of taking clothes off while shuffling backward to the bedroom. We never made it to any restaurant. When we finally woke up, Rhonda was seated on the couch, watching television. She threw her head back to shout down the hall. “Ya’ll had fun, I heard. I knew you weren’t coming back, Mandy, you could have told me.”

“Hey, girl, I planned to come back but I got attacked,” Mandy said with a smile as she chuckled and walked to the kitchen.

I stood in the hallway, yawning, in Mandy’s shirt with my arms folded over my chest. It seemed to me that Rhonda’s tone carried a hint of jealousy. I stood there for a minute, pretending to watch whatever Rhonda had on the television, then headed back to the bedroom. Mandy followed me to the bedroom with a glass of water. Again, we had ridiculously insane sex, which drove Rhonda out of the house sometime after the first half hour.

Mandy and I saw each other regularly for about two weeks, but marathon sex had to stop after missing morning formation twice. While soldiers walked past her car like zombies, my dumb ass ran to my barracks room to change out of club clothes.

Sex was amazing; however, the best thing that happened between us was friendship. As clueless as I am to the thing that unites two people, I’m even more oblivious to the thing that divides. During our short time as a couple, our relationship grew from whatever it was into a meaningful friendship. As connected as we were together, it wasn’t in the cards and, although we tried, we never put a finger on why.

My guess is that one conversation, in particular, may have gently nudged us into the friend zone for good. It was in her car after Mandy picked me up for a sushi date. She commented on how upset I looked. She pried a little further when I tried to deflect her concern, and I lost my composure almost immediately. I sobbed about going through some serious shit that she wouldn’t understand.

“Just tell me. What is going on?” Mandy begged and placed her hand on my thigh.

“Please don’t hate me when I tell you this, okay?”

She removed her hand from my thigh and folded her hands in her lap. “All right, I won’t. What is it?”

“I’m gay, but I am married. Then, there is my girlfriend, and we all live together back in Vegas. I love them, but I can’t do this anymore and it’s fuckin’ me up.” An explosion of words and emotions poured out of me as I slobbered my way through the story.

She listened to every mumbled word and pieced together every hyperventilated sentence before she offered her thoughts. “Ya’ll are not the only people in the world. I was with my boyfriend, off and on, for eight years, girl. We tried to do the same thing. He let me have girlfriends and everything. I loved him, I’m…still in love with him, but I can’t because I am gay. It broke his heart, girl, and he asked me to marry him, said he would live like that as long as I was in his life. And…well…that isn’t right. It ain’t right to be with a person if you can’t be with them one hundred percent. So, I know. I know exactly what you are going through, believe me. The only difference is, we were never married, but we might as well have been.”

While repeatedly wiping my eyes free of tears, she comforted me with details and parallels of her previous relationship. “I tried. We tried. My family loves him, I mean…” She trailed off into a private thought of her own before snapping back.

“I cannot suck dick to save my life, girl; it makes me want to vomit.” She pressed her hand to her throat and made a gagging noise after emphasizing the ‘t’ at the end of the word. I laughed so hard a snot bubble popped out of my nose. “You think I’m joking. It got to the point where dick grossed me out so bad, I got physically sick to my stomach when we had sex.
Phiz-ick-ally
sick. Like, puke in my mouth…Oh, dear God…I’m gonna throw up just thinking about it.” She took a breath and swallowed hard. Then she fanned her misty eyes. With the other hand she rolled down her window.

“Ya’ll are just like me and him.” She grabbed the top of her shirt and began tugging at it to create a breeze. “Girl, it ain’t right to love somebody and feel like that.”

My laughter at the puke comment subsided as I shook my head in total concurrence. It was as if she was preaching the Bible and the Holy Spirit was settling in on me. A calmness swept over my soul because, on the deepest level, she didn’t just understand; she knew my intense pain.