How to Tell a Lie

by Delphine Dryden

  Notmyrealname: I keep my mouth on you, teasing your nipples with my tongue. I tell you I don’t want that kind of a girl, I want you and you’re driving me crazy. I say if you trust me, I’ll make you feel good. I won’t try to have sex with you, I just want to touch you.

  Aeiou: Liar! You would so try to have sex with me!

  Notmyrealname: Not this first time. I’d be willing to be patient for a while. This time I would be happy just accomplishing some intermediate goals.

  Aeiou: Hmm. Fine then. I let myself be convinced. I pull you closer by your hair. Finally I let you take my sweater off and push my bra off my arms. I’m naked from the top up, straddling your lap, and I tug on the bottom of your t-shirt to get you to take it off.

  Notmyrealname: I take my shirt off then get back to the important business of getting to know your breasts intimately. You start rocking your hips against me and making those little whimpering sounds. I lift you off my lap and lay you down on the couch. I am extremely slick with this move. You hardly notice you’ve moved until I’m lying on top of you.

  Aeiou: I notice. You think girls didn’t notice stuff like that? Hah. Boys are so gullible. I spread my knees apart and let you lie between my legs. My nipples are so erect they’re a little sore now. And I’m wet enough that it has the potential to be embarrassing if you notice.

  Notmyrealname: I can feel you, feel the heat of your pussy through your jeans against my belly. It makes my cock twitch. I start working my way lower, kissing your stomach, running my tongue into your bellybutton.

  Aeiou: I crack up. I’m very ticklish. And then you try to tickle me more and I shush you because I’m worried my dad will hear.

  Notmyrealname: I stop tickling you and reach for the snap on your jeans.

  Aeiou: I push your hand away and protest.

  Notmyrealname: I whisper that I just want to make you feel good. I reach up and play with your nipples some more. With the other hand I slowly—very slowly—start stroking my way down the fly of your pants, down to the little patch of moisture that’s been driving me nuts. I press there and you moan and lift up your hips a little. You say no, but you don’t sound very convincing. I remember something I heard in the locker room and try pressing a spot a little bit higher than the wet spot, rubbing it in little circles.

  Aeiou: I try to bring my knees closed, but I can’t because you’re still between them, holding my legs spread wide. When you find my clit, I whimper again and let my legs fall open, and I lift my hips to try to get closer to your hand.

  Notmyrealname: Hmm…progress. I cup your pussy with my hand and keep pressing in little circles while I kiss and lick along the waistband of your jeans. I realize that I can smell you, you smell like sex. I am now officially at risk of coming in my pants. I try not to think about the possibility of convincing you to go down on me at some point. Instead I focus my efforts on getting your pants off. I make another run at your snap. I beg you to please just let me touch you.

  Aeiou: I still have one shred of inhibition left. I let you unsnap my jeans and pull the zipper down this time, but when you try to run your fingers inside I tell you I’m keeping my panties on.

  Notmyrealname: So I pull my hand away, sit up, and start sliding your jeans off your hips. You try to sit up to stop me, but I’m too quick and you aren’t trying all that hard. And I say I promise you can keep your panties on, but I can reach you better with your jeans out of the way. Then I put my hand back over your hot, wet pussy and squeeze, and your eyes close and you gasp. I can feel my balls turn blue.

  Aeiou: Poor baby. I’ve never felt anything so good. I don’t know what I want, except that I have to have more. I moan—quietly—and you press harder. Then you lay back down between my legs, lower this time, with your head right over my panties.

  Notmyrealname: Gladly. You smell incredible and I can’t wait anymore to get my mouth on you, even if it’s through your panties. I press my mouth down and give your pussy a big, sloppy, open kiss, licking and sucking at you through the fabric. When you start arching your back and I feel you grab my hair again to push me closer, I get a little braver. I try a few licks along the edges of your panties, pushing the fabric with my tongue until I can get a taste of one outer lip.

  Aeiou: Sneaky devil. I know what’s about to happen and I’m too far gone to care now, so I just let you do it. Have you ever considered a career in writing this stuff? You’re scary good at it.

  Notmyrealname: I just picture it in my head and type what I’m seeing. Where was I? Oh yeah…when you don’t push me away, I sneak a finger over to hold the fabric there. You spread your legs even wider and the movement makes your panties shift even more, and finally I hook the crotch with my finger and pull it over just enough to slide my tongue inside you and taste you.

  Aeiou: I can’t believe you’re putting your mouth there, and I can’t believe I’m letting you. I can’t get enough. I’m close to coming and I’m such an idiot I don’t even realize it. I’ve never even masturbated before; this is totally new to me. The feel of your finger against my pussy lips, the feel of your tongue fucking me, makes me so aroused I feel like I’m about to pass out. I would let you do just about anything right then, honestly. You could strip me naked and I’d go along with it. I’d even try that sixty-nine thing if you asked me, even though it sounds really gross.

  Notmyrealname: Sadly, I have no idea I’ve made that big a conquest, or I would definitely take advantage of it. But I’m happy with what I’m accomplishing as it is. I dip my finger into your pussy, loving how tight you feel. Imagining how my cock would feel inside you. Then I use my other hand and my mouth to start another line of attack, pulling the front of your panties down little by little and kissing every exposed centimeter until I manage to uncover your clit. I kiss it, little soft kisses, and then experimentally I flick out my tongue and lick you there.

  Aeiou: I manage to gasp out, “More!” before I can’t think or breathe anymore.

  Notmyrealname: Are you touching yourself? I want you to come for me tonight.

  Aeiou: now I am

  Notmyrealname: Good girl. Back to work. Inspired by my success, I start pumping my finger in and out of your tight little pussy and working your clit with my lips and tongue. Before long you’re going crazy under me, and I can tell you must be close to coming from the noises you’re making.

  Aeiou: more

  Notmyrealname: You say my name and I fuck my finger in and out of you faster and harder, sucking at your clit until you start shaking and I know you’re coming. I don’t know if I’m supposed to stop or not so I keep going and you keep coming. Finally you taper off, so I ease up. But then I have to taste you some more, so I pull your panties down far enough that I can lick your entire pussy, all the way up to your clit. I think about how much I want to feel you all hot and wet around my cock. I wonder how long before I can do this again.

  Aeiou: soon

  Notmyrealname: I hope so.

  Aeiou: wow

  Notmyrealname: Yeah? Well, thanks. Wow to you too.

  Aeiou: For what? You had both hands on the keyboard the entire time. You never stopped typing.

  Notmyrealname: It’ll get taken care of later, never fear. And I have some fantastic imagery to work with now.

  Aeiou: That seems unfair, but I’m too sleepy now to argue.

  Notmyrealname: Typical. You get what you came for then you just roll over and start snoring!

  Aeiou: Sorry…

  Notmyrealname: You should probably get out of that cold basement anyway. Go get some sleep, princess.

  Aeiou: Again, too sleepy to argue. This was perfect.

  Notmyrealname: Well, it did lack a certain first-hand quality. But I’m glad you enjoyed it. Sweet dreams, okay?

  Aeiou: Hey. It’s better this way, Not. It’s just simpler.

  Allison wasn’t really sure why she was pressing the issue. But she needed some reassurance that what they were doing was okay, was not just a stupid, unhealthy waste of time. Not just an ex
cuse to avoid doing something more meaningful.

  Notmyrealname: If it’s what you need right now, then I’m okay with that. You don’t want to be involved, right? So we’re being not-involved.

  She tried to read behind his words, but found herself unable to determine if he was being genuine or sarcastic.

  Aeiou: You never lie, right? So you’re really okay with this?

  There was a lengthy pause. She wondered if he was typing a long response or just thinking about what to say.

  Notmyrealname: Sure.

  She recognized the lie as she read it but had no idea what to do about it. If he wasn’t okay with it, could she really blame him? Why had she said anything?

  Aeiou: Okay.

  Notmyrealname: Hey, I’m getting sleepy too, and I still have that other little matter to take care of. So I’m going to log off now, princess. I’ll call you Sunday, all right?

  Aeiou: All right. ’Night.

  Notmyrealname: Sweet dreams.

  And then he was gone, leaving Allison alone in the basement. Then she remembered that, of course, she had been alone in the basement all along.

  Cold, embarrassed, she turned off her laptop, folded the quilt and trudged upstairs to climb into her girlhood bed. She stopped only long enough to shuck off her jeans and pull on some flannel pajama pants. She was asleep within minutes, but if her dreams were sweet or not it didn’t matter; she didn’t remember any of them by the time she woke up in the morning.

  * * * * *

  Looking back, the relationship with James seemed such an obviously bad idea. She should have known it would never work as soon as she realized he didn’t actually understand her thesis topic, and what’s more, he didn’t seem to think it was important for him to understand it.

  When they moved in together, and they learned that out of their two thousand, seven hundred sixteen combined books only a few dozen were duplicates—and she realized he didn’t own a copy of The Hobbit—she should clearly have run screaming into the night.

  There were some fun times. Of course there had been those. They went to movies, had dinner and conversations, flirted and shared jokes, and once they were living together they threw some memorable parties. Their engagement had been romantic. James had planned the whole event, a nice restaurant, a walk in the park and a proposal on bended knee. He was handsome and charming, he was educated and about to complete an MBA which implied he would soon be well-employed, and in general he was everything Allison had always assumed she could want in a man.

  Unfortunately, she discovered too late that her unwritten list of desirable attributes was missing a few crucial items. Empathy, for one. A willingness to change his own life plan in order to accommodate somebody else’s goals, for another. A sense of humor that extended past joke telling, to encompass an appreciation of life’s absurdities. And lastly, but possibly most important of all, a capacity for intimacy.

  “You should just tell it like it is. He was bad in bed, end of story.” Tess rattled the ice cubes in her tea glass and dug one glossy red fingernail into the liquid to retrieve the wedge of lime. She used the glass to make rings of condensation on the speckled red Formica of the diner table where she, Allison and Lindy were sitting for their traditional weekly Sunday brunch.

  “It wasn’t that,” Allison tried to explain for what felt like the hundredth time. “I mean, he could have sucked at sex but—yes, okay, he did suck at sex, I admit that—but it wasn’t the in-bed part that was the problem. It was before and after that were hard to deal with. That’s really what made it bad. I got to the point where I would be so frustrated, but kind of dreading having to do anything about that. Then when we did it, if I mentioned anything afterward about it, about how it would be nice if he paid attention to whether I was getting anything out of it, he would apologize. He would say all the right things. But he just didn’t get it. The next time, nothing would have changed. It would be like I wasn’t there.”

  Tess mulled this over before commenting. “It didn’t really matter to him whether you were there or not though. Why would he change? You were supposed to be the trophy wife. Beautiful, successful, but you give your own dreams up to go be wifey and mommy while he goes to work in the city and balls his secretary.”

  “How could I be a trophy wife?” Allison asked, shaking her head. It was not the first time she and Tess had been over this. “I’m a geek. I don’t know how to dress. I mean, look at me.”

  “You are great raw material, Ally. And yeah, you’re a complete nerd, but he didn’t really get how that would never change. Because he didn’t get anything about you. And you didn’t really get him, you just thought you did because he was a good salesman. That’s why it took you so long to wise up.” Tess was leaning in to her argument now, her voice raised a little as she hashed out the same line of reasoning she’d been giving Allison since James entered the picture. “He didn’t love you, he loved what he thought he could make out of you. That’s why the sex sucked, because you were generic to him.”

  Allison rolled her eyes, wondering for the millionth time whether she ought to acquire some close friends who hadn’t known her since birth. Tess was on the money, though Allison would never give Tess the satisfaction of knowing she was right.

  “I think it was because you weren’t in love with him,” ventured Lindy. Always the least outgoing of the three, Lindy had always tended to let Tess and Allison talk about boys, and later men, without giving much input. When she did comment though, she often demonstrated an insight that surprised Allison. “It couldn’t be good if you weren’t in love with him.”

  Tess snorted. Her cynicism was legend, and she made it clear she thought Lindy put too much stock in romantic idealism.

  But Allison nodded thoughtfully at this, the first new idea to be introduced into this debate in months. “That’s true in a sense. But I think the bigger problem is that James doesn’t know who he is well enough to know another person. He just never connected very well. With anyone. I thought for so long that was just a defense mechanism, and that there was this other, sensitive person underneath and eventually he’d open up to me. Because of love or something. But now I think there was never anything underneath. I think other people are mainly just an audience to him, and everything’s a role he’s trying to tailor to that audience. So he doesn’t get to know people. He doesn’t really see people, just their usefulness to him. I tried for two years, but if he didn’t really see me in that much time…”

  “Maybe you didn’t really want to be seen. Maybe he was your…excuse. Your escape hatch.”

  “You are so feisty today, Lind.” Tess cocked her head at Lindy. “What’s going on with you?”

  Lindy smiled and glanced back down at the skein of bright red yarn she was busy knitting into something complicated. “I never liked James. I don’t think he’ll ever really love anyone, either. But I think there are reasons people choose other people. There’s a reason Ally chose him, and I think that was the reason.”

  “So I could have a built-in excuse to leave him?” Allison was a little annoyed, but mostly at herself because she knew Lindy was probably right.

  “Sort of. Maybe. Leave him but not be all that hurt by it? I mean yeah, you were hurt, but you’ve obviously never regretted the decision to go. So…” She trailed off, suddenly seeming too unsure of herself to continue.

  Allison lifted an eyebrow at her cousin. “You really should go back to school and study psychology, you know?”

  “I like what I’m doing now,” Lindy said softly.

  “What are you making?” Tess asked brightly, clearly trying to change the subject.

  “It’s a purse. See?” She held up the work in progress, which was still just a collection of rectangles surrounding a central square. The design, a subtle but intricate pattern of squiggly lines, was woven in scarlet red over a chocolate background.

  “Um, no. But I’ll take your word for it. I like the colors.”

  “Thanks.”

  “W
hat are you getting for those things now, anyway?” Tess asked idly, still playing with her drink.

  Lindy shrugged. “It just depends.”

  “About a hundred twenty-five, hundred fifty bucks,” Allison volunteered. “And that’s for the little clutch-sized French wallets. I can’t even afford to look at any of the bigger ones. You’re being too modest, Lindy. You can’t even keep up with demand.”

  Allison had always been amazed at her shy cousin’s ability to design and produce surprising, sophisticated works of art. Lindy’s decision to start working with textiles had turned out to be a brilliant move both artistically and financially. Her gorgeous designs were getting a lot of notice, and her handmade handbags and scarves sold out almost as soon as they hit the shelves at the handful of local boutiques that carried them.

  “I wouldn’t know, I got mine for free. Christmas present. Yay.” Tess held up a little backpack purse that was obviously one of Lindy’s designs, with patches of colorful silk brocade woven in amongst knitted sections that took the pattern of the patch fabric and expanded it into a fantastical chaos of color. “I love this thing.”

  “Are we going to a movie or not?” Lindy asked, starting to wrap up her work so she could stow it safely away in the large bag she carried with her almost everywhere. “If we aren’t going, I need to go get some real work done somewhere I won’t be likely to spill.”

  The table in the diner booth they had occupied for the past hour and a half was covered with the remains of their meals, glasses and coffee cups, and a litter of sugar and sweetener packets.

  “Isn’t it a little late to worry about that?” Allison asked, gesturing at the table. “I can’t go, actually. I need to get some work done too.”

  “This sucks. I don’t want to go alone,” Tess complained. “Ally, it’s Sunday afternoon. What are you working on, on a Sunday afternoon?”

  Allison felt a flush creeping over her face. She knew Tess wasn’t paying attention, and would take whatever words she heard at face value and just keep breezing along with her day. But she could tell Lindy was watching her, in Lindy’s typically quiet, hyper-observant way, and knew perfectly well she wasn’t really going to work. And lately, Allison thought, Lindy might just be likely to go ahead and voice that knowledge.