Unfortunately, I’m a crap friend. I’m on my second gin and tonic, watching a man and a woman dance together. It’s super hot. It starts as a pretty traditional tango and then the music morphs into a more modern Latin pop song, they lose the majority of their clothes and they start to mimic real sex. Not even the pretense of dancing, just erotic positioning of each other and a lot of grinding. I’m sitting here with a half chub, by myself. I should definitely go. As I make to get up and leave the music changes to a familiar low thrum of one of my favorite songs. Portishead’s Roads.
On stage, the couple slows their frantic simulation to match the sultry music. The male dancer picks his partner up and drapes her, tits to the audience, over his shoulder and glides off the stage winking at us. Once they are gone, I notice the dancer that replaces them. She’s all I see with a laser focus. It’s Betsy, but she’s almost a different person. Her hair is a cloud of lavender beyond the tight braids around the crown of her head, her makeup dramatic. She is wearing a dark green corset, black satin booty shorts, and fishnets. Her shoes are also dark green and delicate, and she teeters on the sky-high stilettos. Her breasts are spilling obscenely from the corset and her tattoos look like they’ve been amplified in some way.
The music is loud and pulsing, yet she just stands there still. The crowd is hushed, waiting. Finally, Bets slowly raises a hand and then gently and seductively caresses down her body until she’s squatting. She stills again, then spreads her legs, hands on the inside of her thighs. I’m sweating, mesmerized. She maneuvers around the stage like a gazelle on roller-skates. It’s hard to notice if she even hits the floor or if she’s floating just above it. For the next four minutes or so I watch my friend dance. It feels like too plain of a thing to call it. There are times during her performance where I think she sees me, is dancing just for me. She doesn’t just dance, she draws me in, seduces me, shows me what life really means, and then leaves the stage. I’m still sweating but also cold. I can’t fully explain what has happened to me but I feel . . . altered.
The applause for her is thunderous and long-lasting. She deserves it. I’m sitting in stunned silence trying to process what just happened to me. I know I’m an asshole for being here without her knowing but I feel like I have this special secret, just for me. There are a few more dancers left but I pay for my drinks and leave. In the Uber on my way home, I am still in a trance. My mind goes to Betsy and the way her body moved and didn’t move. She was more expressive in her stillness than in her movement. It was erotic and felt like a private dance just for me.
The house is quiet and I know Jack is out for the night and probably staying with a friend closer to campus. I drink two tall glasses of water, walk in a daze to my room and drop into my reading chair after getting rid of all my clothes. I put my feet up and place my hand gently on my still half hard dick. Doesn’t take me long to get it to its full glory. I close my eyes and lean my head back onto the chair. The vision of Betsy dancing fills my mind and I see her, full red lips, incandescent skin with its floral bounty, those eyes, and that hair, that decadently long froth of hair that would be ridiculous on most people but is perfect on my Betsy. That’s how I think of her now. My Betsy. I know I’m in trouble. My friendly feelings for her are very much on the naughty side, far from the platonic brotherly way I’m sure she sees me.
I mean, she thinks I’m hot, I’m me for Christ’s sake. She just hasn’t realized that she’s not going to be able to live without me. I bite my lip as I lazily stroke myself thinking about her caressing herself, pulling the corset down to reveal her tits. My mind moves to the full-frontal vision I got earlier today. Was that today? Feels like eons ago. Her soft curves dance through my thoughts, teasing me as I tease myself. I’ve seen her naked but I keep returning to her steely eyes and how they see through me, whether we are just talking about nothing or she’s disrobing in front of me in my kitchen.
My hand longs to touch her soft skin, explore her curves and hidden spaces. I fantasize about stroking her plump pink pussy, pinching her clit as I bring her to the edge. My mouth goes to her nipple and I bite where the snake doesn’t quite make it. Dragging my lips to her other peak I nuzzle my face there. She grabs my hair and I close my mouth over her nipple and draw it in as far as I can into my mouth, tasting her sweetness and bringing her pleasure. I explore down to her abdomen, kissing her navel. You think I’m heading south, but instead, I go east and turn her so her peachy ass is now level with my face. I bite her cheek, realizing that my view of her from behind was so brief that details are lacking. My mind doesn’t care as I bend her forward and get a view of what I want. My tongue finds her clit and I eat her like I’ve been training for it my whole life.
Back to reality, I feel my balls tighten as I come all over my hand at the vision of Betsy bent over the ottoman in front of me. What a sight it would be. I use a ton of tissues from the table next to me and clean myself then head to the bathroom to wash my hands and flush the evidence. I look myself in the eye and feel okay about what I just did. Fantasy very rarely holds a candle to reality so I feel no guilt, just a sort of longing now. A longing for the last person I should. A client, my roommate, my friend who wants nothing to do with a relationship. Look at me, I’m Fucking Frank, king of the unrequited.
I get into my bed, my favorite place in the world and stare at my canopy. It’s a dark gray linen and I love it. When Jack was little, he and I loved to play blanket forts and this gives me the essence of that with more comfort than lying on the floor in the living room with my mom’s favorite throw blanket draped over the couch and coffee table. That throw has a permanent place on the couch and Jack and I use it all the time. I pretend she’s in the kitchen sometimes making her famous enchiladas (they weren’t really, but we loved them) while I sit and watch baseball snuggled up in the blanket. It’s been 12 years but I still miss them with a sharpness that feels new every now and then. I drift to sleep thinking about my family and my friends who feel like family. Finally, I think of Betsy and how her dancing will haunt me for a long time.
Just Deny
MUSIC DRIFTS INTO MY SENSES, it’s a Portishead song but it’s Glory Box this time. It’s not too loud but it’s coming from my room. I open my eyes and find Betsy sitting sideways in my chair, legs draped over the side closest to me, her eyes narrowed at me.
“Morning, Joe,” she says with a wide smile.
“Morning, Bets,” I say back, not sure what is happening, or if I’m awake yet.
Her foot taps in the air to the beat. Like she’s trying to hypnotize me, I stare and close my eyes again. “Have a fun night?” she asks.
“If you mean did I jack it on that very chair last night and come all over my hand, then yes, it was fun,” I say playfully and instead of looking disgusted she sinks even farther into the chair with a smirk.
“That does sound like a good time. Orgasms are fun incarnate.” She crosses her legs and picks up a book from her lap. “Hope you don’t mind me invading your space to read a little? I was waiting for you to get up but then decided to just go for it. You talk in your sleep.”
I look at her expectantly, but she just waves her hand at me. “What time is it?” I ask.
“Just after ten, I’ve been in here since nine. Don’t worry, I wasn’t creeping on you the whole time. I just put the music on a few minutes ago to see if I could wake you,” she says, shrugging like it’s not weird that she’s been in my room for an hour while I was sleeping. It isn’t with us, though. She is in her silky pajama pants and fluffy robe, fresh-faced, her hair in a loose ponytail. Seeing her relaxed and comfortable in my room gives me an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. I like her here, she fits.
“Creep away, Bestie. I’m glad you feel comfortable here. Hope my bed behaved,” I say with a wink.
Her face flushes ever so slightly. “It was touch and go there, like when your sheet dropped below your waist and I caught a good long glimpse of your ass.”
I turn on to my stomach and shake my hips
so the sheet falls and shows roughly half my cheeks. This also effectively hides my rock-hard morning wood. Her eyes are sparkling and her amused smile is toothy. God, she’s beautiful sitting in my chair, sun haloing behind her. For just a minute I believe she’s mine. In a flash, I see myself jumping from the bed, picking her up and throwing her back into it with me. My face buried in her neck, dick grinding against her. I flex a little and my dick likes it a bit too much.
Betsy rises from the chair, folding the book under her arm. “I’ll let you finish waking up, meet me in the kitchen?”
“It’s a date,” I say and bury my face into my pillow. Starting to wake up a bit more I realize that Betsy was in my room, while I was talking in my sleep, in a chair I came all over myself fantasizing about eating her pussy. At this last thought, I grind myself into my mattress again. I turn and the sheet drops past my balls and my dick stands, needing some attention. As I stretch, I hear a gasp. Betsy is standing in the hallway, halfway out of her room, staring at me. I get up out of bed, walk across the room, holding eye contact until I reach the bathroom where our connection breaks and I smack my own ass. I hear her laugh as I close the door.
This is already a weird day. I take a hot shower, quickly jacking off to the look on her face when she saw my hard dick. Half saucy, half a bit bashful? That doesn’t seem right but I guess there’s a difference between seeing someone nude and seeing someone nude with a raging boner. The boundaries are loose. I throw on some sweats and a white tank and head to the kitchen. Betsy has taken her robe off and is wearing a similar white tank top, I look a little closer and I think it’s actually one of mine.
“Making yourself at home, huh?” I ask teasing. “First my chair, and now my clothes. I probably should feel violated but you’re not wearing a bra so I’m too distracted.”
She shakes her head with a smile. “I told you, boundary issues. I’ve lived alone for a long time so I’m adjusting to sharing space.”
“You’re not used to having places in your home that are off-limits,” I say and she nods. “There are no off-limits spaces here, Bets. I mean it.”
I just notice the music she’s playing on her phone and it’s more of her “dance” music. I’m pretty sure she’s trying to let me know she saw me at Lady Marmalade’s last night but I’m not going to own up to it.
“That’s kind of you. So, did you end up going out last night or was it just a date with your hand?” She wiggles her fingers in my direction.
I shrug. “Caught me. I took advantage of an empty house and made sweet, sweet love to myself,” I say this last part turning around and pretending to make out with myself, arms crossed, hands in my hair. You know, like you did when you were 12.
Her laughter is welcome and I turn back to her and smile. She’s cooking eggs, a scramble, by the looks of it and my stomach growls. “This is almost ready so you can have breakfast with yourself, or did you cut out early?”
“I’m not one to fuck and run, are you joining me?” I ask, fully enjoying our teasing.
“Of course.” She scoops the eggs on to two plates I hadn’t noticed that already had tortillas with cheese on them. “I’m your roommate here to make it awkward the next morning. So, are you going to introduce me?”
I hold my hand up. “Betsy, this is ‘Some,’” I joke and hold my hand out to her.
She takes my hand and shakes it vigorously. “‘Some,’ eh? Like Hand-Some?” she asks, laughing at my silly joke. Still holding my hand, she brings it to her face. “I hope you got yours too, Joe seems like a generous sort, but you never know.”
I pull my hand from hers, feigning being indignant. “How dare you? My lovers always come first, always.” I emphasize this looking into her eyes.
“I figured, but it’s not polite to assume. Aren’t you going to ask me about my night?”
My mouth twists into a smirk. “Of course, madam, how was your evening of entertaining the masses?”
“Well, it was interesting. There was a new couple working and man are they fucking hot together. I almost creamed my panties watching them. Which was inconvenient since I went on right after them. My performances were some of my best, sometimes you’re just turned all the way on, you know?”
“Yep, there are nights where our band is completely in sync and we sound great. I love those times. Wait, you said, performances? You mean you do more than one dance a night?” I ask and she nods.
“Oh yeah, I usually do the opening dance, my spotlight dance toward the end of the night and then the finale, which I do with two other women.” She takes a bite of food and I stare at her. I missed her other two dances? Well, shit. Now I have to go back Thursday.
“Wow, are you one of the main dancers, then?” I ask, knowing she is prominently featured on the marquee and posters in the small theater. Even if that wasn’t the case, she was by far the most talented of the dancers I did see.
“I’m a featured dancer and I share the headliner with two others. I’ve been there for a while and I think I’m pretty awesome, so,” she says and holds her hands up in the air like this is obvious. I agree with her but I’m not going to admit anything. If she asked me point blank if I was there, I’d own up, but she hasn’t. I’m not 100% sure she saw me. If she did, she’s waiting for me to say something.
“You are beyond awesome. We wouldn’t be besties if you weren’t.” I finish up my breakfast and put my dishes in the sink. “That was tasty, thanks, B.” I pat my stomach and head back upstairs.
“My pleasure, hand. . . . some.”
I laugh as I head into my room to change for rehearsal, my mind full of her and how screwed I am.
Just News
BEING WITH MY FRIENDS RESETS me somehow. I’ve felt off since Betsy moved in. I liked her instantly when we met, but having her in my space and seeing her body move to music with such purpose and desire has kicked me off track. I’m super happy to be at practice with my band. They all get me, treat me like the idiot that I am, and love me unconditionally, especially Frank.
We all meet at the coffee shop next to our practice space where Lia, our lead singer and leader in general, drops a few life bombs on us. She tells us about the offer we’ve gotten from Postmodern Jukebox, a production company that makes jazzy old-fashioned covers of pop songs. Pretty much what we do, except they have a pretty decent international following. They want us to record a single, make a video and tour. My body tingles with excitement. This is my dream. If I could tour around the world and play music forever, I would.
Her second piece of news is even more life-altering as she tells us she’s all knocked up. My heart sinks. I’m over the moon happy for my friends, Lia and her husband Javier, but I know this means that there won’t be a tour. It was too good to be true. I suck it up, though, because, babies! Frank is having Mikey drama so we all offer some advice, mine is the best, naturally, but they all can’t admit it. Instead, they bring up hurtful stories they hang over my head. Secretly, I am not embarrassed by any of the stories, but I like that they use them to get me to do stuff I would have done anyway.
As we walk to the practice space next door, I give Lia a side squeeze. “I’m happy for you, Li-Li. You are going to be a great momma.”
Her eyes water and I really hope she doesn’t cry. “Aw, Joe, that means a lot coming from you.”
“Me?” I ask, confused.
She stops and turns to me. “Of course, you. You’re the most experienced parent of all of us and you did a bang-up job of raising Jack. I know good parenting when I see it.”
“You’ve met the kid, he practically raised himself, and probably half parented me too.”
“I hate that you don’t give yourself enough credit, Joseph,” she says and my mood gets even better.
“You know, it’s just Joe, right?” I ask, stupidly.
Her eyes roll, as they often do around me. “Joebro my main ‘ho, are you new here?”
“I don’t know what I was thinking. I feel off today. I am stoked about the tour thou
gh,” I say. “Thanks for being so badass and getting us that gig.”
“We all got it,” she says shrugging my comment off. We all know who is the star of the band though, and it’s not me, Frank or Andrew. “Now tell me—why are you off today? Is it lady related? Please say yes. I need you and Frank to be all coupled and happy soon. I worry about you being lonely once Jack is off on his own.”
I kiss her forehead. “You are a good friend, Lia, it’s sweet that you worry about me. Already promised Fucking Frank here that I’d at least try to settle down soon.”
“You’ve been on one date. I wouldn’t call that trying, but it’s your life,” Frank interjects.
“I’ll have you know I had a really nice evening last night. I went and saw a show and I even got a little lucky,” I say raising my hand, and they all know instantly I’m a big fat liar.
All three start laughing and slapping their knees and guffawing at each other. Assholes. “Joe, jacking yourself off is not getting a little lucky. You are a sure thing, I hope,” Andrew says and I flip him off.
“Yeah, what show was it?” Frank asks.
“It was my new best friend’s show, and I’m glad I’ve found her since you all are shitty friends.” They all start laughing again. “Maybe I did pleasure myself, but the fantasy was very vivid so I’m counting it as getting lucky.”
“You are ridiculous.” They all say this at once and then burst into laughter again. I ignore them like I usually do. They all think that and I’m okay with it because they know the real me too. Because they love me I take their ribbing. If I thought for a minute, they meant it, I’d be devastated. I’m more sensitive than people think. I’m a pretty laid-back guy and very rarely serious but when things happen, I feel them deeply. Like all the band news today. I’m overjoyed for my friend, and a bit disappointed that we won’t be doing a national tour, but happy about the abbreviated west coast tour.
Just Joe ~ Jen Luerssen Page 6