“Kind of interesting, wasn’t it?” I knew what she was talking about: the scene where the two women showed what they were feeling for each other. It didn’t go beyond a look and a touch of the hands, but you could tell perfectly well what the moviemaker intended.
“I suppose so,” I said, noncommittally.
“You ever have such a thought?”
I felt a little guilty not being forthcoming with Sara; after all, we’d been friends for years. “Well sure, once or twice.”
“And?” Sara was grinning.
“I like men,” I pronounced.
“I know that,” she said, still smiling. “But you have thought about it.”
“What’s it to you?” I said lightly, deciding to banter.
“Oh, you never know where such questions could lead,” she said. Then she paused, just looking at me, her smile almost completely gone. I found myself suddenly nervous as if a premonition had come over me. “Haven’t you wondered why you never see me with guys?”
“Sara!” I said, and I’m sure I was smiling, almost as if I were willing this to be a joke. I mostly knew her from work and the few times we’d gone out. As friends. She smiled right back at me, but in a way that made me think it was my reaction that amused her. “No!” I said.
“Yes.”
Well, what do you say to that? “You’re a lesbian?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of?” I echoed dumbly. I guess the turn of the conversation had me too far out of my element to allow me to be articulate.
“I do prefer women…” she said, her voice trailing off. She smiled again.
“But?” I prompted.
“I like women who are straight,” she said, finally indicating she’d finished her pronouncement.
Thoughts filled my head. Wouldn’t that just frustrate her? How could she have any relationship? What did she think of me? She laughed as if reading my mind. “Yes,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Yes, you attract me. Are you shocked?” I stared. “I won’t bite your head off,” she said, smiling. I must have looked like I were mesmerized by a monster. I thought: well, there are men who I find attractive, but that doesn’t mean anything comes of it. George is more than enough for me. She knows I’m in a relationship. She knows we’re friends. Could I kid her about this in the future? A sly comment here and there, between friends, like I might with a guy? Eat your heart out? I couldn’t imagine it, but you never know.
“What kind of relationships does this allow you?” I said, my curiosity having gotten a hold of my mouth.
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” she said.
I felt my nosiness push aside my shock, and knew I was going to quiz her further. “You’ve found willing women?”
“Yep,” she said, looking smug.
“Well, they’d be gay, wouldn’t you say?”
“They’d be married, at least when I meet them.”
I felt a little surprised. “You, uh, go after married women?”
“Or with boyfriends: some kind of relationship.”
Somehow this made it a little more bizarre. “And?”
“I seem to be able to get them to try something different.” I thought about myself again: did that mean she didn’t care about my own marriage? I stared again: I’d known Sara for quite a while. How could this be? “Feeling frightened again?” she asked.
“Uh, Sara…”
“Look, if I ever have designs on you, I’ll tell you first, OK? We’re friends, right?”
“OK,” I said, still feeling nervous. The smile she gave me in response was perfectly reassuring. I felt myself relax.
But for a while after that, it was certainly still on my mind. I noticed during the next few days Sara avoided the subject as if trying to give me time to accustom myself to the idea. She was still friendly and soon I found myself relaxing. “Ready to accept me again?” she said one morning, and I guess it’s a sign that I wasn’t quite over it that I knew immediately what she was talking about.
“Yes,” I said despite my small misgivings.
“Good,” she pronounced. “Maybe we can eat lunch together again.”
“You’re just after my body,” I joked, and immediately felt I’d gone too far. Nerves make me lose my judgment. But she laughed and I felt better about it. I wondered how all this was going to work.
“So how do you do it?” I found myself asking at lunch, more or less interrupting the conversation we’d been having. We often ate at a cafeteria across the street from work. It was obvious she didn’t know what I was talking about, and I had to explain: “Seduce women in relationships.”
I could see my curiosity struck her as humorous, but she suppressed her smile. “Oh, I convince them it would be OK to have a relationship on the side with me.”
“Oh,” I said, but still figured that sounded like a tall order.
“It’s later that I convince them to leave their man.”
I felt floored again. “What?”
She smiled a little, then added: “I guess that’s part of it for me: convincing someone to give that up. Am I shocking you again?” She certainly was! This was an attitude I couldn’t imagine: I was sure I couldn’t live with myself doing that. “Hey, we’re all adults here,” she added. “People do what they want to do.” I still stared. “Being married doesn’t mean being owned, does it?”
“No,” I said, feeling out of my element.
She smiled. “I told you you are safe with me, didn’t I?” She steered the conversation away from her love life again, but before we were done eating, I found myself asking her how she did it. She didn’t answer but just smiled at me.
“Don’t you feel guilty?” I asked her later at work.
“No,” and a grin was all I got out of her. I realized we were getting so I could return the conversation back to the topic any time we were alone and she picked right up on it.
The next morning I thought I was restraining my urge to ask more as we talked but in the middle of our conversation Sara stopped, leaving my innocuous question unanswered. She looked at me and said: “I know it’s on your mind.”
“I’m sorry,” was all I could muster.
“Well?” she prompted and waited.
“How do you do it?” I asked.
“Depends on the woman. Any in particular?”
That made sense. “How would you seduce me?” As soon as I’d said it, I felt the tension in the air: what had made me say that?
Her smile was warm, but I could tell she was merely trying to calm me. “Getting daring?” she asked. Then she added: “I’d do just what I’ve been doing.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, just talk to you about it and let your curiosity run its course.” I stared at her. She let me for a moment, then smiled again. “Now don’t worry, like I said, I’ll tell you if I get any ideas.”
Something about that logic made me uncomfortable, but I found myself going on: “Well, how do you get a woman to cheat?”
She smiled again, making me feel like each curious question of mine was her victory. “Is it really cheating?”
“Yes!”
“It’s not sex with another man. Lots of husbands wouldn’t care: they’d even like the whole idea.”
I thought about it. “Why would they like it?” I said. I was unsure of myself: my sense of men told me she wasn’t entirely wrong, yet there was something about it all that didn’t add up.
“That’s an eternal question I suppose: why do men like it when two women get together? I’ll never answer that one, but you know it’s true.”
I thought some more. “You let the husband watch?”
“No,” she said, almost looking like she were going to choke.
“Do they hear about it? The details?”
“Possibly,” she said. “I really couldn’t know for sure.”
She didn’t go on, and I sat there thinking. “So you just tell them to ask their husbands’ permission.”
“Well, not necessarily. If you know he’s going to give it, then why bother to ask?”
Huh? Now she was stretching things. “But you don’t know.”
She smiled. “Don’t kid yourself,” she said. “You know it and I know it.” We just looked at each other. “You know George, don’t you?” she asked, finally. “Would you honestly tell me George would object?”
“Sara!”
“If you could get up the nerve to ask him…” she said, trailing off. “What would he say? Be honest with yourself.”
I wanted to talk about something else and she was perfectly willing. But I found myself thinking about her assertion. Worrying, actually: it was as if I were worried that he would say go ahead. And even more worried that I sensed there was really no question about that fact: I couldn’t deny it.
This time it was Sara that brought it up again, the next day when we went out to lunch: “Are you ready to admit it?”
“Maybe,” I heard myself say, and saw that victory-smile of hers again. She can be so sure of herself.
“So what would be the point of bringing it up with him?” she said. “He’d just take a tawdry interest in listening to the details. Which really wouldn’t be his business, would they?”
“But…”
She smiled again, that calming smile. “So if you’re inclined, you might as well simply be quiet about it, right?” I still stared. “If he never knows, where’s the harm?”
“Sara…” I started, but couldn’t go on.
We ended up staring at each other again. We both kept on staring, probably half a minute. Then finally she spoke: “I promised you I’d let you know,” she said, her eyes still locked to mine.
Her stare finally relaxed into a soft smile, then she stood and left. I sat there, stunned. Had that been lust on her face as she looked at me? I finally returned to work as if in a daze and found myself distracted the whole afternoon, and even the evening with George. Sara was after me! How was I reacting? Yes, I’d had a thought or two in the past, but now I felt my subconscious had been preparing me for this ever since Sara’s original confession. I found myself wondering what it would be like, lying next to Sara. She knew women’s bodies? What they liked? I thought of the way she had looked into my eyes.
I was sure I had to avoid her, but she was right over to my desk as soon as lunch rolled around. “Come with me,” she said.
“Sara, I can’t…” I said.
“Yes you can. Eat lunch with me, that is. You’re a grown woman.”
She can be persistent and I had no chance to escape. I found myself tongue-tied and she calmly waited for me to start conversing. We were silent. “You know it’s true, don’t you,” she finally said. “He wouldn’t mind.”
“I would.”
She smiled again. I loved her smile. “You’d also love it,” she said, her eyes on mine.
I’d love it. My heart was racing. I felt she knew me through and through, a feeling I seldom felt with George. I thought of our friendship and the way I treasured her companionship. Of all the little secrets we’d shared over the years. “Say: I’d love it,” she prompted.
“I’d love it,” I echoed, knowing it was true. Was I now in love with her? Was that what my subconscious had done to me? I watched her little victory-smile, and strangely felt proud to have given it to her. Her hand came across the table and held mine, giving it a little squeeze. That moment I was hers: I belonged to her, body and soul. I knew we’d soon be lying together and I wanted it: her kiss. My eyes went down to the table as if I were afraid of the immodesty of my thoughts. Her hand let go of mine and gently caressed my arm, nearly to my elbow, then back, trailing off my hand. I felt bereft when our touch was over. I wanted to be hers, for her to own me.
“Sara,” said a voice. I looked up: a woman stood next to Sara. “It’s been ages!”
“Hi Connie,” said Sara, still with that calm she projects so well. “How have you been.”
“Oh, fine…” said Connie, and then she glanced at me. “Well, don’t let me disturb you: it’s nice to see you.” Then she was gone.
We watched her leave. “Talk about ill timing,” said Sara.
I’d seen the way they looked at each other. “Old girlfriend?” I found myself asking. I realized we had never talked about any of her particular former flames.
“Sort of,” she said, turning back to look at me. She had a wistful smile on her face and I wondered about her life: how many women had she had relations with?
“When were you seeing her?”
“Oh, a year ago or so.”
“But it didn’t last. Miss her?”
“Well, it’s not precisely over.” I stared at her and she finally responded by continuing: “Oh, we haven’t gotten together in months, but I heard she’s thinking of getting back together with her ex: I may have to remind her about what lured her away.”
“Huh?”
She laughed a little and grinned. “Oh they do get tempted, you know: you’ll find out.”
“But…”
She still smiled. “Soon you’ll get to know them all: it can lead to very pleasant times.” She leaned over and spoke lower: “See that pretty woman at the cash register?” I found myself looking despite myself. The woman was petite, with shoulder-length dark hair, a friendly smile and a pretty dress. I instinctively knew she always had men ready to do her any favor. “She’s a little treasure: want to try her? You’ll love the way she’s so eager about pleasing, kneeling so willingly, between your thighs…”
I was out of there like a shot. I didn’t even go back to work that afternoon, but called in sick. After that I was strong, managing a warning look any time Sara got within ten feet of me. I couldn’t help but notice she seemed to take the whole thing in stride, often grinning at my reactions.
I guess it made me appreciate George all the more: I love it with him and since that day, I can’t get enough. I love feeling him inside me and I always come. Well, I do touch myself during the act, something he encourages me to do, which is a reason I appreciate him. It definitely helps bring me to the edge.
But what I don’t tell him are my private thoughts that really get me over the top: the thought of running my fingers through that dark hair, her little tongue pleasuring me so eagerly…
