To Be a Lesbian

by Yuriko Hime

  Chapter 21

  Only two things were needed for my endeavor- a name and an address, both of which were present on the records the woman from the desk pulled up. I wasn't too concerned about being caught on the camera's stealing information when she left. Management in many establishments rarely checked their CCTV, and usually they only did it when something was wrong, like the case of missing money or getting complaints from customers. Also, the woman would never admit that she abandoned her post without locking her computer.

  What was I teaching my readers? If anyone asks, you did not hear that from me. Shame on you.

  Intriguingly, the address indicated wasn't far from the university. Upon checking the map application on my phone, I decided that it wouldn't be a hassle to walk the distance. I was such in a cheerful mood that I skipped and pranced on the way, snickering at the men who looked at me, and the women who had jealousy written all over their faces. They wanted to do that too, to act free and silly, but was afraid of what society would say. I could have been a nutcase in my previous life, but in this one I was a Roth, and a Roth could do anything. I got the information about Lynx, didn't I? No money was even needed for it.

  I wondered what kind of environment she could possibly live in. She'd spent her money on lavish things like eating at a good restaurant and letting her grandma stay at a 4-star hotel. What was left of her meager savings couldn't be that big. At best, she got herself a room to live in. Worst case scenario, she was sharing a cupboard space with five to eight other people, or was squatting in an abandoned building. It was the real living condition of some, so I wouldn't pass judgment.

  I slowed to a walk. Another pressing issue was how she could be associated to the university. That in itself deserved dozens of questions. The records showed no further explanations, only that her name and address were in bold red color.

  I studied my phone to see if I was anywhere near my target destination. Hmmm. That couldn't be right. I wiped the screen on my shirt. The glare of the sun or dirt was making me see things. I rubbed my neck to thwart the building ache from confusion. The map on my phone still told me that I was at the right place. Fine. Shoving it in my pocket, I stared at what lay ahead, like a pirate surveying the treasure island she'd been hoping to discover.

  First thing to note were the knee-high hedges. Where the sidewalk ended, the hedges began. It was the indicator that whoever would go forward would be trespassing on the property, though there was no gate. Naturally I still went beyond the hedges and followed the main walkway. They were made of gray bricks, large enough to hold five people walking together without disturbing the long stretch of grass on each side.

  There were two large trees from my viewpoint. The one on the left was leafless, its bark grayish because of old age. The other on the right was in full bloom, the leaves a fresh green and swaying on the gentle wind. Funny enough, the first was more regal than the next for me, even though most of its branches curled and looped like a hag's finger. Sometimes there was beauty in decaying things.

  A colonial-styled house lay ahead. I paused to admire it. Three stories tall, made of brick and wood, painted in black, red, and white. My estimate was the large property could have dated back to the 1800's. In the world of real estate, it would cost millions, not counting the small bit that it was located near a famous university, several landmarks, and was found in one of the best towns in the world, making it as desirable as a jug of water in a desert.

  The ache on my neck had reached my head, ballooning into a migraine. Lynx couldn't have been rich, could she? Why would she work odd jobs if she was? To pay for the house? Squandered wealth? The list went on. Or. . . Or! Or she could be a house help. Why didn't I think of that?

  I pushed the doorbell twice when I got to the porch. While waiting for the door to open, I hooked my finger on my belt, concentrating on leaving the tattoo alone. It had been itchy throughout the day and had sometimes made me lose focus while embarking on this search. The websites I've checked online said not to scratch, but the devil in me was cajoling. Scratch it! Scratch it, the devil said. Again, this was all Lynx's fault. I pushed the doorbell a third time. What kind of house help was she? She wouldn't even greet the guest promptly.

  When I was about to depart the porch stairs so I could check the side of the house, the door swung open. I didn't miss the tightening of her jaw or the tense movement of her shoulders when she saw that it was me who rang. Whatever she was thinking, in a span of seconds, Lynx had quickly decided how to deal with me. Putting her hand on the doorway, she said, "Look who's stalking. How did you find this place?"

  I pushed past her to get inside. "Where are your employers? I need to talk to them." I made a fast sweep of the place. Impressive. It wasn't constructed to intimidate like some houses, the Roth's estate being the prime example. In my house, the moment you stepped in, you'd know who the occupants were or at least how much bacon the head of the family was making because of the amount of gold blatantly displayed and how shiny everything was. In this colonial house, intimidation wasn't the theme, but character.

  There was personality in the sculpture of the head of a woman exhibited on the corner. The receiving hall in which we stood had checkered black and white marble flooring, untarnished with age, infused with character. So was the chandelier on the ceiling, hanging over a round marble table and four accompanying chairs. Or the sculptures on the wall, looking more realistic than a simple work of art, as if they could come alive when the clock struck midnight, opening their eyes and moving about. Everything I was seeing was a reflection of whoever owned the house, and if I could say so myself, he or she was worth marrying, if only for his good taste and education.

  It was on the very table and chairs I was regarding that Lynx gestured to. "Take a seat," she said. "I'll bring us tea. Or would you prefer coffee?"

  I waved her away. "Tea would be fine. Call your employers while you're at it. I wish to meet them." Her eyes darkened before she walked out of the room. Alone, I thought of what to say to the owners of the house. They would give me bits and pieces about Lynx that she herself wouldn't have revealed to me. When did you employ her? Where did she come from? Why was she so charismatic? Probably not the last one. Lynx returned with a cup and saucer on her hand, putting them on the table. "Did you tell them I was here?" I asked.

  "Who?"

  "Your master, who else? You're a help here, aren't you?"

  Her shoulders moved up and down as she sniggered to herself. "There's only me. My masters," she quoted in the air, "are non-existent. Don't believe me? You can go room per room to check. Come back when you've had your conclusion." Was she pulling me leg? Ugh, my head swirled. I sipped from the cup. Earl Grey. Why did it give me so much comfort that she served the kind I wanted? Part of it annoyed me too. "Good?" she said. I shrugged. "Your words gave me an idea." She passed a handkerchief to me so I could wipe my mouth.

  "And that is?" I said, patting my lips disdainfully.

  "You've been droning on and on about a master, so I thought we should use that for a little recreation," she said. "Why else would you come here?"

  "I wasn't bored if that's what you mean." I gave her back the handkerchief. "I'm here because you didn't do your promise. I can't contact you through your phone. Do I have to remind you that you tattooed me with an animal near my crotch? An animal like you." That was so satisfying to say after what I've been through the past days. Seeing her always made me itch for a fight, or just you know, itch. Wasn't the tattoo enough?

  "Regardless. We're going to have fun," she said. "You like that don't you? The prize is high. You'll learn everything about me."

  I folded my arms. "I'm listening. But you're still doing the interview, or I'm not leaving this house. I'm stubborn."

  "I know." Lynx glanced at the Fernande, a sculpture by Pablo Picasso that was modeled after his lover. It was a fine work of art. If this really was her home, then she was the one I was complimenting earlier. No, couldn't be. She was trying to mess with m
y head. Lynx turned back to me. "You're curious about me," she said. "I don't know how you did it, but you're here. That earned you my respect. Problem is you won't get the rest of my information that easily."

  "How is that connected to the recreation?" I asked.

  "We're going to play master and servant," she explained. "I'm giving you the chance to look around the whole house. For each room that you'll search, you'll come back here, in this room, and give a guess about me. It shouldn't be general like you're trying to grasp at air. It should be specific."

  "And if I guess wrong?"

  Her eyes glimmered. "I'll spank your ass three times," she said, holding three fingers up.

  I took a sharp breath. "You kinky rascal. . ." Spank my ass? Was she on pills? I was about to tell her to piss off when I remembered that if I guessed right, I could do things to her too. The thought held a high appeal and could satisfy my indulgent behavior when it came to irritating her. "If I guess right, you'll kiss my butt cheek three times," I said. "Isn't that humiliating?"

  We met each other eye-per-challenging-eye. "Maybe so, but I doubt you'll make it that far," she said. Lynx flourished her hand on the area leading to the other room. "Be my guest. Have fun." Oh would I. I tossed my hair back before going my way.

  A carpeted hallway welcomed me. More sculptures were displayed on the side, as impressive as the ones on the room I've left. Lynx wasn't a sculptor, was she? She had a way with people. Whatever the outcome of her art, she'd be famous by now if she sold them on the market because she'd charm her way into the buyer's hearts. Nice try.

  I entered the first room on the hallway and gasped. Going inside was like stepping into the past, a museum, or a book. Lifelike statues lined the room, all of them representing the evolution of man, from the earliest stage, to the figure that most people identified with today. The closest to me was a man with a spear aiming at an invisible prey. I was tempted to touch it, to see if it was made of wax. The shagginess of its hair, its chiseled jaw, and even the grim line on its lips was all very real. I backtracked to the hallway, then to the receiving hall where Lynx was.

  "You're either a part time dealer in the museum, or an art thief," I said to her. "That explains it. If this house is yours, how else would you afford it? There are also waxed figures down the hall."

  In the short interval that I was gone, Lynx had made herself comfortable. She uncrossed her legs and tossed a copy of the New York times on the table. "Come here, sugar," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. "B-but."

  She patted her lap. "I'm not any of those. You know what to do." My heart raced incredibly fast. Never have I imagined that I'd be reduced to this. My feet refused to budge. "Are you backing out?" she said. "Tell me if you are. I know how much it sucks to lose." I hated her cockiness. I hated that I guessed wrong. I hated her with each step I took. "Lower your jeans, Scotland. It will get in the way."

  "You're a cheeky little—"

  "I won," she reminded.

  I flashed her a dirty stare. "This will only happen once." She smirked at me when I unhooked my belt, unbuttoned, unzipped, and finally shimmied my jeans down, showing her the lace underwear I've chosen that morning. "Is this your idea of debauchery?" I asked indignantly. She pushed my knees to her lap without answering. I steadied my left hand on the back of the chair, right hand on her knees to balance myself. Was I letting this happen? It was worse than the tattoo.

  Her hand suddenly smacked my ass. My face flushed with unwelcomed warmth, the same sensation I was getting on my buttocks. It was humiliating and degrading, the tingles making it worse. "Ow!" I said on the next slap. She aimed to surprise me when I least expected it.

  "You have to admit, it feels kind of good doesn't it?" she taunted. Her pointy incisors showed when she smiled. I'd get her for this, if it was the last thing I did. Oh. My. God. The third hit was easier because I was numb as heck. I didn't even feel that she touched me. Lynx watched me move away and pull my jeans up. "I like this game," she said. "Want to do a round two?"

  I bit back my embarrassment. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing me defeated. "You'd kiss my ass. Mark my words," I hissed. Before I knew it, I was back on the hallway, gritting my teeth. She would never again. I rubbed my behind and went to explore the stairs tucked away in the corner.

  After picking a room to examine on the second floor, my nagging thought was, I'd been here before. Not really here, here, but somewhere remarkably like it. While in Montreal once, Lulu being a fan of all things weird, begged for me and Casper to take her to an exhibit, aptly named The Exhibition. They featured preserved bodies of humans for the visitors to understand anatomy better. I think they called the technique, 'Plastination.'

  This room had three samples of them, in different stages of a person's life- a child, a teen, and an old woman. Among the three, the teen had the strangest pose. Her eyes were on me, sockets sagging, mouth wide open as if she had something to say. Her arms were outstretched, and every fiber of her muscles, each sinew on her torso was laid bare for me to analyze.

  In my shock, I quickly made my way down the stairs, burst to the receiving hall, and pointed. "Were those real humans?!" I asked Lynx. She disregarded my paranoia with a grin, making me feel like she expected me to react that way. I forced myself to relax. She would not get a win on this. "Stop smiling. I figured out what you are," I said. She intertwined her fingers, listening. "If you're not a serial killer, you're probably a medical student. Your tuition is too high. You didn't get a scholarship. You're working late nights on top of everything to support yourself."

  Her eyes were hooded. "That's a good assumption," she said. I smiled triumphantly. Yes. Yes! "But no." My smile dissipated, losing its safe nature, mixing, turning into a deadlier compound, like hydrogen combining with oxygen. I would ignite and explode. She beckoned me with a finger. "Come here, Scotland. Time for your spanking." My heart made a nosedive to the floor. Not again.

  Instead of resuming the position I did earlier, I put one leg on each of hers and bent so we were facing each other, my hand on the backrest for support. Let's see her slap me like this. I ate my words. Even while we were eye to eye, her palm cracked on my behind, like fireworks combusting. Warmth spread on my skin again, as if those same fireworks were directly ignited on me. I maintained eye contact no matter what.

  The next slap was harder, sending a message. I bent lower. My jaw was almost on her shoulder.

  I was determined to stay calm for the last one. Not to let her win at all cost. But despite my excessive clenching and anticipation, a sound ripped through my mouth, a long "Ahhhhhh," as I grasped her hair out of impulse. She'd somehow managed to hit the right spot. Pleasure spread on my legs like wildfire. Reason abandoned me. All I could think of was following my desires, all arrows pointing to her.

  Damn.

  I was in big, big trouble.

  Chapter 22

  By the look on our faces, you'd think that I said a curse word to a two year old, or dissed the pope on national television. Not going to lie. Those would have been better alternatives than moaning. The sore spot on my butt that received her winning slap throbbed like a misplaced heartbeat. I've never been more focused on those cheeks, not even after Lulu accidentally kicked me in her sleep when we were sharing a tent for our trek in Mount Wakakusa. It seemed like a long time ago. I wished I was there instead of here.

  "I beg your pardon?" Lynx said, cocking her head to the side. She was looking innocently at me as though she had no clue, but I wasn't leaving it to chance.

  "I didn't say anything," I replied with a straight face. "Did you hear something? I didn't. Have your ears checked."

  "Should I?" Her hand slid to the space where my butt and legs meet. It could be deliberate for all I cared, but it had done its job of melting me like butter. My knees weakened. This was what they probably meant by sexual frustration. I've never experienced it firsthand, as with a lot of intimate things with boyfriends, but I g
ot the gist. This pent up feeling, this bubbling frustration was making me edgy. It wasn't an old wives tale. It was unfortunate that I was sharing this moment with the wrong person.

  Lynx's eyes had clouded when I looked back at her. The blue of the ocean was plagued by storm, and the forest green suffered from bouts of harsh winds. My heart fluttered. I took a lock of her golden red hair. They reminded me of the fiery sun shining on the Congo. She belonged in the wild. Lynx was an animal, but not for the reasons I despised.

  "Are you sure you didn't say anything?" she pressed. What was it that she wanted me to admit to and why? To increase my disgrace? To say that she'd won? No Scotland, it was another thing altogether, my mind insisted. Silence, you. I was in control. I was the boss. If I said that Lynx was pushing me off the cliff into further mortification, then that's what it was about.

  My insides clenched and protested. All this rationalization with her motives was making me hungry. I haven't eaten since breakfast. As response to my immediate thought, my stomach growled loud, like a lion cub yawning. I was a puppet driven by hunger.

  Lynx's mouth curved upward. "There are a couple of restaurants within walking distance," she said. "I'd like to be a gracious host by cooking for you, but since I've been too busy with work, I'm afraid the pantry is bare. I'll make it up to you somehow. Lord knows you'll tell everyone in the Midnight Cafe how awful I was if I didn't. What are you in the mood for?"

  I didn't move from my perch in front of her. I wasn't going anywhere until I knew. Food could wait. "Does anyone know where you live?" I asked.

  She shrugged. "I'd like to think of myself as a private person, so no," she said. "I'm joking about the cafe. I couldn't care less about reputation. It's something people invent to feel good about themselves."

  "I see. . ." I trailed. I couldn't agree more. Worrying about reputation was a waste of time. If people cared more about happiness than what others would say, this world would be a better place.