Unashamed (4 page)

Suddenly someone flushed a toilet, and fear drained the color from both of our faces. The sound echoed through the stalls and tiled walls. In a panic we rid ourselves of the evidence and walked out to the sinks as if two girls coming out of a stall were normal. The lesbian was there, squishing soap in her hands with a smile from ear to ear while she remarked, “Don’t worry ladies, that’s where I go,” and nonchalantly rinsed.

This time we were safe from the wrath of the drill sergeants, but we cleared ourselves from the latrine just the same. We understood with words unspoken that this was our new designated smoking area, and the routine resumed in the warmth of the stall. It was also my overdue fix to see Rachel, but it ended too quickly. So off I went to have sex in the woods with an equestrian boy from Ohio.

It took about a week before Rachel and I stopped blowing the smoke into the slats, figuring it didn’t make a difference as long as the girls continued to bitch about the odor.

Since no one could be pinpointed as the culprit, all the smokers became careless. What would “they” do anyway? Kick us out of the army for smoking? We laughed at our rebellious actions. Rachel was the minx who brought up that fact.

Our routine made me happy, but it also led me to my most uncomfortable situation with Rachel. The smoking tradition was as follows; we met, checked the latrine, smoked and talked, washed our hands, and left. It was perfectly timed to coincide with the absence of other soldiers and drill sergeants. No one ever came in, and if they did, we were too wrapped up in the moment to notice. On one such smoke break, I lost control and had hope of something more.

As the story goes, we met as usual, checking the latrine stalls for feet and opening the shower curtains just in case. We prepped the vent for the proper angle, and I took my usual position against the back wall, straddling the toilet while she pulled out a cigarette for each of us and leaned against the door. It was the routine and the details of it that made the whole ordeal more than just a smoke break. I patted down every pocket possible for the lighter that I swore was on me this time. Rachel snickered at my familiar actions and shook her head as she held two cigarettes in one hand and crossed her arm over her stomach with the other.

“Wait, dammit, I know I put one in my pocket today.” I patted myself down relentlessly as she watched endearingly with her big brown eyes.

“Yeah, like you put one in your pocket yesterday and the day before, right?” Her head shook again, but this time it was accompanied by deep eye rolls.

“Shut up, you ass. Where the hell do they go? I must have a fucking hole in my pants.” I countered and continued checking the ten possible pockets in my uniform. We snickered in unison as I checked for the third time.

While I mumbled on about a lighter that was never there, she slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled from it a pink mini Bic. Rachel placed her hand on my shoulder to stop me, and, when I looked up from the hunt, she placed a smoke into my mouth and reminded me, “Here, I have mine.” Her peach hand cream was recently renewed, and the smell was stronger than usual. But I was fixated on locating the missing one, which was supposed to be in on me. Was it because I was trying to prove my point or that I was avoiding eye contact?

Either way, I was losing cool points the longer I fumbled. “I swear I have it. I grabbed it to impress your dumb ass and used it to burn strings from the lesbian’s uniform in formation.” Rachel formed a half-cocked smile and her eyes changed. I couldn’t see the change, it wasn’t something visual; I could only
feel
it. My boots scooted back an inch for spatial comfort. My tone changed in frustration but held flirtatious undertones. “God damn it, woman, stop smirking. I know it’s here.” It was lighthearted stubbornness. Rachel plastered the Mona Lisa smile across her lips as she stared at me much longer than she ever had. This stare confirmed the difference in the atmosphere. My embarrassment was quite obvious.

“What?” I asked as she stared and said nothing.

My hands nervously squeezed each pocket. The filter on the cigarette in my mouth was getting wet with each passing second. The fan next to the vent stopped spinning. Her glare made me incredibly uneasy, so bending over a bit to “check” my cargo pockets for the fourth time was the best way to hide the blushing that was filling my cheeks. The tension seemed to make the stall enclose around us.

Her words replayed in my head about how she was totally Christian, which only made me feel guilty about the signals she was presumably sending. As I leaned down, Rachel shifted her position from the stall door. She sidestepped and moved closer to me with her lighter already in flames, yet gave me enough room to straighten myself up.

“I told you I have mine.” She waved the lighter in the air. As the smell of peach and burning lighter fluid filled my nose, our eyes locked; then she stole another inch of my space. The bright flame created a beautiful reflected flickering in her eyes and I was mesmerized. I could almost see my frozen image staring back at me.

Rachel held the lighter, and I uncomfortably broke my stare with a shake of my head. My eyes focused on the tip of the cigarette to make sure it was in the flame. As I inhaled, our eyes reconnected through the haze, and yours truly was unable to feel confident about anything. I’m sure my eyebrow shifted to silently ask her what she was doing. I was perplexed and extremely coy, which is highly unlike me and only convinced her of the power she had. She nudged her body against mine, barely, but it was enough to make my knees feel weak and start the ringing in my ears.

I tilted my head back when the cigarette was lit and exhaled the smoke into the air as our bodies hovered close enough to bathe in each other’s’ radiating heat. “Thank you,” I said in the way that smokers do when they still have it in their lungs and need to take another breath.

My gaze flicked back to her, and alarm shot through me. She had managed to lean her face closer to mine while distancing the physical connection between our bodies. There was a pause and the fantasy of us kissing that overwhelmed me.

I restrained everything my body was telling me to do and let confusion rule my actions.

My observations shifted to her lips and back to her eyes again. She was on the verge of saying something but I couldn’t tell what. We lingered in the moment. Rachel’s expression communicated loud and clear that she wanted me, but wanted me to what? Kiss her? Fuck her? Try something so she could call me evil and restate her firm beliefs in Christianity?

Disconnecting myself was easy by inhaling another long drag. My knees finally bent to enable me to sit on the toilet. Rachel smiled. We didn’t say much as we finished what was left of our cigarettes. We walked out of the stall, sliding past each other in an aching desperate state. For once, this dog didn’t run to the toy that was clearly in the master’s hands.

A few days later, Rachel invited me to her room unexpectedly during an average conversation before formation. She pulled me off to the side so others wouldn’t hear and, in a hushed voice, asked me to spend the night with her.

“My roommate left for her duty station. Do you want to have a sleepover tomorrow? It’s the weekend, and the drills don’t come around for bed check.” She didn’t take a breath until she was finished.

In using the phrase “sleepover,” Rachel unknowingly turned anything sexually implied into something totally innocent for me. My brain converted all conversation thereafter into the mundane because she pushed her strong convictions of faith regardless of the bathroom incident and what I thought it meant. I’m sure the flame of hope was still burning dimly somewhere; I just chose not to see it anymore.

Midafternoon the next day we played a card game called Go Fish in her room. Fitting, it seemed, for the game she was playing with me. It had been a yo-yo of yes and no signals since the day we walked to the wood line to smoke after the lesbian fell to sleep. Her faux advances were entertaining and enjoyable until it was one time too many. The whole bathroom incident was bold and, frankly, it scared me. She had brainwashed me into a set of boundaries, and, when she crossed them to indulge herself in being an overt tease, I shut myself off from her.

How rude was it to dangle affections in front of my face and pull them away during my hesitant reach for them? My passions and secret desires for girls were in infancy stages then. My protection against women like her had not been built yet. She was playing games as a trained guard dog, far too advanced for me to ever catch up. I tucked my tail in submission as she barked her dominance. I already cowered and pissed myself in her presence. What more did she want?

This is what happened with our flirtatious, easygoing, nonsexual, sexual relationship. Rachel became the mean trophy-winning Doberman, while I remained a whelping puppy running back to its bitch. It was the teasing fetch game in a different dynamic and I fell for it…again.

She didn’t receive my “friend” signal to show that I’m not interested in “that way,” even though that afternoon was intentionally turned into childlike playtime. What a better way to be unsexy than to drink can after can of Coke and relish in small victories through burping contests? We played cards and listened to music, and I left as if everything was just peachy. However, returning later for the sleepover, my mouth was full of cotton, and my palms were coated with sweat.

I would have taken friendship over being a pawn in another game, but I wanted her as more than a friend. There was no way to hide it. When she answered the door, she took an immediate step into the hallway and pushed me into it. There was a preformed apology in her eyes. My nervous smile went limp, and my eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as I stepped backward to catch my balance.

She had already slipped into a t-shirt pajama top. I noticed her nipples poking at the material just before she crossed her arms and looked at me with extreme worry. “I’m sorry. After you left, I went to chow, and when I came back there was a girl sleeping in my bunk. I have a roommate now, so you can’t spend the night.” She subconsciously ran her fingers through her short hair to make sure each section was in its proper place.

“Why not, will she tell the drills?” I asked as I followed suit and crossed my arms.

Rachel shrugged in disappointment. “You can still stay with me if you want. I’m just sad because I thought we would get to be alone.” Again, she fidgeted with her hair as if she were primping without a mirror.

Ladies and gentlemen, to this day even when I write the words that came out of her mouth I hear, “
Fetch and get the toy! Good girl
.” But in the moment, it blew over my head as the word “straight” appeared like a pop-up label over the top of her head.

“It’s no big deal; we’re not doing anything bad.” My face crinkled with conviction as I uncrossed my arms and placed each hand over her shoulders. “I’m staying.” I opened her door and theatrically displayed the entrance to her room with my hands as if to say ladies first. She mumbled several phrases of disappointment before she accepted the situation and stepped inside.

The new girl was asleep in the top bunk when Rachel shook her awake to explain our arrangement. The poor girl grumbled and rolled over, mumbling something about getting caught by the drill sergeants. We ignored her and crawled into the bottom bunk. Rachel slid into the blankets next to me. We tried desperately to whisper so the new girl wouldn’t be able to make out one word. Conversation was nearly inaudible at times unless we aimed our words carefully.

I lay face up, constantly scooting closer to the wall. Each time I asked Rachel if she had enough room, she would shift to tell me yes and somehow gain a few inches to my dead pose. She was on her left side and had nuzzled her face to fit on my pillow. I remained composed even though her breath was tickling the hairs on my neck and the sound of each exhale was making me wet. She asked simple questions in my ears, making them ring in excitement. My head felt light, but my body was stiff as a board with arms protectively crossed over my stomach. In a lighthearted teasing moment, she deemed me a vampire and nervously giggled before a long silence.

When she again asked if I was settled, it was only her ploy to lead in subtly before a much deeper question. “Why don’t you scoot closer to me?” Her whisper made my skin jump.

Here’s your toy. (Squeak) Who wants their toy? (Squeak)

My dumb ass response: “No, I’m good, I always sleep like this.” Another long pause.

“Can I scoot closer to you?” The goosebumps pushed outward, and I began wiggling my big toe as a way to nervously release the tension.

Fetch, go get it, girl!

The only thing I could possibly say to turn this into something more innocent was, “Why? Do you not have enough room?” As we whispered our flirtations, I made desperate attempts to turn what she was saying into something legitimately unisexual, but she was pushing every button on my control panel.

She moved closer to me and exhaled.

“It’s okay. You can touch me if you want.” She held her breath, and, to be honest, I believe she was as stunned to say it as I was to hear it. Then we fell silent before the beat of my chest blasted through my body like a jackhammer.

I didn’t do a fucking thing. This was the fake throw for sure. Instead of running to retrieve vacant hope, I lay unflinching. It was the beginning of taking control and understanding the exchange that was happening between us. Have you ever seen a dog smile?