A Winter in Rome

by Francis Gideon

  "It's fine, Sybil," I said. My hand was over my chest, my longing sudden acute. I could feel everyone I had ever met in that moment, my skin tight and painful. I had cut too many strings, I realized. I had always cut strings. "It's actually really interesting."

  "Oh, good. Sometimes I wonder if I'm crazy."

  "You're not."

  "No? Good. You're not either, Craig. You can love more than one person at a time, too."

  "And that's okay with you?"

  "Yeah. Of course. I learned how to untangle, if necessary, a long time ago."

  I swallowed hard. I hadn't realized, until that moment, just how much Sybil and I had wandered around one another. I saw us walk back and forth from the café to the classroom, from poetry slam to apartment buildings, but never inside, and now on the phone as I paced my room. I was a knot of people—and Alan was there, too.

  "Are you okay, Craig? You got quiet."

  "I'm fine. I just… I just think I should make another call."

  *~*~*

  "I want to cook you dinner," I told Alan the next day. We rarely called one another on the phone, but I knew he had a lecture in a building he hated. I called ten minutes before he was supposed to go, because I knew he'd look at his phone, see my name, and realize I was a much more tempting offer.

  "Dinner, huh?" I could hear the wind whip by him. "I think that may be nice. What will you cook for me?"

  My mind blanked. I had just wanted to get him at a table—because all serious conversations needed to happen sitting down, right? And while I knew dinner was the easiest meal to have and know it was serious, I had no idea what I'd actually cook. "Um. A surprise?"

  He must have heard the catch in my voice. "Craig? What's going on?"

  "I just want to talk to you about something." A pause. It lasted only a second, but it felt like too long. "Don't worry," I added.

  "I'm not worrying," he said. "Just checking the time. I have to lecture."

  "I know. I just. I do love you."

  "I love you, too."

  I gripped my phone tighter. That was the first time we had said it out loud. The first time it became real. As much as Sybil and I had talked about love, there was still so much I had left unsaid.

  "I love you so much, Craig," he added, after I had become silent. I could tell he was no longer walking, but standing in place—most likely in the middle of a school courtyard—and talking to only me. "I feel my heart burst for you whenever you're around and even more when you're not. And…"

  "You do? Really?"

  "Yes. This isn't a shocking declaration. Love shouldn't be. And because of that, if you can share that love with other people, that's a good thing. So long as I still get to love you, too."

  I swallowed hard. "Are you talking about Sybil?"

  "Are you?"

  I wanted to roll my eyes. He was too cocky, too goddamn smart. I could hear his smile through the phone. In spite of his subtle gloating, relief washed over me.

  "Maybe," I finally said.

  "Okay, maybe then. We'll have dinner tonight and I'll talk. Maybe you'll tell me what's going on, but if you don't yet, that's okay. Because I still love you."

  "I… I love you too. And yes, Alan. Yes, we'll talk."

  We hung up a moment later, and then I was left scrounging up ingredients for dinner. I texted Sybil for help, and she sent me a virtual menu of things we could do on a limited budget. I found the novelty so amusing. My maybe-girlfriend was helping with my suddenly-serious boyfriend? I didn't think sharing like this could get so bizarre, but I realized I should be used to it.

  As soon as Alan walked in the door, the food took second priority. I rushed over to him and kissed him hard before his coat had even come off. He was equally focused on me, even though he complimented the smells from the kitchen as I took off his pants. We moved into his bedroom in a flurry, and soon, he was panting in my ear and I was moaning his name between God's.

  In bed afterwards, with his arm around my shoulder and hand in mine, he kissed my forehead and asked me, "So what did you make?"

  "Coconut curry. Sybil gave me the recipe."

  "Ah, yes." His dark hair fell over his face and he brushed it aside with his free hand. He looked as if he was about to open his mouth to comment on something, but he stayed quiet. I realized that this time it was my turn to tell a story, or even give a lecture like him. So I told him about the ball of string we all had that Sybil had told me about. Alan paid attention, grinning and squeezing my hand slightly.

  "I like that," he said when I was done.

  "You do?"

  "Yes. The ball of string condenses the fact that we're all connected into a fable. I've known this idea as the Six Degrees of Separation principle. You know that, right? A psychologist got people to send packages out to specific names using their network of people they knew only, and every package that arrived came through six people. The psychologist figured we could connect to anyone we wanted, so long as we picked the right ones. I think it's safe to say that we could all be connected through love, too. Love should never be thought of as an exchange value or something to be earned like money. Love and capitalism do not mix—like art and capitalism."

  "Yeah," I said. "I guess I can see that."

  "It's called polyamory, isn't it? We all love one another by a basic degree. But some people decide to love one another on different terms."

  I squeezed his hand, looking at him as I bit my lip. "So how do you think we should examine these terms?"

  "Like anything else. Some people make contracts, and as useful as that is, it reminds me of a business deal."

  "So, what do you want?"

  "I want to love you. I want you to love me."

  "I do." He turned to me, holding my chin for a long time before he pressed his lips into mine. I could still taste him—and myself—on our tongues.

  "But if you want to see Sybil," he said when he pulled away, still keeping his hands on me. "Or anyone else for that matter, I'm okay with it."

  "I just want Sybil. And you…" The words and agreements were so odd to hear. I always thought it had to be one or the other. There couldn't be love like this without fighting. But even as we discussed the matter more, it became clear to me that Alan meant what he said. We were happy to be together, no matter who else was there.

  I turned over in the bed so I could face him and pressed another kiss against his lips. He opened his lips and licked my tongue next to his. I could feel us both getting hard again. But we still went slowly, easily. This wasn't desperate, not even close. The first kiss in Alan's apartment, with our teeth and stubble scratching the skin, had been rougher and more frantic than this now.

  "I'll stay with you at night," I said when I pulled away. "I'll be with her some days, but I will always come home to you."

  He smiled, resting his forehead against my own. "You don't have to."

  "I want to."

  "Okay. But so long as you know you don't always have to. So long as I know where you are, you can be anywhere in the world, and I will be happy. We will be connected, as if by those heart strings she told you about."

  "Heart strings? Man, you are a big sentimentalist."

  "What can I say? The Romantics were a big period for me."

  I laughed and he pulled me close again. I moved into the shell of his body and let him cover me. I always felt so safe like this. I wondered, vaguely, if Sybil would let me cover her body, or if she, like Alan, would cover me.

  For a moment, we were both so quiet that I thought Alan had fallen asleep. Then I felt his fingers through my hair and neck. I pressed my body against his, then felt his heart skip a beat.

  "Can I meet her? Not necessarily right now. But…sometime."

  "Let me ask first," I said, "but I'm pretty sure she'll say yes."

  *~*~*

  "Yes," Sybil moaned. I pressed my lips against hers harder, thinking it was what she wanted. We were laid out on her couch in her apartment. She had taken me there after meeting for co
ffee. We had handed in our final assignments for our Italian class and I thought we were merely going for a celebratory latte. We did drink it, but her eyes followed me and made my skin feel hot. She knew things had gone well, because after I had met with Alan, I had called her. We had spent hours and hours on the phone afterwards, talking like teenagers. Under the table at the Rotunda Bar, our toes kept touching, and she knew it was time for us to go. She took me up to her apartment, without talking, without making jokes, and then sat me down on the couch and pressed her lips to mine.

  I had never had a girlfriend be so forward—and I didn't know how much I had wanted it until that moment. Sybil took my hands and placed them on her body, over her breasts, down her hips and between her thighs. She wore tight blue jeans, similar to the kind she always wore, and a t-shirt with a button up plaid shirt over it. She fumbled for the buttons when my hands didn't work. Her clothing was a mess, a tangle, and so hard to get through. I felt as if I was drunk again and this was my first time all over.

  "Yes," she moaned again. I had my hand halfway up her shirt, touching the small of her back. Her hair was still in a ponytail, and I had to do my best not to accidentally pull it as she shifted on the couch and yanked me on top of her. I kissed her harder, again, but this time she pulled away.

  "Shhh," she said in my ear. "Gentle. We have time, right?"

  I looked at the clock—then realized I had no idea what I was waiting for.

  "Did you guys discuss anything?" she asked. "Rules, parameters?"

  I thought of the only thing that Alan had asked: can I meet her? That was a simple request, and I was happy to abide by it, but it was too far in the future. I thought of the other rule I had implemented, I will come home to you, and I looked at the clock again. It was only nine at night.

  "No, no," I said. "Everything is fine. I have all the time in the world."

  She smiled. "Is that it? Nothing else to tell me?"

  "Not right now." I placed my hands over her chest and I fought the impulse to go too fast. I repeated her soft whisper of gentle in my mind. She wanted me to go slow because that meant that this wasn't a weird, one-off thing. That this wasn't just a fuck-and-run. She liked it when things went slow, because she knew they were real.

  "If we do this," she spoke again, reminding me in a quiet voice. "I want you to stay awhile. I want this to last."

  "I do, too."

  "Good." She grinned, then leaned forward and pulled off her t-shirt. She lay back against the couch in her purple bra. The colour highlighted her skin tone, a splash of lavender against flushed pink. Her breasts were small; they fit into the palm of my hand. It felt so good to touch her through fabric, I didn't know if I could take her bra off, touch her thighs on skin, or do anything else.

  Luckily, she knew what to do.

  "Come here," she said. She pulled my neck closer and helped to shuck off my hoodie. "Can you touch me?"

  I nodded, sliding my fingers behind her back. I unhooked her bra and then moved my fingers against the fabric, taking it off. She groaned as my tongue moved against her neck. I kept struggling with my eyes closed. I remembered the way Alan touched me, Alan fucked, and Alan had kissed me for the past few months. Then I heard Sybil's Italian in my ear and it pulled me back to reality.

  "What?" I asked, my hands on her chest and lips above her. "What did you say?"

  "Non abbiate paura, coniglietto."

  "And what does that mean?"

  "Don't be afraid, little rabbit. It sounds cuter in Italian. The woman I sometimes talk to on the phone says it's a common expression, but I think that may be just with her. Either way, I like it."

  She arched her back and undulated her hips against mine. I swallowed hard, looking at the distinct flush of arousal on her breasts. When I kissed down her body, humming the Italian phrase, I saw my stubble leave marks on her skin. I got to Sybil's jeans and suddenly I was on my knees in front of her. She reached down and clawed my t-shirt off and then thrust her hips again. I kept eye contact, determined to watch her face as I began to touch her thighs and pussy through her clothing. I slid my fingers inside her jeans, found her wearing men's boxers, and grinned again.

  "Don't be afraid, little rabbit," she said.

  "I'm not. This is…" I trailed off. I wanted to say 'more familiar' or something like that. I wanted to call her body a home, in a way that Alan's was, but slightly different. Instead, I took off the rest of her pants, and slid my fingers into her boxers to touch her wetness.

  "God," she said, and moaned again.

  "God," I echoed back. "You're fucking wet."

  "Taste it," she begged as she bucked her hips. "Taste me."

  I pulled her boxers off, lifting her up a bit as I did. She moved to paw at my cock through my jeans, but it was half-hearted. With her naked on the couch, now I knew what I wanted and what she wanted to show me. As I lowered my lips to her thighs, she spread herself further and further. Her pink folds glistened as I got closer. I looked up before my lips met her clit and watched distinctly as her eyes went back into her head.

  "Fuck," she murmured. "Yes. Yes."

  I moved my mouth from side to side, licking and feeling her grow wetter on my neck. She opened her legs further for me, so I stuck a finger inside. Then another. She moaned from the back of her throat, so loud and hot I thought I would die.

  "Fuck, suck my cock," she moaned, almost incomprehensibly, as my fingers continued to thrust inside of her. I licked my tongue against her clit—her cock, as she told me, and kept my breathing level and even. She tangled her hands in my hair, urging me along, then demanding.

  "Just suck me," she said. "I want you later. I'm close. Really, really."

  I nodded, humming against her as I took my fingers out. Instead, I used my thumbs to open her up more, so I could put my lips directly on her. She moaned, no longer grabbing me, but her breasts as I worked. I had liked how vocal she was before, giving me demands and saying my name along with cursing. But now, as she reached her orgasm, I realized she had to concentrate and grew quiet. If I had been inside of her, I probably would have felt her come harder. But instead, my tongue merely kept moving until her panted breathing and hands pulled me up.

  "You," she said, then pulled me against her face or a kiss. I knew my neck was wet with her, but she didn't seem to care. She pawed at me now, and with a laugh that was lighter than before, asked, "Why the hell are you still wearing your pants?"

  I laughed back, my body flopping onto her couch. "Oh God, I don't know. I'm just so tired."

  She pecked me quickly before getting up. I moved onto the couch as I watched her walk around her apartment naked, coming back from her bedroom with condoms. "Sit up," she said, "and take off your pants."

  I slid them down, doing as I was told. I watched, with an amazed expression as she took out a condom and with a raise of an eyebrow, asked if she could put it on.

  I pulled her close as I kissed her as my response.

  "Good, coniglietto," she whispered into my ear. She slid on top of me, arched her back, and then with a smile, began again.

  *~*~*

  I woke up at three in the morning inside her bed. She was dead asleep, her body turned towards the wall and her bare back to me. I touched my hands to my face, smelled her on me, and then immediately panicked. I said I would go home to him, I told myself. I said I would and now I'm a liar.

  I got out of her bed carefully, gathering my pants and clothing from Sybil's floor. I walked around the corner into her bathroom, not really sure of what I was doing. I figured I could always get in my car and go—if my car wasn't towed from being in her visiting parking for longer than the couple hours it allowed. I was so flushed and panicked that I didn't even realize my phone had been in my jeans pocket. When I wrenched my pants down from the counter, I pulled the phone with it, and watched as it slammed on the floor. I lunged forward, to see if I could catch it, but only succeeding in stepping on it and snapping the flip-phone in two.

  "Fuck," I cried. My
eyes were wide as I watched the pieces fall down and shatter more on her floor. How could I have been so stupid? The phone's keyboard still glowed blue, but the screen was damaged completely. I couldn't believe I had already broken my first promise, that I would always come home, and then I had broken the phone itself. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a hickey on my neck.

  "Dammit," I said aloud. She had done that. I had wanted her to do that. But where was Alan? Alan didn't know where I was, and I had fucked everything up. I slammed my hand down on the counter, then pulled it back before I could make too loud of a noise. "Fuck—fuck—fuck—"

  "Craig?"

  Sybil's voice startled me, even though the bathroom door was open a crack. I was still just in my boxers, but I figured it didn't really matter. I opened the door the rest of the way to see her, a blanket around her small shoulders like a cape. She was wearing her boxers, but no top. The blanket she held close to her covered her breasts for the most part. She took one look at me with her soft eyes before her face became serious.

  "What's going on?"

  "I fucked up."

  "No, no, you're getting ahead of yourself. Go back. How? Why do you think this?"

  She didn't even look at the shattered pieces of phone on the floor. Even as I gestured to it, she regarded it as if it was like the floral patterns on her really old wallpaper.

  "Tell me, Craig. What's wrong?"

  "I told Alan I would come home to him tonight," I said, voice weak. "I said I always would. But I fell asleep here. I tried to call him, to talk to him… But I dropped the phone. I fucked up."