Thursday Night: Never just one thing

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I followed Trix through the door, leaving a dripping trail straight into her bedroom. I was glad there was no one around. I couldn’t believe what had just happened had just happened.

Trix stripped off her wet t-shirt as she walked, tossing it into a basket and grabbing a new one from a shelf in the closet. As she pulled it over her head, I saw goosebumps standing out on her ribs. I marveled again at her incredible muscled leanness, a body with just what it needs and no more.

I found myself shivering.

“It might be like wearing a tent, but you should really change your top at least. I’d offer you one of Trace’s, but she’s not here and…her things aren’t mine to offer.”

I fingered through the pile, all concert T’s from obscure bands. I stripped off my shirt and bra, grabbing a random replacement. Aphex Twin – good enough.

Half-sitting, half-leaning against the bed, Trix watched my progress. Her head tilted sideways, eyes curious. I flushed. I felt the air on my naked chest; I became very aware of exposure.

I started turning away, but something about her expression sparked a response in me. I found myself taking a step towards her. She raised an eyebrow. I let my hand drop to my side, still holding the shirt. I walked deliberately to stand in front of her. She watched me in silence; she seemed slightly wary.

My mind cast around for some socially acceptable explanation as contingency against rejection; none forthcoming. Might as well go.

I placed my left hand on her upper chest, just below the shoulder. I loved the feel of my palm in the hollow between her shoulder blade and chest plate. It fit perfectly. I fanned out my fingers so they brushed her neck. My thumb stroked where her chest began curving into breast. I pressed down for leverage and lifted my right knee to the bed so I straddled her thigh.

I kissed her lips, light like a butterfly. Trix closed her eyes. Her shallow breathing filled my ears. I kissed her again, applying slightly more pressure, and I felt her response like a key in a lock. She smelled like sandalwood and clean clothes; she tasted like bitter-sweet mocha. It was like kissing my guardian angel.

Her hands found my hips and pulled me closer, but an instant later, I felt myself moving back. She manoeuvred me to sit on the bed beside her. I tried pulling her with me, but she gently disengaged our lips.

I flopped back on the bed in frustration.

“You don’t want me?” I suddenly felt full of doubt. I could hear my plaintive left-out little girl whine, and I felt ashamed of myself.

She barked a single acrid belly laugh.

“You think I don’t want you.”

She moved fast, her face hovering over mine.

“Why wouldn’t I want you? Look at you! No, no, I don’t want to run my hands over your soft body,” she purred, sliding shivers up my side with her fingers.

“I don’t want to lick your sweet little bellybutton,” she murmured into my tummy, her tickling tongue darting into my navel.

“I don’t want to tweak those cashmere nipple buds.” She ran her thumb lightly over my right nipple, then gently pinched. A shock-wave shot through me.

Trix rolled on top of me, her torso pressing down on my chest, her lips at the scar on my neck.

“You think I don’t want to kiss you where you burn, little sun?” Her tongue lightly traced over the raised skin. Trix took a deep, ragged breath against my throat like she was taking in my essence. She groaned, and I felt her weight flatten, then pull away from me like a stuck boot shlooping out of mud. She configured herself beside me with her knees by her ears and her forehead in her hands, a jack sitting inside the box. I didn’t move. I stared at the ceiling and waited. She seemed to gather her thoughts.

When she spoke, her voice sounded gentle, resigned.

“Christine, I’m married.”

Was she serious? I felt beyond thinking straight. I bolted to sitting, incensed.

‘Married? What are you saying? Are you saying you’re not gay? That Bash isn’t gay?” I controlled my tone as best I could, but my voice shook with indignation. Did she think I was stupid?

“I’m saying, sex is just sex, at the end of the day.”

I felt my resolve start crumbling. She was serious. She unwound herself and sat facing me; took my hand and played lightly with my fingers. I let her, the way a cat lets you scratch its belly. Until it’s had enough.

“How do I say it?” She kept looking down at our hands. I focused on my breath. When she looked up, her eyes held clear determination.

“We must consider the big picture. I’m committed to a path. It’s all coming together. Let’s not mess things up, you know?”

Suddenly, my anger dissolved into a swirl of unpleasant emotions that mingled into a strange combination of shame and rage. I spun my back to her, grappling with the shirt, not able to cover myself fast enough. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t look at me.

I started sobbing before I noticed that I was crying at all. I felt like I was hyperventilating. It was all too much. I covered my head with my hands, rolled up in a ball at the edge of the bed. I heard myself making strange, squealing noises.

Trix landed on the floor in front of me, a soft, heavy thump.

“No, no, I’m such an idiot,” she mumbled. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet like she couldn’t decide whether to comfort me, or how. She leaned in and worked hard to find my eyes with hers. I couldn’t look at her. Her tone became urgent, earnest.

“Listen to me! Do not let any experience drive you deeper inside. See? You’re whole! You survived! You must continue to ask for what you want. It doesn’t matter if you get it. There’s pride in the asking. Be proud, Christine.” I couldn’t acknowledge her at all.

Trix climbed onto the bed behind me, and fit herself around me like a blanket of compassion. I suddenly didn’t care at all, about anything. The relief overwhelmed me so I could hardly move. I leaned back into the crook of her arm. She stroked my hair and quietly hummed a vaguely familiar tune. My voice croaked as I tried to lighten the mood.

“So, you did want me just for my talent after all.” It came out flatter, starker than I expected. Time passed, and I thought she wouldn’t respond. Then her whisper, like the ghost of a thought on the air.

“It’s never just one thing.”

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