“He loves them?” Those hot tears now ran down my cheeks, and my heart was thumping.
“Yes, young lady…loves them.” She pulled a box of tissues from a drawer and pushed them over to me. I took two. “He told me that your collection will be the first one he publishes.”
“Oh, the first.” My head was spinning!
“It’s an honor given to few people…to be the first publication of a new imprint. You should be very proud, young Rachel.”
And now the scalding tears flowed like rivers from my eyes. I put my head down and openly sobbed. Published. Me? I had never envisioned it happening, really. Though Stella was one of the top agents in New York, I was a nobody…unpublished…and my collection was tossed together, at best. I knew it was all because of David. He had done this for me. Without someone like Stella Metz, I would’ve never so much as gotten a sniff from a publisher.
“Stella, I don’t know how to thank you,” I finally said.
“You can thank me by giving me some love poetry.”
“I will. I promise you I’ll write something. I’ll give it my very best effort.”
“That’s my girl. Now, don’t get too excited…you have to know that poetry usually doesn’t sell nearly as well as fiction. Still, George mentioned an advance in the range of twenty thousand or so.”
“Advance?”
“Yes, advance on sales…for future royalties.”
“Twenty thousand dollars?” That was a lot of money in those days.
“Oh Rachel, you really are innocent, aren’t you? Yes, twenty thousand dollars. But that won’t come until the pressing. We’ll have a release party and you should have the check within a week of that. Assume two to three months from today. Normally, books don’t publish until a year or so later, but this imprint wants to publish its first soon. They’re competing against a similar imprint from Simon and Shuster.” I didn’t really understand or care about all this talk of imprints and things, but I knew I needed to get busy. “Also, we’ll need a photo for the book jacket, and you’ll need to write a bio.”
“I don’t have much of a bio. I have only been teaching school since college.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you with it. Nothing wrong with being a young writer.”
“Stella, I’m at a loss for words.”
She smiled at me, showing her yellowed teeth. “This is an important moment for a young writer. Your first published work. Everything is much easier after this. But don’t get lazy and don’t get complacent. Your best work should follow.”
“Okay, I’ll stay busy, that’s for sure.”
“Great news. Now I have another meeting, so I need to shoo you out. I’ll schedule you for a photo soon, and I’ll need those love poems within a couple weeks. Can you muster that?”
“Yes, I can and I will.”
“Good, now run along, dearie. Give David my best, and tell him I’m still waiting for his photos from Africa.”
“Okay, I will. Thank you, Stella.” She was already opening a manuscript, and stubbing out the cigarette.
And then I was out the door and in the elevator. Honestly, I could’ve floated down from her floor, I was so much abuzz with the moment.
Published. Me. First of a new imprint. Named after Whitman. How did I find myself here? This doesn’t happen to a girl from Queens.
When I arrived home, I didn’t tell my father anything. I wanted this to be a surprise. I pictured a moment of my handing him my published work. I wanted that moment to be a complete surprise to him, though I did break down and tell him later. It was too much to keep back.
Instead, though, I went to my room and called my school. Though we were off for the summer, I thought it only fair that they know first. I resigned my position, wished them well, and then made my father some lunch.
Later, I sat in my room, looking out the window to my quiet street, thinking about all the events of my life over the last few months. I had been a nervous, insecure teacher, unsure of her direction. Now I was exploring my sexuality with beautiful people, and I had a collection of poems soon to be published. My life had made a hard shift, and I would never be the same.
I had also met and fallen in love with David. And Keiko, I had to admit. And I had a crush, at least, on Keiko’s husband. My life was now immensely complex, and part of me secretly yearned for the simplicity I would never have again. Not only would my life never be the same again, but also my adventures were only just beginning.
I knew, though, that I was leaving behind the quiet suburban life of Queens. My neighborhood had informed my life up to that point. I had fallen into the structures of my family. I worked. I lived the life of a Christian girl. My life and my job and my potential were centered on the quieter side of residential neighborhoods. That had been my world until a few months ago.
Now I was increasingly drawn to Manhattan. My life was more centered there. The people I knew lived there. I spent most nights there. My agent worked there. I was moving my life across the Queensboro Bridge, if not all at once.
And I thought of Keiko. I thought of her kisses and soft skin. I thought of her smile and her soft hands. I knew I did indeed love her. The realization that I loved another woman made me feel that my life in Queens would soon end completely. I knew what was before was gone. I had left behind the bridge I had leapt from. It was my past.
And I began to write.
She is color and magic, dancing oceans of time
She is beauty and love, glistening sweat shine
The touch of an angel, with beauty bright
The fist of the devil, power and might
25
I guess it’s important to pause here, and catch up my mentality at this time. Is that the right word? Psyche? My headspace, as you might say now? I’ve sometimes wondered at how quickly I moved from reticence to enthusiasm for “the life.”
How does a good Christian girl find herself in bed doing things she would’ve never approved of in others? Yes, I said that correctly. Had you told me the night before I met David that you knew somebody who had sex with her boyfriend and another couple, plus who went to swing clubs and participated in escapades with random people (though I think that’s a base way of putting it), I would have judged that person harshly. I would have thought that she was a terrible woman. A whore. A slut. I would have probably labeled her with all of those names, and more. I would have thought she had the blackest of hearts.
And, yet, here I was…that woman. A young woman who opened herself physically and mentally to both sexes, married and single. And more was on the horizon. Before I was through, I would end up breaking nearly every gender-based societal norm. I freely gave myself to whomever I wanted. And the worst part? I enjoyed it. Yes, that’s right. I took great pleasure in my sexual exploration…or decadence…or hedonism…or whatever label you would like to give it.
Yet I was conflicted. Very. While having sex, it almost always felt right. It was almost always the highest pleasure I could have imagined. For a girl who hadn’t orgasmed with a man until my first night with David, I reached multiple climaxes with multiple people. And while loving it, I would pay the price afterward, often beating myself up after the fact. Sometimes, I felt like a whore. Impure. Ugly. Sometimes I felt I deserved the judgment I knew was due me if others knew about my activities.
But I began to find ways to unravel the societal bonds wrapped so tightly around me. I began to find ways to justify my actions. I felt the cords of guilt slackening, and in that extra space, I began to lose some of the biases and judgment (including my self-judgment). I began to learn to rationalize my feelings. I told myself that love was always good, and that my sexuality was nobody’s business. And it wasn’t, though it took me some time to convince myself.
Keiko was a great role model for me. More than anybody, she showed me that I could be a woman…a beautiful, cultured woman…and yet live the life. Having lost my mother so early, I had not found many female role models for the life I envisioned. Most
women at this time could only be wives and mothers, jumping at the behest of their husbands and children. Keiko, though a wife herself, lived a life free of judgment. She accepted herself, and loved herself. I could see in her the ability to shrug off the callous discernment of others. She knew who she was, and didn’t want to be anything else.
So I, too, learned to steel myself. A little at first. Like the first few flaps of a butterfly’s wings, still wet from the chrysalis. I stretched these wings. I expanded who I was. I accepted my faults. I began to enjoy the sense that I would be what I wanted to be, no matter who thought ill of me. And I reveled in being different. Unique. I was becoming my own woman. The life was just one aspect of being myself. At times, I would embrace it.
I have used the analogy of a person jumping from a bridge. That reflected my early view, and it reflects a helpless, out-of-control approach. Now, I wanted to be the person walking on a path. Following the path she chose. Facing the demons of Hell. The robbers on the highway. Blake’s tigers burning brightly in the forest. Not falling…strolling, completely in control.
I would fight that unnerving fear, which had held me back in my life. I would embrace myself. After all, I was going to be published soon. I loved David. And Keiko. And perhaps would love Mark. I would accept my new life responsibly, not blaming anybody, and instead letting my life reflect my choices.
Though imperfect in my convictions, I knew this was what I could and should be.
26
The pace of my life accelerated immensely. What had once been a quiet, mellow, and frightfully boring existence was now an exciting race in the Big Apple. Now that I was no longer teaching, I found myself pouring myself into my work. I wrote a lot. David and I read and talked and visited friends. We strolled in the evenings. We ate at upscale restaurants. We shopped. We discussed literature and art. We were living as I had always dreamed of living.
And we made love.
Minnie Riperton was on the record player (yes, we had records then), and we were all taking our clothes off.
Loving you is easy ‘cause you’re beautiful.
And we were young. And beautiful. And naked. No taking sides in the bed this time…we were all in it together.
I kissed David, and he began to touch me. I didn’t cling to him this time, and instead I moved over to Keiko. She responded to me, and we were soon intertwined. I loved her soft skin. I loved her kisses. I loved how I felt when we touched. I loved the “me” who was with her. When she and I touched, the men would always stop and watch.
But we stopped. We were there for a purpose. We had discussed this moment, and we knew what we wanted. We were in control.
Mark and David were watching us, both of them excited by our touching. Most men are turned on by women touching each other, and I think they were waiting for a show. We knew we had to force the action we wanted and expected that night. At the same time, I loved the feel of her soft lips. Her soft breasts. Her soft thighs. She was white porcelain, unblemished and clean.
Hot summer night. Windows open. Light breeze blowing. Soft sweat. Angelic music.
I leaned back, and Keiko slid up against me. I wrapped my arms around her. She fit against me perfectly. And then we looked at the men. They were waiting for us to do something…waiting for a show. Their eyes were large in anticipation. But we just watched them. And waited.
So they turned and looked at each other. Two handsome, naked men.
One, tall, red haired, and with a recent buzz cut for summer football training camp. Mark was a bit bruised and beat up from the pounding he had taken in training. But he was also magnificently handsome. Largely muscled. The summer weight training had made him even bulkier. He was so tall and athletic and strong.
And my hawk-eyed David. Slender. Wild, dark hair and penetrating eyes. Tanned. Gorgeous. Talented. Lean and graceful. The heart of an artist. An old soul who seemed wise beyond his years. The man who had opened many doors for me.
They were such a pair, those two. Even now, through all these years, I cannot help but look back and remember how perfect their bodies were. Their nakedness was raw, like two tigers in the jungle. Two eagles in an aery. Both manly in every way.
Yet my lover and I wanted to see them expose themselves emotionally. Be open. Lose a sense of that masculine stance. Surrender control. Be accepting. Give their bodies to another. Let someone take from them…while we watched. I wanted to see my man do things I hadn’t seen. I wanted to see him pleasure another man as I had pleasured him. I wanted to test my own reaction to something I know they had done before. How would I handle it? I wanted to know. I wanted to cross that line, and leave it behind me. For once, I was taking charge, though, with the help and support of Keiko.
The men’s nervous eyes went from us to each other. They flicked back and forth. They looked at each other with sidelong glances. They did the mental math. And there they were…they were faced with it.
I think both men were used to using us, their women, as vehicles to satisfy their bisexual pleasures. With naked women around them, a touch, a feel, a grope, a kiss…they were just cherries and nuts, pardon the expression, on a sundae. They could excuse their actions as “in the heat of the moment.” They could pretend they weren’t gay or bisexual simply by doing it while having sex with a woman.
But Keiko and I wanted to see how far they would go with us there. How much could they do together, while two women watched them? Both had been with men, and they had been with each other…but not with their women watching them. We were observing them like hoary magistrates.
No one else can make me feel
The colors that you bring…
Part of me was still disbelieving. Part of me was even indignant that my man would kiss, touch, fondle, and even penetrate another man. I was still stuck with preconceived ideas of what manhood was. My father would have never done such a thing. I rarely even saw him shake another man’s hand. He would hug me…occasionally. He loved my mother immensely, yet I probably saw them kiss no more than two or three times my entire life.
So the thought of my man having sex with another man caused me discomfort. I think perhaps I went along with Keiko to see if David would say, “No, I can’t do anything like this,” and storm out of the room. Perhaps at this point in my life I would have applauded him taking an ultra-masculine stance like that. I know how silly that sounds now. It’s hard to imagine now that I felt that way then…but I guess I did.
Yet I know also that some part of me was intensely curious. How would two men have sex together? Which roles would they play? Who would take the other into his body? What would it look like?
Keiko broke the silence, “C’mon, boys…put on a show for us girls. We’re not doing anything until we see you pleasure each other.” I loved that about her...she was not afraid to speak up or out. Though only a couple years older than I, she was much more confident in herself and her sexuality. She was not afraid to say what she meant. She was not afraid of who she was. In fact, she loved herself and her life, and she loved her enhanced sexuality. Her confidence gave me confidence.
“David, I want to see you and Mark…together…” I said. Not in the quivering, shy voice that marked my life before. I spoke it confidently. I commanded him. I empowered myself to be powerful. Me, sexually commanding? This was my first step down the path I hoped to tread.
They turned and looked at each other. Mark moved first. He leaned over and kissed David. David kissed back. I had seen them kiss before, but this time it was just them. I felt very odd. At first, it looked unnatural to me, and I still couldn’t get my thoughts around it. It looked unmanly to me. Feminine almost.
David put his hand up to Mark’s face, and pulled his mouth more to his own, and their kisses became stronger. I saw their tongues moving against each other. Their heads moved from side to side. And they kissed. Then David put his hands on Mark’s shoulders, and pulled his body against him. And their mouths fought harder.
I was surprised when I felt Keiko
begin to shudder a little. She pressed herself against me, and her hands began to move, almost imperceptibly, along my thighs. She was becoming excited. Perhaps this is why she was so insistent that we put them in this situation. Did she love watching Mark with another man?
The men were still kissing, but now I saw Mark reach down to David’s crotch. He began stroking him. David, apparently, didn’t mind this at all. Mark pulled on it, and as it stood up he changed his hand position, pointing it up to their chins. And still their mouths fought against each other.
David soon moved his hands from Mark’s shoulders, and was instead rubbing his palms against Mark’s large, muscular chest. I couldn’t blame him…I loved Mark’s chest. It was massive, and his shoulders were so broad. He was larger than any man I had ever met. Watching David touch his chest, I suddenly felt a bit of movement in my own body. Perhaps I was envious of his touching, feeling those soft, red hairs covering massive muscles. I don’t know. But I could feel my womanhood beginning to swell, and I was becoming damp. Feeling Keiko’s body against me felt so good. I slid my crotch up against her butt. She didn’t turn, but I could feel her push her bottom against me. I needed that pressure, and with a bit of movement I could roll my pelvis to match the movements of her butt. We did this with as little motion as possible; we didn’t want to stop what the men were doing.
The kissing was more heated now, and the men were beginning to breathe heavier. David turned his hips up a bit, inviting Mark to provide him more touch, more stimulation. Mark pulled his mouth off of David’s, and lowered his lips to David’s nipples. He licked first one, then the other, and then back again. After a few quick licks, Mark lowered his face to David’s now achingly large cock. To me, David’s manhood seemed enormous, but with Mark’s large hands and body, it looked more of a regular size.
He lowered his head and took David into his mouth. David opened his legs, and Mark slid down, taking a more comfortable position, with his elbow supporting him. His free hand went to David’s swelling balls. He started by licking around his head, and then up and down his shaft. He nuzzled his nose against his balls, and then licked and sucked each one.
Follow You Down (Farfalla Book 1) Page 19