That’s what we’ve shared in the past
three days. Yes, we’ve talked, about
weekend plans, and the game tonight—
it’s moot, but Dad has to finish out
the season—and even about her campus
youth ministry meeting today. Looks like
I’m giving up Friday lunches to Judah.
Oh, as they say, fucking well. But as far
as commentary, I didn’t even say that much
to her about my real feelings. Martha
would be so disappointed. I totally flaked
in the open communication department.
But now, walking her to the library,
where she’ll turn her attention away from
me and toward her way-too-good-looking,
way-too-interested-in-her young minister,
thoughts churn in my head, turning my brain
into sour butter. I still have hold of her hand
when I say, “Here’s something to ask Judah.
Is the reason he thinks I’m probably gay
because I don’t believe in God? All atheists
aren’t queer, you know. And conversely,
a strong sense of morality isn’t exclusive
to those who dress up in their religion.”
Now, That Was Communication
Succinct. Well-spoken.
But apparently Hayden
isn’t much impressed.
Our fingers come unwoven.
Believe it or not, we have
more important topics
of discussion than you.
“Since when?” I turn and
stride away before way
too much communication
vomits from my mouth.
I’m halfway to the lunch-
room when it hits me. What
could they be discussing
that’s so damn important?
Every shred of bravado
disintegrates. For maybe
the hundredth time I wonder
if Hayden and I are destined
to cut loose from each other,
go separate ways. But this
time I also wonder if I care.
Skipping Tonight’s Game
Is a given. That Hayden
and her minions will attend
without me is also obvious.
The question becomes what
will I do with my Friday night?
I find the answer three paces
behind me, when I turn, sensing
eyes on my back. “Hey, Alexa.”
I pause to let her catch up.
“I don’t suppose you witnessed
that little scene with Hayden?”
A pretty smile paints tiny lines
at the corners of her eyes. Dark
blue eyes. Almost violet.
I might have. Don’t suppose
you want to give me details?
She falls into step beside me,
close enough so every now
and again the curve of her hip
bumps my thigh. Nice. Wait.
I’m mad at Hayden, but not
enough to be thinking what
I think I’m thinking. “It’s probably
not PC to divulge our secrets.”
Just as the words escape my lips,
Jocelyn scurries past. Her rabid bitch
glare catches me and her smirk
declares she has seen too much,
assumes even more. Suddenly,
I want to confide everything,
and dare to ask Alexa, “So,
what are you doing tonight?”
I Spend Most of the Afternoon
Thinking up excuses.
But Hayden doesn’t even ask
if I’m going to the game,
so there’s no need
to explain why I’m not.
In fact, the only thing
she bothers to say
at the end of the day is,
Call me later.
She does give me
a whipped-cream kiss,
sweet and light and lickable,
but definitely not
the “I want to turn you on”
kind, let alone the “stick
your tongue down my throat
so I can bite it off
and spit it out” kind.
Then she floats away
like a wispy cloud,
to be swallowed up
I think about my plans
for tonight and guilt churns
as I watch the twister
spin toward the door,
nothing but hot wind
and the tiniest bits
of substance, but a force
to be reckoned with.
Hayden does not look
back, doesn’t wave goodbye.
“Love you, too,”
I whisper into
the cyclone’s wake.
The words fall,
autumn-crisped
leaves, scattering
across the floor.
The Guilt
Has pretty much dissipated
by the time I pick up Alexa.
We left our plans for the evening
fluid. After all, this isn’t a real
date. More like hanging out.
That’s my story and I’m sticking
to it, at least if I can convince
myself that this intense attraction
I find myself feeling can’t possibly
lead to more than great conversation.
But damn, this girl is hot. If Hayden
is a nymph, Alexa is a siren,
a temptress in black leather.
When she gets into the truck, she scents
it with some rich, earthy perfume.
Not sweet, and for that I’m grateful.
Hey, she says. Where are we going?
I shrug. “Depends on what you want
to do, but there’s no one at my house.
We could go there. If you want, I mean.”
She grins. Might be dangerous.
“Scared?”
Of you? Hardly.
“Okay, then.”
Decision made, I steer the truck
toward home. Anxiety tremors
suddenly, cartwheels in my gut.
Alexa’s right, this just might be
dangerous. But I’m pretty damn
weary of playing it safe. I do have
to wonder, though, what her motives
are. Then again, what are mine?
Too Late to Worry
About piddling things like motives
now. Alexa is sitting on the sofa,
legs curled up under her, waiting
for me to bring her a drink. I pour
two bourbons and Coke, hers as strong
as mine. Maybe even stronger.
By the time I return from the kitchen,
she has shed her jacket, and the shiny
pewter shirt she’s wearing fits like
a seal’s skin, clinging to muscular flesh
in quite a provocative way. I hand her
the slick, sweating glass, take a seat
at the far end of the couch, where
I can admire the view, but be less
tempted to touch her. She takes a healthy
swallow, and then another, deciding
what to say. Finally, So, tell me. Why
did you ask me here? Revenge?
Straightforward, and I imagine
she expects nothing less from me.
Good. The truth isn’t always pretty,
but it’s easier than deception. “Maybe
a little. But mostly I needed a neutral
someone to talk to. You can be that, right?”
I Expect Her to Say
Of course. But Alexa prefers
to
surprise me. She lifts her eyes
level with mine. I don’t know.
But I’ll give it my best shot.
How do I begin this conversation?
What do I really want to talk about?
My hesitation makes her ask,
Is this about Hayden? Or me?
“Both, I guess. I can’t quite figure
her out, and I thought you could offer
a little insight.” Her steady gaze falls
away, and I attempt to draw it back.
“You two were friends for a long time.
What happened?” A swelling hum
at the hinges of my jaw tells me
the alcohol is kicking in. Not sure
if that’s good or bad. Especially when
she says, Come on. You have to know.
Now I’m not exactly sure I want
to know. Distraction may be called
for. I drain my tumbler. “Need a refill?
I kind of think I might.” She hands me
her glass, follows me into the kitchen,
and watches me pour two more,
slightly weaker than the last.
What if your parents come home?
“Mom’s at her sister’s for the weekend
and Dad drinks to closing on Friday nights,
so we’ve got the place all to ourselves.
Cheers! Here’s to rotten parenting.”
We clink-and-drink. Unexpectedly,
she pushes very close, and looks up
into my eyes, flushing me with heat.
You are what came between Hayden
and me, Matt. She knew how I feel
about you. I’d never do that to a friend.
And Just in Case
I’m not sure what she’s saying,
she rises up on her tiptoes, puts
one arm around my neck to bring
my face right into hers, and I know
she won’t take no for an answer,
and the truth is I don’t want to say no.
This time, we kiss, and it is not sweet
nor kind nor gentle. Our mouths mesh,
fevered and flavored with bourbon, and
there will be no turning away from what
must come next. “Finish your drink.”
The words fall away from my lips
and into the hollow of her throat. We
both take a final gulp, leave our empty
glasses on the counter. I boost her up,
and she wraps her legs around my waist,
and this time when we kiss I can feel
a rush of heat at the V of her jeans, right
above my belly button. I don’t think
I’ve ever been quite this hard, and it
didn’t take pills or porn to accomplish
it, let alone a guy’s physique. Gay?
Don’t think so, Mr. All-Knowing
Pseudo Minister. I’ll show you gay.
Alexa and I Kiss Again
Then she moves her mouth
to my neck, and her anxious
sucking at the pulse beneath
my ear leaves zero doubt.
“Come on.” It’s a hoarse croak,
someone else’s voice. I’ve been
body-snatched, and I can’t help
but feel grateful for that pitiful
excuse as I carry Alexa down
the hall toward my bedroom,
no second-guessing, full speed
ahead. But now I stop, put her down,
back against the door, pin her
there, hands above her head, palms
to palms. “I want you more than
I’ve wanted anything in my life
right now. But I can’t promise
this means anything more.”
Her heart thumps against my chest
and the blood coursing beneath
her skin lifts the heady scent
of her musky perfume mixed
with white-hot feminine lust. I’d
take her right here, but I need
to hear her confess. I understand.
This is already more than I expected,
or even could have hoped for.
But just so you know, I’m going
to do everything in my power
to make you fall in love with me.
Because I love you, Matt Turner.
I have since the eighth grade.
I can think of no proper
rejoinder, other than to open
the door, pick her up and carry
her to my bed, lay her carefully
on top of the quilt. She starts
to get undressed and I move to
turn off the light. No. Leave it on.
I want to see you, want you to see me.
I’ve Only Been With
Two other girls, one older (and my instructor),
one younger. (I was the one who schooled
her.) Neither cared about pleasing me,
only about my bringing them to orgasm.
Both had body image problems and insisted
we play in the dark. This is something new.
I watch Alexa unsheath a near-perfect body.
Where Hayden is all soft curves, Lex
maintains the taut angles of the distance
runner she is. The whole time she keeps
those spectacular eyes on me. Finally
she says, Well? Don’t just stand there.
She doesn’t have to invite twice.
I’m naked. We’re skin against skin.
I’m in her mouth. My tongue’s in her.
I’ll finish too soon. She won’t let me.
We tarry. Accelerate. Move into slow
motion, lights on, eyes open, and for
the first time, I experience a woman’s
ascension and ultimate, ecstatic release,
punctuated by a heart-shattering,
I love you! Oh God, Matt, I love you.
Heart Shattering
Because as she brings me all the way
there I can’t echo her exclamation.
Afterward, we lie knotted together,
neither of us wanting to move, and
both a little afraid of what the other
might say. But eventually one of us
has to rile the silence, and this is
heavily on my mind. “I’m not sure
Hayden and I can make it. But I don’t
know how to stop loving her, and even
if we do break up, I’m afraid a ghost
of that love will haunt me forever.”
Is that such a bad thing? Her fingers
work through my hair, brush my scalp,
and it just feels so good. I mean, love
is energy, right? So it doesn’t die.
It just changes forms. Evolves,
I imagine, then burrows into memory.
Real love, anyway. I think it’s easy
to confuse love with other things.
Lust, for one. Need, for another.
Am I Confused?
No. I love Hayden. But then,
why am I here? Can you love
one girl with all you are, from
the depths of your soul,
but still share this kind
of intimacy with another?
My feelings for Hayden
didn’t start with lust. Desire,
yes, but not just for her body.
I fell for her spirit—her humor.
Her innocence. Her loyalty.
Need? Well, that is a much
more difficult call. And
this is not the time to make
it. I kiss Alexa softly. “Who
knew you were a philosopher?
Who knew I liked intelligent
women?” We kiss again, but
I stop long enough to ask,
“Do you think lust can evolve
into something deeper?”
God, I hope so.
An hour later, I almost do, too.
I Am Pulled from Sleep
Into darkness, disoriented from
dreams, and by the steady breathing
beside me in the bed I share with
no one. I inhale the scent of woman.
Alexa. Snoozing beneath my quilt.
I nudge her. “Hey. We fell asleep.”
She chuffs like wind through leafy
boughs. I know. I turned off the light.
“I should take you home. Your mom . . .”
She backs up into the curl of my body.
It’s okay. I told her I was staying
at Lainie’s. I’m prepared like that.
Maybe so, but I was definitely
not prepared for anything like this.
What about my dad? What about
Hayden? Wasn’t I supposed to call?
If she texted me and I didn’t respond,
I’ll catch hell when I talk to her. And
what if she somehow finds out
about this? Alexa wouldn’t bust me,
would she? But now I remember
what we shared last night, and the slip
of her hot silk against my skin brings
me full-on erect in three seconds flat.
She is, indeed, a siren. “What are
you doing to me?” I’m helpless
here in the dark. At least, until
morning. At least until I can
consider just what the fuck
I’ve done. To Hayden. To Alexa.
Most of all, to me.
Uncharacteristically
I wake early, without an alarm.
Must have something to do
with the movements and sounds
of the girl sleeping next to me.
I lie very still watching her tread
her dreams, wonder if I’m sharing
those with her, too, as well as my bed.
Was this how Dad felt waking up
next to Mom that first time—
awash in guilt, yet fulfilled in
a whole new way, and wondering
if he could ever find such overwhelming
satisfaction with the girl he loved?
Something I never before thought
about—were he and his Lorelei
having problems, issues impossible
to wade through? Was their relationship
doomed before Mom managed to
obliterate it? Or would it somehow
have survived, if not for a baby. . . .
Wait. Baby? Shit! We never . . .
I never. Oh man. I was drunk.
We were drunk, and she never said