Wild Nights

by Therese Szymanski

  I was a tomboy who spent most of my spare time skateboarding with the “VB Crew,” as the group referred to themselves. The only girl in the group, I was appropriately nicknamed “Skate Betty.”

  I had also been playing soccer for a couple of years, and that was my only social interaction with the same sex. I usually preferred the company of sweaty boys and dirt to fingernail polish and gossip. That was, until the day I met Jenna. She was the newest girlfriend to David, Terry’s best friend. A year older than me, she exuded confidence. Jenna’s hair naturally corkscrewed itself into darkened fiery twists that cascaded down the side of her face and hung almost to her chin. The sunlight created a rainbow of reddish hues that shimmered with each ray that shone down upon her. Her nose, sharp and tiny, made her puckering lips seem even larger. Her sun-baked skin looked like a cup of coffee tinted with just a splash of milk.

  I often wondered how David, a pale prepubescent punk, could have landed a girl like Jenna.

  It wasn’t long before the four of us were inseparable. The more Terry and David thought they were getting closer to getting into our pants, the more Jenna and I became disinterested and created humorous anecdotes for their testosterone-filled behavior. We would sit on my bed and giggle endlessly at the goofy things the boys would say to try and seduce us. Jenna would cringe as she described the tongue-filled thrusts David called a nightly goodbye kiss. I would laugh as I talked of Terry’s hard, bizarre tongue, which seemed to be searching for the lost city of Atlantis inside of my mouth.

  I still managed to save plenty of time for my ritualistic Saturdays of turning the pages of Hustler with one hand tucked inside my jeans.

  There was one weekend, however, that opened the threshold of my imagination and pushed me farther into the reality of my desires.

  Terry and I planned a trip to Busch Gardens and, of course, our cohorts were coming along for a day of roller coasters and upsidedown excitement.

  Jenna spent the night at my house that Friday. We stayed up late listening to Jane’s Addiction and pointing out hot boys in the latest edition of Thrasher magazine, the same edition that housed my commentary on how so many girls did not take the sport of skateboarding seriously. That was the first time I thought about those “other” magazines in her presence, and I began to feel compelled to show her. I didn’t know why, but I was hoping she would have the same fascination with those tantalizing photos that I did. Maybe so I wouldn’t feel like such a deviant. My mom was home that night so I wasn’t able to get my hands on them anyway. We laid in my bed that night as usual, only this time the scent on her shirt tickled my nostrils, and when I turned toward her, for just a second, I got a quick flicker of the same feeling that shot through me when I turned the pages of a Hustler magazine.

  “You smell good. What is that?” I whispered, as we began to doze off to the low, yet pounding sounds of our homemade compilation tape filled with punk rock.

  “David bought me perfume for our two-month anniversary. It’s called Passion. Do you like it?” she inquired as she put the sleeve of her yellow long john shirt up to my nose. The arousing scent suddenly turned into a repulsive stench after she supplied me with its origin.

  “It’s okay, I guess,” I mumbled as I rolled away from her.

  The next morning Terry and David came over just after dawn. It was already scorching hot, and Terry’s rusted dark blue Volkswagen van had no air conditioning and only one window that could be rolled down. Not to mention there was something wrong with the carburetor and it would not go over 45 m.p.h. The park was almost an hour away, and by the time we arrived, we were all soaked with perspiration.

  The dampening frustrations quickly faded as we exited the mobile sauna and entered the front gates of the park. Terry reached out his arm like a leash and clutched my hand as he pulled me toward The Lochness Monster. The continuous clanking sound of the incline of the coaster always made me shudder with fear. Jenna and David swiftly followed behind us.

  We spent half the day running from ride to ride until we ended up in the Alfred Hitchcock interactive theater. It was dark, and we were clustered together with our knees touching. We couldn’t see anything in front of us. I suddenly felt a soft hand on my thigh and squinted with uncertainty. It was Jenna. I was aroused and confused. Did she think I was her boyfriend? Or did she purposely send shivers down my spine with her motionless hand? I still don’t know the answer to that. Maybe I should stop writing and call her to find out.

  That night when Terry dropped me off, I crept to that dresser drawer again and picked my favorite issue, August 1987, and flung myself into my favorite corner of the world. I flipped past the too-familiar cover, almost forgetting about the heaving breasts accented with a sand dollar necklace and yellow suspenders. When I flipped through the pages anticipating those customary butterflies, I was alarmed that my mind circled back to the day at the amusement park. Jenna consumed my thoughts and I found myself aroused when I imagined her face, her eyes and her skin. I heard my bedroom door open.

  My mom yelled for me as she laid a stack of folded clothes on my bed. I stayed still and quiet until she left again.

  The next night the four of us decided to sneak some beer from Terry’s dad and go down to Haygood Park. I told my mom we were going to the movies. As we all lay on the blanket, I couldn’t help but watch Jenna out of the corner of my eye. The unfamiliar bitter taste of jealousy congealed inside of me as I watched Jenna’s hand grab at David’s crotch. I threw Terry’s hand off of me and flicked a lighter toward my wrist.

  “We got to go. I’m gonna get in trouble,” I said as I picked my bag up off the damp grass and headed to the van.

  Terry followed me. “Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?”

  I shook my head. “No, I just don’t want to get in trouble again. My mom already thinks Jen is a bad influence and if we’re in late she won’t be able to come over anymore.” Terry yelled for David and Jenna, who were still intertwined.

  When we got to my house I realized Jenna could barely walk. The alcohol had attacked her 80-pound body and she was drunk out of her mind. I practically had to carry her in. Luckily, my mom was already in bed. We barely made it to my bedroom before she darted to the bathroom and just caught the edge of the toilet before spewing all over the place. I grabbed a towel and knelt behind her crouched, moaning body and pulled her hair back away from her face. When the heaving subsided, I pried her off of the bathroom floor, changed her shirt, and put her to bed. I spent the next hour watching her sleep. I remember getting a lump in my throat and almost feeling like I could cry. I didn’t know why. The sensation was awkward but filled with elation. The next morning Jenna woke up clutching her head and still reeking of alcohol. She had to get home by noon because David was taking her to meet his family. I didn’t want her to go. I was jealous, but I could never tell her that.

  “Thank you for taking care of me last night. I love you,” she said graciously as she bagged up her vomit-covered clothes and shoved them into a plastic bag.

  “That’s what friends are for,” I responded as I flopped down on my bed.

  “I’ll be back over later,” Jenna said as she quickly walked out the bedroom door.

  I laid in a daze for what seemed like an eternity until I ended up dozing off for several hours. I woke up to my mom’s annoying voice beckoning me to get my clothes out of the dryer because she was late for work and didn’t have time. I knew what that meant. I had time for another encounter in the pages. I kept the closet door open that day and stretched out my legs as I flipped open the cover to the newest edition of Hustler. With each turn of the page, my mind kept circling back to Jenna. Thoughts of her naked body kept invading the familiar pages. I was only on page twelve when it happened. I didn’t hear a single sound and when I looked up, Jenna was standing over me. I had one hand on my Hustler and the other down my pants.

  “Eww, what are you doing?” she screamed as she snatched the magazine out of my hands. “You’re gross,” she yelle
d as she stormed out of my room, slamming the door behind her.

  I sat still imagining what her reaction would have been if she knew I thought about her when I touched myself. I tried calling her all day, but she wouldn’t answer. Terry and David came over and I casually asked the question.

  “Jen said she doesn’t feel good,” David said with disinterest.

  For the next two days my stomach stayed in knots and the phone remained silent except for Terry calling every ten minutes wondering why I didn’t want to see him. I stayed sulking in solitude and away from the magazines. I didn’t understand why she was avoiding me. Maybe her adoring smiles and interested looks were only a figment of my imagination. Did she hate me? Why? Was she going to tell everyone?

  Another Saturday arrived and I was in my bedroom folding laundry again. My mother was trying to make a woman out of me by making me do my own laundry.

  And then my door popped open and Jenna was there. She didn’t walk in my room, just stood in the doorway with her hands clutching the door frame. Was she going to call me a dyke and try to hurt me? Was she going to laugh? I didn’t have any idea. Her face was bare of expression.

  I got up. “I’m sorry if you think I’m gross. I can’t help it.”

  She put her snowy white teeth on her bottom lip and bit down as she smiled. “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t mad that you were looking at naked girls, I was mad because I wanted it to be me.”

  My stomach twisted and turned in delight; I almost couldn’t believe my ears. Jenna pushed herself off of the door frame and came to gently push my hair to behind my left ear and run the back of her fingers over my blushing cheek. I couldn’t breath. I stayed motionless when she followed the contour of my neck and shoulders with her hands, and I exhaled loudly when the chills raised the fine hair on my arms. She leaned in—almost in slow motion—and still had the widest, most beautiful smile I had ever seen. Her closed lips met mine and the softness melted us together. She pulled back and stared right into my eyes. I cracked a small lingering smile and almost felt tears swelling behind my eyelids again. I grabbed her petite waist and lunged forward to meet her lips. This time she greeted me with her mouth open so her tongue entered me.

  Finally, when we needed to breathe, she pulled back and licked my bottom lip, following it with a gentle kiss. I could smell the familiar watermelon Jolly Ranchers on her breath, and I savored the scent for what seemed like an eternity. She raised my shirt to release my nakedness and I trembled. Before I knew it, I was standing naked in the middle of my bedroom with Jenna just looking at every inch of my body while using one finger to touch every spot she looked at.

  I pulled her close to me, and she moaned under her breath. I wasn’t quite so delicate as she. I ripped her shirt off and yanked off her tight, ripped jeans. She had what most people would call flawless skin, and her breasts with their tiny nipples seemed to yearn for my touch. I got scared. An interior monologue played in my head. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never done this. Has she? Do girls have safe sex? I knew about condoms but had never even thought about them before that moment. Never thought about them after that moment either. She twisted me around and we fell naked onto the bed. We kissed passionately for at least a half an hour, then began exploring each other. I ran my tongue down her neck and began to gently suck on her left breast. She arched her back as I slid my hand down her stomach. I could feel her wetness on the insides of her thighs. My clit immediately began to throb, and I was overwhelmed when I slid a finger inside of her. I looked up at her face. She was breathing heavily, apparently every bit as aroused as I. I wanted to taste her so bad, but I was terrified I wouldn’t know what to do or how to do it right. I pulled out of her and moved my fingers around, hoping I could please her. The desire to make her come seemed to drive away my every other thought. Just when her hips began to writhe back and forth, she sat up, pushed my hand away and pulled our chests together. Our precarious position at the end of the bed almost sent us falling off. She laughed nervously and moved to the right, then put her hand where my neck and breastbone meet and guided me back onto the bed.

  Our hands intertwined, and she kissed me hard. With each touch, I could feel myself becoming saturated to the point I was a little embarrassed. Jenna must have done this before, I thought as her fingers teased my swollen clit. The circular motions became harder—almost too hard—and my leg began to jump uncontrollably. I put my hand on my thigh to try and make it stop, but she slapped it off and smiled. Then she pushed herself down my body and dove in. I couldn’t believe it was happening. I wanted to play with her hair and pull her closer, but I was too nervous. She licked all the wetness off of me and plunged two fingers inside me. I jumped back a little and grunted. The pain felt damn good. Five hours must have passed, but neither one of us had an orgasm that day.

  The following Saturday was different. No Hustler needed for foreplay. I had three orgasms and can only hope she had at least one. We never told anyone about our month-long girl affair. Jenna ended up fucking David and walking out of my life. Now she’s married with two beautiful children. We talk once or twice a year, but never about what happened that long-ago summer. As for me, I gave up the Hustler magazines for the real thing!

  Best Friends

  Marie Alexander

  I will never forget the first time I met Toni. She’d just started working where I did, and when I walked up to introduce myself I felt a connection, as if we had shared a long history together already. During the course of conversation, I learned she had a husband. I remember feeling very confused about why that particular bit of information hurt me so much.

  We became best friends almost immediately. Our birthdays were only a few days apart, so we celebrated my twenty-seventh and her twenty-fourth together. That same year we feared the Y2K disaster and celebrated the turn of the century together, along with her husband and my date. The four of us spent a weekend in a cabin in the middle of a blizzard. Toni and I partied our butts off and hung out for hours talking and laughing. It was the best minivacation ever.

  Somehow, the subject of gay women kept coming up. On one of our Girls’ Nights Out, Toni and I sat at the bar alone, listening to our friends singing karaoke.

  “I made out with a girl once,” I told her, surprising myself. I hadn’t told anyone about that before.

  “What?” she said, looking at me wide-eyed, but smiling. “You did? What was it like?”

  “It was just like kissing a guy. It was fine. I was really drunk.” I didn’t dare tell her that the realization of how great that kiss was had rocked my world for a while, and sent me straight into the arms of the nearest available man.

  About a year after we met, Toni and her husband started to have problems in their marriage, and she and I drifted apart. It was just too stressful for me to be around two people who were at war all of the time. I tried to be there for her, but she was hostile and moody much of the time, and ended up treating the people around her pretty badly. I missed her, but knew we’d get back together when things settled down.

  We hadn’t spoken at all in a few weeks when she pulled into my driveway unexpectedly one afternoon. I could not have been more shocked when I answered the door and saw her anguished, tear-stained face.

  “He left me,” she said, sobbing and falling into my arms.

  “What do you mean he left you?” I always thought she would be the one to leave him. I held her and let her cry for a long time. I was shocked she hadn’t been the one to end it, but I knew in the end she would recover and see she deserved better.

  My heart was broken right along with hers, although I was also just a little bit excited. She had never given me a single reason to believe she was bi or gay, but somehow I sensed it, and had since the first day I met her. I ignored this suspicion most of the time, just as I ignored my suspicions about myself, and never mentioned it.

  The two of us renewed our friendship and became closer than ever. After the initial shock wore off, she became a whole new Toni. She was ha
ppy and beautiful again; she began to enjoy going out and meeting new people. The more she loved her new life, the more I loved her, and things were good that fall and winter for us. She started dating casually a bit, and I realized I was not okay with it, but chalked my jealousy up to the fact that I was single and unable to find a decent guy.

  Meanwhile, our relationship developed a very flirtatious side, under the guise of just being silly or drunk at the clubs, which made that hidden part inside of me a bit excited again. One night I gave her a spontaneous lap dance at a table in a corner of the bar. She got totally into it, which surprised me and made it even more exciting, even though we were just playing around and all the men in the bar were cheering. Afterward, we joked that we’d drink for free all night, but I had no interest in any of the men there. I spent the night tortured by the heat that dance had generated.

  I also noticed she was chatting on the computer a lot, maintaining Internet relationships with several women.

  “Hey,” she said over the phone one night, “you know that woman I’ve been chatting with? The one from California?”

  “Mhmm,” I muttered. I thought her online “friends” were kind of lame. I mean, how could she really get to know someone over the ’Net? Who knew what these people were really like?

  “Well, she’s taking me on vacation to Las Vegas!”

  A part of me wanted to drive to her house and smack her on the head with the phone. I was angry and hurt and confused. I wished I could take her on vacation instead of some mystery Internet woman, but being her best friend and not her lover, I knew I should be happy for her. So I gave her all of the requisite warnings and cautions, and prayed this mystery woman wasn’t a psycho. I teased her about getting laid out there, and she insisted the relationship wasn’t like that because she wasn’t gay, she was just excited about getting away for a week