The Other Fish in the Sea (Grab Your Pole, #2)

by Jenn Cooksey

  It was yet again like déjà vu except this time, I was reliving two nights ago instead of the week before Halloween. Tristan had effectively divested me of all my clothing and he was at about the same point he’d been the other night before he left me naked and crying, when he suddenly stopped again and swore. I was pretty well caught up in the pandemonium he’d very successfully created in my body, but I know he swore because he repeated himself a couple of times, sat up, and then swore again.

  “Fuck!”

  “Wh—what’s wrong?!”

  “I can’t do this, Camie…I thought I could and I wanted to but, I can’t let it go,” he answered in massive irritation and started to pace the floor.

  “Can’t do w-what? C-can’t let what go?” I stammered through the tears that are yet again brimming in my eyes. Jesus, my checks are gonna have permanent pruney wrinkles from all the crying I’ve been doing lately.

  I guess last night was just a tremor, a precursor if you will, to the real eruption because with my question, Tristan finally blew up and said some things I gather he’d been keeping to himself for quite some time.

  “I can’t touch you or kiss you or do any of this shit! Jesus Christ, I can’t even fucking sleep at night! Not that that’s really new…trying to sleep with the goddamned sun blinding my eyes and donkeys braying in my ears would be easier than trying to sleep without you. Fuck, Camie, do you not get that all your “proposition” just says is that you have zero respect for yourself and me?! I mean goddamn it! How the fuck am I supposed to feel when I’ve bent over backwards making sure I’m not pressuring you about sex even a little bit and being unnaturally patient in waiting for you to be ready, which is no fucking picnic by the way, believe me, especially with Jeff riding my ass almost daily…I swear to God maintaining a modicum of decorum in dealing with his shit, not to mention what you do to me just by being alive, is like trying to breathe with a fucking plastic bag over my head!

  “But then out of the blue, you come up with this, this…this fucking perversion of a bargain! Seriously! All I can think about is why the fuck have I been putting myself through all this bullshit when you’re so willing to barter your body in an effort to change me?! When I said you have an odd way of showing me that you want me, that’s what I meant! Everything’s all well and good as long as I’m behaving myself and doing what you want, but God forbid I don’t go along with something you want me to do, because just like that, you set about trying to make me into something I’m not!

  “And while I’m on the subject of you doing a really poor job of showing me that you want me, it’s just a minor thing really, like fuckin’ leprosy is…you won’t even fucking touch me…not even a little bit! Honestly, how fucked up is it that I’m completely and totally in love with a chick who either doesn’t fuckin’ trust me or is so terrified of being with me that she has to secretly drink in order to even talk to me about sex? And what’s the fucking ironic cherry on top? You have no problem with me doing all the physical reassurance here…I’ve been the one doing all the compromising while you’ve been content to do all the taking in this relationship, which from my point of view is looking more and more like a goddamned farce! I get that you don’t have experience, Camie, but guess what? This is all new to me too! For Christ’s sake, just because I’m more sexually educated than you doesn’t mean I don’t need you to emotionally and physically reassure me! You never initiate anything…you’re awesome at responding but, I’m always the one who starts everything.

  “Well, that is up until the other night…do you really think so little of me that you believe if you put-out for me that I’ll do something I absolutely detest doing?! I’m not for sale, Camie! And you shouldn’t be either, goddamn it! I mean, I can’t even get past why you would even consider trying to talk me into doing something that would make me unhappy in the first place! That’s just intrinsically selfish, it hurts, and it’s more than fucked up! I wouldn’t ask you to do something that I know would make you miserable enough to make you wanna blow your fucking brains out, so how…how could the thought even enter your mind? Seriously, Camie, how could you do that to me?!”

  I was sitting there just letting him rail and vent on me with silent tears making their way down the now well-worn tracks in my face, desperately trying to follow his rant and understand what he was saying, so when he finally stopped on a question, it took me a moment to realize he was now expecting me to participate in this, or, at the very least respond.

  Umm, seriously…WOW. Now it’s my turn to process information…

  Crap…I still haven’t said anything! I honestly just don’t have any idea what to say, but I need to say something so he doesn’t think I’m a total retard.

  “Uhh, I need a minute…that was, umm…well, it was a lot and I’m gonna respond but…wow,” I said, trying to buy some time while I processed as much as I could of his verbal vomit so I could come up with something to say in response that wouldn’t induce another episode like ipecac. “Honestly, I’m not sure what to address first…that was quite the spoken effusion. Um, do you feel a little better having gotten all that poison out though?”

  Tristan looked a little taken aback when I asked and furrowed his brow in confusion, like he didn’t realize until now that he’d just spewed probably two months worth of frustration out in one breath. “Huh. I kinda do. But still, what the fuck, Camie?”

  “I don’t know what to say, Tristan…I mean other than I’m sorry for…well, for all of it I guess. I just thought we could both have something we want and it’d be a happy compromise or something. I never meant to try to change you because really, I don’t want you to be anything other than who and what you are, and I guess I just didn’t understand that was what I was doing,” I told him and wrapped my arms around my legs, trying to alleviate the cramping pressure that’d been building up in my abdomen that I’m just now paying attention to. Well, it’s sort of demanding my attention, but whatever.

  “Camie, do you get that what you suggested the other night was…morally icky?”

  “Did you just say icky?” I asked with a smallish giggle. Really, even with all that’s going on at the moment and what feels like is my intestines turning into a sailor’s knot any Boy Scout would be proud of, I’m still finding Tristan saying “icky” to be pretty funny.

  “Icky? Yes, yes I did…I felt like I was a john and I was goin’ down on the only hooker in the world who wanted to be paid with a bow-tie and cummerbund,” he said with comedic disgust and gave a shudder. “Ugh, the whole thing just skeeves me out, so yeah, icky is totally warranted. You still haven’t answered me though…”

  “Oh yeah, sorry… I do see that now, but if I’m being totally honest, I didn’t think of it like that at all when I came up with the idea or when I said it. Actually, I didn’t get it at all until you told me last night that I was whoring myself out and well, my throat is still burning a little so I’ve been kinda preoccupied with that part of my unethical immorality.”

  “Yeah, well, be glad you got gin, ‘cause it could’ve been worse. I was hoping to pour you some Everclear so you can thank your dad for not stocking explosives with the rest of his booze. And what the fuck was with that?” Tristan asked, throwing his hands in the air in a sincere expression of WTF?

  “I don’t know! I don’t know what the hell I was thinking…you’re right, Tristan! I am scared but not of being with you! I just get, I dunno…nervous! Can’t you understand that? I truly love being with you, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing so I just follow your lead, and I’m sorry I never stopped to think that you might not know what you’re doing either, but come on, there’s a mighty vast gap in our levels of experience in sex and life, so, can you really blame me for being so intimidated that even thinking of talking to you about some stuff makes me feel like an imbecile?”

  He just sort of stared at me for a second and then closed his eyes on a sigh and shook his head. “Camie…shit. I don’t even know what to say about that. I feel like I
’ve done everything in my power to not intimidate you and let you know you can trust me, but, if you don’t even feel comfortable talking to me, I’m at a loss.”

  “Well, see, that’s the weird thing…yes, I’m totally intimidated by you, but it’s not actually talking about sex or doing anything that really scares me…it’s looking or sounding ignorant. And it’s not just with you, I’m like this in any situation where I feel uncomfortable or out of water so to speak. I think that’s partly why I don’t take tests well, you know? I get nervous and start to doubt myself, and then I simply shut down, which I guess in your case comes off as me being petrified of you when I’m really not. For the most part, I’m fine when stuff like this gets brought up and I can carry on a conversation like right now, but it literally freaks me out to bring this topic up on my own simply because I don’t know shit about it!” I told him and followed up my admittedly irrational fear with a swallowed groan of pain, my stomach coiling and tightening one more notch.

  “How long were you planning on not telling me that your stomach hurts?” Tristan asked with a some irritation tempered with concern.

  “Oh, it’s not a big deal…I think it’s just stress. I felt like this the other night when you were mad at me and I was all stressed out, but it went away after like a half-hour or so, so I’m sure it’ll stop in a little while,” I answered but then after thinking about it, that doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense. I mean, I literally threw up last night but my stomach never actually hurt like it does right now or two nights ago, and it didn’t hurt at all today either so maybe it’s from something I ate. Or maybe I didn’t eat enough tonight. Although I did have a decent helping of the rigatoni Jillian made. Huh. Whatever.

  “Sharp and stabbing or low, dull aching?” He asked in what sounded sort of like curiosity.

  “Um, low, dull aching. Why? Do you think it’s something to worry about?” I asked, thinking that maybe I shouldn’t ignore something that might be symptomatic of a more serious condition like appendicitis. Not that I don’t know my appendix isn’t anywhere near where I’m experiencing pain, I was just using it as an example. You know, just saying. Oh but wait, stomach pain is an early symptom of anaphylaxis… Crap, that would be inconvenient to say the least.

  “Nope, nothing to worry about, but welcome to my world…sucks, doesn’t it?”

  “Huh?” Really…huh? I mean yes, it does actually suck and I have to say I’m relieved he doesn’t think it’s anything serious but…huh?

  A ghost of his typical cocky grin made an appearance right before he sat down next to me in bed again and said, “It’s my fault, Camie. I got you all worked up and then didn’t finish the job…your body’s pissed off about not getting what it was gearing up for.”

  Oh shit. Add this to the list of things I wish I knew previously. And I knew he was right the second he said it, but then something else he’d said exploded into my understanding. “Wait, welcome to your world? You’ve been living with physical pain?” Tristan just nodded so I asked the two questions that logically follow. “For how long?! And why the hell wouldn’t you tell me about that?”

  “Pretty much from jump, but any time we step up our game, it’s worse. So while New Year’s was a lot of fun…well, you get the picture. And if you’ll recall, I did mention it at least once on Halloween when we were deciding where to draw the line, but then I realized you didn’t know I was being literal and I wasn’t about to bring it up again because that’s practically a form of coercion in itself.”

  “I’m not sure I like being responsible for causing you physical pain, Tristan, mayb—”

  “Camie, I’m a big boy, I know what I signed on for…in that respect anyway, even if you didn’t, and I’m not about to forego making-out with my girlfriend just because it might hurt a little afterwards.”

  Huh. He has a point. I wouldn’t give up any of that either if I was in his shoes, and yeah, it hurts, but it’s not that bad.

  “So um, you’d be okay with me initiating a secondary make-up kiss? I mean, the first one was kind of a bust…” I said, crawling onto his lap to face him.

  “Mm-hm, as long as it’s non-icky…” he answered with boyish seriousness and rested his forehead on mine.

  “I promise. My days of prostitution are over. But, I still really wanna go to the dance though.”

  “I know. But I still really don’t.”

  “I know, and since I think I’d prefer your brains in your head rather than smeared all over a dance floor, I won’t bug you about it anymore.”

  “Were you gonna kiss me anytime soon? The whole patience thing…not my strong suit, remember?” Tristan asked with a more definite arrogant grin.

  “I think you’re very patient, and I for one, appreciate your great effort,” I said and decided to play with him by pretending I was about to kiss him and then just kissing his nose.

  “You’re mean,” he said right before I started kissing his neck. Then he closed his eyes on a slight moan that I took to be a retraction of his previous statement.

  So I initiated and reassured while he responded accordingly until he took over, not stopping at any point until my body was no longer pissed at either of us and his had some new, crescent-shaped battle wounds. But when he got up with the intention of alleviating what I was responsible for creating, I dug back into his arms to stop him. He was right. I’ve been selfish in the extreme and it’s about time I put on my big girl panties by participating in this non-farcical relationship as an equal partner. I also need to reevaluate my aforementioned equation.

  Sex might = Power, but Power does not = Formalwear. Power = Responsibility, and I can’t help but think of the saying “with great power comes great responsibility,” so I fully intend to take responsibility for my actions or lack thereof from here on out and do unto my boyfriend as I would have him do unto me. I, uh…I just don’t know how…

  “Baby, we’ve been through this, I don’t mind…really,” Tristan said, giving me the out with far more grace than I think I deserve.

  “Well I do mind. Only…I don’t know what to do,” I admitted rather bashfully for someone who is buck-ass naked and still recovering from one hell of an orgasm.

  “Baby, that’s not really a secret and I don’t expect you to know anything, buuut if you honestly trust me and you’re willing to learn, I am certainly not opposed to teaching,” Tristan told me in a tone that was laughably matter of fact.

  And yeah I know I said I wanted to learn how to have actual sex before learning to give a hand job or a blow job, however now I’m thinking of them as baby-steps. And after learning a little about both, I gotta be honest, I still prefer being the iceberg, which is cool with Tristan because he still prefers being the boat. But, like Jeff said in the desert…every good captain goes down with his/her ship. And truth be told, I didn’t even need gum for my maiden voyage into that particular sea.

  Now, I’m not sure if your high school has ROP (Google it if need be) but I was initially pretty freaked out by the skill set I was endeavoring to learn in my new home version of it, and I don’t really know what kind of student I am, although Tristan seemed pretty pleased with where I fell on the learning curve and we spent the rest of the night either opening up and talking, or teasing each other with equally climactic periods of activity interspersed throughout the hours.

  When night school was officially out of session and dawn was approaching, I snuggled up closer to him and, not as an afterthought but something I felt I should’ve probably done weeks ago, I whispered, “Tristan, I love you too.”

  He didn’t say anything but he gave me a squeeze and a sweet kiss on my forehead before nestling me closer against him and then, finally, we were both able to fall asleep. And as I did, the delicate sound of sprinkling rain pattering and nourishing the world outside made me think about the fresh blooms and new leaves I would no doubt see on the plants. It reminded me that after every storm there will inevitably be new growth, and that isn’t something to fear, but someth
ing to welcome and look forward to, and really, something to be in awe of.

  27.

  Bella Is An Idiot

  Tristan and I woke up Thursday morning to find the storm had passed and that the sun was shining in the bright blue sky. We also found that we were late for school. We really only got about an hour or so of actual sleep so when the alarm went off; we were both more than happy to ignore it. Actually, Tristan ended up yanking the cord from the wall and throwing the previously annoying clock across the room. I, of course, sleepily cheered him on.

  So without an alarm clock to pester us, you might be wondering what actually woke us up…well, I’ll tell you. It was our cell phones. Yes, both of them. Jillian was alternating between calling his and then mine until one of us answered. I hadn’t brought my cell phone into his room in the middle of the night, so I asked her how it got there and was told that she’d intended to wake us up long before she left the house, but when she peeked in and saw the evidence of our night school, that being the comforter and my pajamas, along with both Tristan’s and my underwear strewn haphazardly around the room, not to mention the alarm clock dangling from an arm of the floor lamp, she thought better of it and opted to call us repeatedly, so she put my phone next to my side of the bed and turned the volume all the way up on both phones. We might have to be concerned with blackmail photos, but at least Tristan and I don’t have to worry about my sister just running her mouth about exactly how much she saw and what her theories are on what we were doing all night. Jilly seriously knows how to keep her mouth shut when it matters.

  And surprising as this was for me to discover, not getting much sleep (honestly, I’ve taken longer naps before) didn’t make me feel bone-deep tired. I was actually kind of hyper. Well, until around the middle of lunch that is. Tristan and I both pretty much crashed from our mutual high at that point. Although before that happened, any time I looked at him and caught him watching me, his eyes were dancing dark orbs and rather than blushing at the memories like the previously innocent girl I was would’ve, I would plant a very not-so-innocent kiss on him as a promise for later. Tristan’s responding kisses were ones that very clearly said, “Ditto.”