The flowers arrived within the hour. There were three giant bouquets in all, one of red roses, another of yellow roses, and one of purple hyacinths. A balloon drifted above the hyacinths. I turned it around and saw the words printed there: “I’m sorry.”
Overwhelmed by emotion, my hands were shaking so badly that I couldn’t pull the small card from its envelope. Our receptionist took it from me and read aloud, “The hyacinths are an apology, the yellow roses an offer of friendship, and the red roses to tell you that my feelings for you have never changed.”
She ended to a chorus of “aw” and a round of clapping as my coworkers took it upon themselves to intrude in my personal business. Swayed by the scent of forgiveness exuding from the group of women who huddled so tightly around me I felt like slapping asses and throwing a pigskin, I took Shane’s call and agreed to meet with her one more time. However, this time I insisted on staying as far away from the intoxicating allure of alcohol and suggested coffee at Haven.
She was there when I arrived, chatting amiably with the barista, but when she saw me outside she rushed over and held the door like a gentleman. I waved her aside, made my order, and joined her at a table in the corner.
I fought the knee-jerk impulse to thank her for the flowers. “You have ten minutes,” I said, hoping I sounded brusque, flippant even.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Megan. I know it’s been tough on you.”
“Hmm.” I took another drink from my mocha.
“Okay, okay. I’ll get right to the point. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead—”
But I’m going to anyway, I imagined her saying. Why did people always use that phrase to preface doing exactly that? If they didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, why did they speak up at all? Shane wasn’t winning any points from me.
“But you know how manipulative your sister was. She always seemed able to manipulate me into doing things, even when it was some elaborate joke at my expense. Which is what happened that night you, uh, it’s what happened that night.”
You mean the night I walked in on you fucking my sister? I wanted to scream it so everyone in the café, everyone in the neighborhood, hell, everyone in the whole damn town could bear witness to the awful thing Shane had done to me. But I didn’t shout it out. I didn’t even mutter it. I just rolled my eyes and shook my head.
Shane barreled on, although she at least had the decorum to lower her voice. “I swear, I didn’t go there intending to have sex with her.” Her eyes pleaded with me to believe her and I wasn’t sure if it was my heart or my cunt, but some part of me really wanted to.
“I went to see you, but you weren’t back from the awards ceremony. Ash said I could wait for you in the pool house and offered me a drink.” Shane swallowed hard. She tried to hold my gaze, but I looked away.
“The next thing I know,” Shane continued, “you’re opening the door and I’m wondering how the hell I got there.”
I snorted. “So what? You blacked out? She drugged you? What are you saying?”
It was Shane’s turn to shake her head. “I don’t know. I’ve gone over that night again and again, and it just doesn’t make sense. I mean, it wasn’t like she forced me, but it sort of felt like I wasn’t a willing participant. And then afterward it was so clear that she’d planned the entire thing.”
“Oh, right. Why would she do that?”
“To hurt you.”
I stared at her. “Wait. What? You’re saying Ash forced you to have a threesome with her just to hurt me? That doesn’t even make sense. Why?” I was at loss for words. I just shook my head again, pushed my chair back, and started to stand up.
Shane’s hand on my arm stopped me. Even through my blouse her touch sent electric shivers radiating out from where her fingers landed. “For all her faults, Megan, your sister loved you very much, even if she didn’t know how to show it. She and I had some history. I wasn’t that great to her.” Shane pursed her lips and glanced down at her lap. “She just didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“But by your logic, she set that night up to deliberately hurt me!”
“No. I mean, yes, she did. But she was trying to save you more pain later on if you fell in love with me and I broke your heart. Only Ash didn’t realize I’d never…” Shane trailed off. “Look, it's not like I’m asking you to forgive me straight off. I did something terrible. You know firsthand the kind of charismatic power Ash had over people. I hoped that you might give me a second chance because of that.”
I couldn’t do it.
Not that night, at any rate. A few days later I let her give it the good ol’ college try. Everyone deserves a second chance. And a second orgasm. Shane gave them in spades. And my sexual needs were starting to be more pressing than my emotional ones. That night I didn’t kick her out of bed when we were done.
The next morning we were in the kitchen making omelets—whore’s breakfast, Ash used to call it—like a giddy couple, and I wondered if I could ever let myself have feelings for Shane again.
The omelets led back to bed, which led to dinner, which led to more sex, and before I knew it, one weekend together turned into a full-fledged affair. After a few months of coupledom, things seemed idyllic, almost normal even. I loved the safety of it, the maturity of it, and without even realizing it, I’d let my guard down again, allowing myself to feel the emotions I’d always harbored for Shane.
*
“What’s going on, baby?” It was my turn to query Shane. I doubted that I came across as threatening as I felt, but I was certain my tone had a hostile edge to it. Shane had stood me up for dinner half a dozen times now, and whenever we were together she seemed distant. We had been dating six months, and already the honeymoon was over.
“Nothing.” Shane was sullen, uncommunicative.
“God damn it, Shane. Would you just fucking talk to me?” I was so sick of her silent treatment I felt like shoving a fork in my thigh just to get a reaction from her. Maybe I was more angry at myself than Shane. I’d given in, I allowed her to suck me into her world again and now she was going cold—again. I should’ve been strong, should’ve stayed committed to the plan.
I still wanted to solve Ash’s murder, still felt Shane’s recollections from that evening might be the break I needed, but Shane didn’t want to talk about Ash, and I didn’t want to keep fighting, so I shelved it all, putting my life on the back burner to make someone else happy. Again.
I hated myself for the ways in which I changed around a woman I loved. Or at least this woman, being as she had been the only woman I had loved, I didn’t have a lot to compare it to. But with Shane, I felt like I lost control somehow, like I forgot who I was. Who was that? Maybe I’d never known who I was. Or maybe I knew and I just didn’t like it.
I was trying so hard to be strong and independent. I wanted to be successful on my own terms, you know, not to feel like everything I had and everything I was sprouted from Father’s money. Wasn’t my begging for an iota of attention from Shane similar to Father controlling me with his purse strings? Well, fuck her.
“Look, Shane, if you don’t want to be in this relationship, then fine by me. You started it.” I was walking to the door of the apartment, ready to throw her shit out, when she turned around and looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time, and it kind of surprised her.
“I do want to be here, Megan. It’s just that things have gotten a little dull.” God, the mind games this girl played!
“Dull? Dull? What the hell, Shane? It’s been six months and you’re already bored?” I couldn’t believe she’d tired of me already. It seemed like she had spent longer wooing me than she had bedding me. What the fuck? I couldn’t believe I fell for her shit again.
“No, it’s not that. I just think we should shake things up.”
I didn’t reply. There was nothing I wanted to say to her. Hadn’t I just settled down for her, because of her? Wasn’t this what she wanted? I couldn’t believe Shane had the audacity to complain about our domesticity
.
In truth, I was terrified she was right, like I’d tricked her into thinking I was exciting, that I was just a younger version of Ash, not the dull person whose inexperience in bed made her lovemaking so tedious that her lover couldn’t bear the monotony.
What did that mean anyway? Was this code for threesomes? Polyamory? Or did it just mean Shane wanted to pull out a copy of the Kama Sutra and try out some new positions? I wouldn’t admit it, but I feared that if I refused to even consider enlivening our relationship, it would give Shane reason to leave me and worse, it would reveal how much of a sexual dullard I really was.
Maybe all couples eventually reached a point in their relationship where they needed to shake things up. Maybe it just went by so fast because Shane’s so experienced. Maybe other lesbians knew how to keep their lovers more entertained. God.
I bet Ash never had this problem, never had someone imply she had become boring in bed. No, everything I’d learned about Ash told me she was the one wanting to shake things up. Thinking of Ash, I could almost see her laughing at me for being so insipid and naïve.
Well, I wasn’t going to let Shane slip through my fingers after all we’d been through. And I refused to allow my fear to paralyze me. If Shane wanted spice, I was determined to give her habañero peppers. I’d show her. I’d shake things up. Tonight I was going to start watching Ash’s sex DVDs.
I could kill two birds with one stone. I could help find out what happened to Ash and maybe discover what magic spell my sister cast over every woman that she met. Surely I could find some pointers to impress Shane in the bedroom. Delving into Ash’s secrets and keeping Shane intrigued seemed reason enough to watch what could be some sordid recordings.
Yet, even as I was putting the DVD in the player, I couldn’t help but wonder how smart it was to watch my sister getting it on. I mean, the summer she died I had seen her having sex many times, but always from a distance. This would be close-up and personal images of my deceased sibling. That could very well cross some invisible line separating decent folks from the perverse. What if this video was like Pandora’s box and would unleash something I could never put back?
Although I was quite serious, I imagined that Japanese horror film where a scary zombie girl would come slithering out of the television after viewers watched a particular videotape. Then they’d die of fright. I couldn’t believe enough time had passed that I could have such a morbid thought and laugh, not cry, that my big sister was dead and I was sitting in her old apartment watching videos of her fucking other people.
Ash moved into the frame, naked except for a scarf around her neck and white go-go boots that came up to her knees. Two women entered the room, one of them large, foreboding, and the other rather diminutive. Both women were fully clothed in black leather and denim. They each had dog collars around their necks and giant dildos popping out of their jeans. The large woman, a blonde with multiple tattoos and a black dildo, had a chain that stretched from her cock ring to a back pocket. She went behind Ash, weaving her arms through Ash’s and pulling her backward so she was splayed across a console table. The smaller woman, this one dark-haired, maybe Mediterranean, shoved Ash’s legs apart, then pushed one of Ash’s legs up in the air and the other to the side, posing her like a porn model, all the while navigating a pink dildo into Ash. Ash winced, then smiled at the camera. It was her camera, after all. Did the other women even know they were being filmed? Maybe not.
But Ash certainly did, and even though there was no sound on it, I could tell she was calling the shots in the scene because her lips moved before anything new happened. I found that comforting. I didn’t have to worry about consent when Ash was clearly commanding them, directing them with what to do and when. Ash had asked to be splayed over this table, taken by two butches with piercings and giant cocks.
And take her they did, moving in and out of her for what seemed like hours. Ash smiled at the camera and whispered again to her lovers. It was creepy to see her looking right at me, so I hit the fast-forward button and the blonde jumped into action, shoving her cock inside Ash’s mouth.
In high speed, Ash yanked the scarf from around her neck and wrapped the ends around her wrists, jammed her hands inside the blonde’s, and tugged. I slowed down, trying to understand what she was trying to say. It seemed like she wanted to be choked. The blonde shook her head, refusing, but Ash was demanding, so she gently, very gingerly tugged at the scarf. Ash berated her. I recognized the look. Her partner relented, tightening the scarf. Ash smiled at the camera again and then threw her head back in ecstasy. The camera faded out.
I rummaged around through the closet, tossing aside my own clothes to sift through the things Ash left behind. I had something specific in mind. A little while later, I opened the bedroom door and came out wearing nothing but white go-go boots and a long scarf. Rather than widening in delight, Shane’s eyes appeared saucerlike, as though she had seen a ghost. That wasn’t the look I wanted to see on my lover’s face. Had she seen my sister wear this outfit? Or was it just the sight of me in such an unexpected outfit that made her go pale? Did I turn her on? Or did I repel her?
Unwilling to be dissuaded, I decided to find out one way or the other. Trying not to show my embarrassment at showing my bare ass, I sauntered over to the couch and stood in front of her. Shane reached out with both hands, clearly intent on grabbing my butt cheeks and pulling me toward her. But tonight I was determined to be the one in control. I grabbed her left hand and raised it to my lips, parting them seductively as her fingers approached my mouth. Her whole body shifted forward, just as I had intended it to.
Rather than penetrating my mouth with her fingers, I stepped back, and used the momentum to yank her off the edge of the sofa. She stumbled forward and I turned around, leading her into the bedroom. Shane tried to push me onto the bed, but I shook my head and waved a schoolmarm finger at her for being such a naughty child. I tugged her down to her knees, flung one leg up against the dresser, and shoved her face between my thighs, pulling her hair a bit in order to keep myself steady. She ate it up, literally lapping me up like a dying man drinking straight from the spring in a desert oasis. She was mine all right, and I was going to show her why she was here.
Before I let myself reward her with an orgasm, I pulled her to her feet and shoved her onto the bed, before opening the armoire’s top drawer, retrieving a package, and tossing it at her.
“What’s this?” Shane asked.
I put my finger to my lips to shush her. Patience, my pet, I thought, watching her tear open the package. The corner of her top lip curled into a smug grin. I could see she was pleased with the new dildo I bought her, because she quickly strapped it on and it stood at attention with a stiffness Mark had never once been able to demonstrate.
I didn’t speak, but mimed to her, allowing my mouth to slack open and pressing my flat hand over the O to indicate surprise at her very large blue and white marbled member that was clearly so happy to see me.
Playing along, Shane kept quiet, or to put it more accurately, she did not talk, although she was soon making quite a racket. As was I.
I pushed her onto her back and climbed aboard like a harlot who wanted her (wo)man-meat and nothing else. I drew the long scarf from my neck and instead of using it on myself, as Ash had done in the video, I used it on Shane.
But I had no experience with bondage or erotic asphyxiation, and I hadn’t been a Boy Scout. Nor had I paid much attention to the knots on the riggings the few times I’d been out on friends’ sailboats. Not knowing the difference between a noose and any other binding, and not ready to risk my lover’s life for one night of pleasure, I decided to start slow. I tied Shane’s wrists to the bedposts. She was compliant and tested the bindings to demonstrate their effectiveness in restricting her movement.
I rode her hard, watching her wince and moan and strain against the scarf that prevented her from grabbing me by the hips and positioning me where she wanted. Instead, I shifted my weight around, judg
ing from the look on her face and my own pleasure to determine the best angles.
I was riding her and slamming my pelvis up and down around the shaft of her cock, and all at once I pictured whipping her with a riding crop and imagined her riding me this way with spurs. The notion brought me right to that point where I was about to blow, and I could see from Shane’s face that she was just as ready as I, and right before I let go, I turned and smiled at the camera.
June 1
I’m worried about kiddo. I think Megan wants to be like me, to emulate me and my life. But it’s a life of such dreadful emptiness and need I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, especially my beautiful sister. I feel like I have a huge hole in the middle of my soul that I’ve been trying to fill with an endless parade of lovers: women, men, going back to, hell, how long has it been? I don’t know, since I was a teenager, for sure, since the big one, the first one, the only one that really mattered. Sometimes I’m numb. No, usually I’m numb. Sometimes I want to feel pain, just so I can feel something. Choke me, fuck me, hit me, burn me; but do it with a hint of tenderness. I want to feel something besides empty pain. A punishment with kisses.
I’ve slept with over a hundred women at this point, especially if you count all the Dinah Shore festivals and Michigan madness and the play parties and that one weekend. Oh, that weekend. But all those notches on my lipstick case aside, I still feel empty. With all the sexual exploration I’ve engaged in during my twenty-six years, my life still feels so devoid of intimacy it’s a fucking joke. It’s so crazy that I still believe in love, still want to be with The One. But will I ever? I envy Megan for her innocence, her naiveté. I hope she never becomes who I have become. I hope she never has to go through what I’ve been through. I hope she never sees the world for what it is, the stinking cesspool of filth and betrayal.
Chapter Nine
There was a new girl at the office, a reporter named Paula, with hair so curly it seemed like it had been transplanted from another part of her body. Hello, Hair Club for Men. She called it a jewfro, though she was Irish, so I was not really sure if it was okay to repeat her colorful language. Was it racist?
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