by Harper Bliss
“How did your parents take it? Presuming you’re out.”
“They’re not very worldly people—they only cross the town borders to visit my sister—but they have the biggest hearts. Life’s not been easy on them so they know what’s truly important. They just want me to be happy, even though I’ve yet to introduce them to a girlfriend.”
“It’s great that they’re so accepting.”
“I think it hurt them more that I chose Gender Studies when I got my scholarship. I was always the smartest girl in class and they had high hopes for me. Despite not having had many chances themselves, they always told me I could become whatever I wanted when I grew up, and this is what I chose. It was stronger than any desire to make a lot of money and make all of our lives better in the process.”
“I’m sure they’re secretly very proud of you.”
“My dad is a very intelligent man, but his family didn’t have money for higher education. His father had a menial job lined up for him with the town council as soon as he finished high school, so that’s what he did until he hurt his back in an accident. He’s been on disability ever since. The fact that I’m an academic must please him on some level, but he has another, less fortunate daughter to worry about. I wanted Bea to go to a school where she would be treated as a normal person, so I’m paying for it by working at the Pink Bean. Every single cent I earn goes to Bea’s education.”
“You’re a good person, just like your parents.”
“I just want to do right by my sister.”
“I’m sure she adores you.”
“She’s the sweetest person you’ll ever meet. I admit, sometimes it’s hard to call her at seven o’clock every single morning, but the second I hear her voice, it always perks me up. She has that effect on me. It’s like she has sunshine in her voice. She’s almost always in a good mood and even when she’s not, it doesn’t take a lot to cheer her up.” I put my cutlery down. “I miss her. And sometimes I wish I had chosen to study for an MBA and I had a well-paid corporate job by now. One that would allow me to fly home for every holiday and for Bea’s birthday, but some things you just have to do for yourself. I never could imagine myself going to work in a business suit every day, poring over spreadsheets and working for the man.”
“Well, the next special occasion you wish you’d been able to fly home, just come to mine and I’ll throw you an alternate party.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“Says the woman who is the very definition of kindness.”
I wave Caitlin off. She smiles at me.
“Dessert?” she asks.
“I’m not much of a dessert person.”
“Well, I am.” She starts looking around for the waiter. She orders a chocolate fondant with two spoons and pours more wine. Despite the meal I just ate, I’m feeling pretty lightheaded.
“No meal is complete without dessert,” Caitlin says.
“Maybe in your world, but when your own mother told you from a very young age that it would probably benefit you to forego the pavlova she made, your thoughts might differ.”
“She didn’t?”
“I can’t even blame her for it. She only ever believed she had my best interests at heart.”
“But still. That’s a harsh thing to say to a child.”
“Not when your child weighs twice as much as most of her class mates.”
Caitlin shakes her head, pouts her lips. “That must have made you feel awful.”
I shrug. “I believed her. Just as I believed my classmates when they called me a hippo. I was a child. I didn’t know any better.”
“I’m really sorry that happened to you.” Caitlin puts a hand on the table and scoots it in my direction.
“It was a long time ago.”
“More often than not, it’s the things that happened the longest ago that stay with us for the rest of our lives.”
I inch my hand a little closer to hers. I sneak a glance at her long, slender fingers, her red-painted nails. “I think it’s time to change the subject,” I say on a sigh.
“Okay. I think I was just about to say something patronizing anyway.” Caitlin draws her lips into a lop-sided smile. Her hand remains on the table. “Your turn to ask me anything.”
I look at my glass of wine. Take another sip. I have many pressing questions that can’t just be asked outright but need to be worked toward in the delicate back-and-forth of an intimate conversation. But I’ve drunk a lot of wine and Caitlin’s hand is lying less than an inch away from mine. I think I have permission.
“How long did the longest relationship you’ve had last?”
She breathes out a loud chuckle. “My reputation does precede me, then.”
“I’m just curious.” A blush warms my neck.
“Fair enough.” She narrows her eyes to slits. “Her name was Michelle. We were together for three and a half years. She lived in New York and I lived in Boston. It was kind of a long-distance thing, though I did spend a lot of time at her place in New York.”
“Why did it end?” I’m not sure if I’m baiting her. If I am, I’m sure she’s on to me.
“The same reasons most of my relationships have ended. Irreconcilable differences on the structure and boundaries of a long-term relationship.”
“What’s your view on them?”
She gives a small laugh. “I’ve written extensively on how I believe that monogamy is an archaic invention by the patriarchy, with a ridiculous double standard attached to it, and only meant to keep women in check. I won’t give you a big speech on what you already know.”
“I’m pretty well-versed in all the arguments for and against non-monogamous relationships. Ten years in the Gender Studies department will do that to you.”
“It’s still frowned upon, though. It’s still called cheating or, worse, being unfaithful. Have you ever stopped to really consider that term? Faithful? It doesn’t have any bearing on what a relationship really is.” She shrugs. “Everyone is different and entitled to their own opinion, of course, but I just always thought that when 2016 came around, things would be different. I guess that’s what I miss most about the States. The people I hung out with who didn’t give a rat’s ass about conforming to societal norms. What a glorious gang of misfits. The word may have a negative connotation for most, but for me, there’s no bigger compliment than being called a misfit.”
“I feel like a misfit about eighty-five percent of the time.”
“Then we are kindred souls, Josephine. By the way, I really love your name. It’s beautiful and it really, really suits you.”
“Thank you.” I smile sheepishly and hold Caitlin’s gaze for a split second. Her glance doesn’t waver. We’re reaching the final—or perhaps penultimate, though my mind can’t really go there—act of our date. I can tell. The intensity is being ratcheted up. Locked gazes prolonged. Intentions almost stated.
The moment passes when the waiter brings dessert accompanied by two spoons.
“I know that, officially, this is our first date, but we’ve spent quite some time together already, haven’t we?” Caitlin says before licking the last fleck of chocolate from her lips. I let her have most of the dessert, only dipping my spoon in ceremoniously a few times. Some compulsions are hard to break.
“We have. And I’ve enjoyed every single minute of getting to know you better.”
“Really? Even that time when you blew me off?”
I wave her off. “Oh that. That’s in the past now, Forgotten. Bygones.”
Caitlin gives me a smile that lights up her entire face. “Deal. That never happened.”
We sit in silence for a split second.
“Can I make you another deal?” Caitlin asks.
“Sure.”
“Let me pay for the meal. In return, invite me back to your place. For coffee or for whatever you want. I’m not willing for the evening to end just yet.”
Eva would have a fit if I walked in with Caitlin while she and Declan are can
oodling in our rickety sofa. “Counter offer,” I say. “Let’s split the bill and we can go to yours.”
Caitlin scrunches her lips together. “Accepted.” She looks around to signal to the waiter that we are ready for the check.
Chapter Fourteen
“Welcome to my place, again,” Caitlin says. “One day, you’ll show me yours.” On the way over, in the back of an Uber—of course—I explained profusely why it was a bad idea to go to mine.
“I promise.” I stand around awkwardly while Caitlin switches on a few dimmed lights. I still have a good wine buzz going and more confidence than I ought to have in this situation.
“Can I offer you another drink?”
“I truly think I’ve had enough.” I head over to the big sofa. “And I have an early start tomorrow.”
“You can text Micky. Tell her you’ll be in a bit later.” There’s mischief in Caitlin’s voice.
“No way. She knows where I am right now. I’ll never live it down. Besides, Micky is not my boss. Kristin is.”
We both sit down. As always, no matter how tipsy I am, I flex all my muscles, hoping in vain it will make my weight press down less into the cushions.
“Kristin will understand,” Caitlin says.
“She will understand what exactly?”
Caitlin has shuffled close to me. I can feel the fabric of her pants through the flimsy cotton of my dress.
“You came all the way to Darlinghurst. Which, at the very least, gives me permission to do this.” She angles her body toward me, cups my cheeks in her hands, and pulls me close. Before she closes her eyes and kisses me, she gazes into mine.
Oh Christ. I can’t believe this is happening. The entire evening has been leading up to this. Of course I came all this way with this in mind. But still, I can’t quite believe it. I feel like I’ve landed in the middle of a dream, a fantasy I really shouldn’t have.
When her lips press against mine, my body tenses up even more. It’s not hesitation making me clamp up—because, oh how I’ve wanted to kiss Caitlin—it’s the voice in my head telling me this whole scene is ridiculous.
“Are you all right?” she asks with genuine concern in her voice.
“Can’t quite believe it,” I whisper.
She smiles, the skin around her eyes scrunching up. “It’s very, very real.” Her hands are still on my cheeks and she pulls me close again. Before she presses her lips to mine, she asks, “Can I kiss you again, Josephine?”
I have to giggle at the formality of it. “Please.”
This time, her tongue slips past my lips and I relax into our embrace, bringing my hands to her sides. This is really going to happen. I may not be very experienced at this, but this is not the kind of kiss that will just fade into nothing. The intensity of it sparks up my spine, makes me forget who I am for an instant—makes me forget that I really shouldn’t rush this.
She catches my bottom lip between her teeth, gives it a soft tug before setting it free and looking at me. “I’m glad you came all this way. Will you stay?”
I just nod, afraid even the word yes can’t make it past the lump in my throat. I want her so much. Surely, with Caitlin, things will be different.
“Come on.” She rises and offers her hand. I let her pull me out of the sofa. “I’d like to show you my bedroom.”
Hand in hand, we walk to the other wing of this ridiculously large apartment. I try to steady my breathing to no avail. In unguarded moments, I’ve entertained the notion of this happening, but no sooner had I conjured up the thought, than I banned it to that zone of unthinkable thoughts somewhere in the back of my brain. In the cold light of day, Caitlin and I don’t make any sense. But it’s evening. We’ve been on an amazing date. She makes me feel wanted, sexy even. In this moment, it does make sense, and this moment is all that matters.
I don’t notice the decor of her bedroom. I’m sure it’s swanky and cozy and luscious, but I’m not interested in anything but Caitlin’s lips on mine again. In tugging that blouse out of her pants and riding my hands up her back, in feeling her skin react to my touch.
Our lips meet again and again and by the time my mouth is smeared in her lipstick and my hair has come undone because of her hands rummaging through it, I have my fingers underneath her blouse. She feels so tiny in my hands, so brittle, so unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
“Let’s lie down,” she says, then hoists her blouse over her head and tosses it onto a chair.
Oh damn, time to disrobe. I take a split second to remember this is Caitlin. I can communicate with her. I can tell her that I’m not comfortable being totally naked in front of her.
“Can I undo that zipper?” she asks, bringing her hands to my back. This dress is all that separates my body from Caitlin’s gaze. I feel like I have an urgent decision to make. Let go or hold on. I choose to let go. I choose to risk it all with Caitlin.
I nod.
She spins me around, presses a hair-raising kiss to the nape of my neck, then slowly unzips my dress. My skin reacts to the air of the room by breaking out in goosebumps.
My body is not a surprise to her, I tell myself. A second-hand polka-dot dress doesn’t cover a damn thing. Still, it’s daunting to stand there, my dress pooled at my feet. Caitlin’s gaze burning my back. I should turn around, face her, but I can’t. Instead, I kick the dress away, flip back the quilt on the bed, and slide underneath, my back still to her.
I hear rustling behind me. I try to take a few deep breaths, try to enjoy the moment for what it is.
Turn around, the voice in my head goes.
By the time I muster up the courage to face Caitlin again, she slips under the covers with me, wearing just her bra and panties.
“Hey,” she says, as her warm hands find mine underneath the sheets. “I want you, Josephine. I like you and I think you’re beautiful.”
I reply by inching closer and peppering kisses on her cheek, along the line of her exquisite cheekbone, then down to her mouth, which opens so easily, so greedily for me, it takes away another layer of inhibition. It’s been a long time since I’ve let another woman under the sheets with me. Even if nothing else happens tonight, this is already a big victory for me. But who am I kidding? My heart is pounding, my skin sizzling. I want her just as badly. I push Caitlin back into the pillows and look at her for an instant before kissing her again. Nothing in her face says she doesn’t want me in her bed. Nothing about her has ever given me any other impression than that she does genuinely like me. She asked me out. This is the third time she has invited me into her home. It was never Caitlin who needed convincing; it was always me. Because of the doubts that are such an integral part of me; they’re always there. Even when my mouth finds hers again, and our tongues dance around, and the grip of her hands becomes more insistent, the doubts aren’t banished that easily. A lifetime of them will do that to you.
To overcome them, I’m going to have to take charge. To reach that level of extreme lust, of no going back, I’m going to need the confidence that will, I hope, engulf me after I’ve made her come.
While our lips keep meeting, and our kisses grow more frantic, I try to get a hand beneath Caitlin’s back to unsnap her bra. She helps me by arching up. It only takes a little bit of fumbling to relieve her of the garment. And then I feast my eyes on Caitlin’s naked chest. Her breasts are small, with tiny nipples—the complete opposite of mine. The contrast strangely turns me on and I can’t help myself. I need to take them into my mouth pronto. Need to taste that part of her. Need to flick my tongue over her pert nipples, and lose myself a little bit more.
Her nipples appear very sensitive and she arches her back again, pushing herself into me, a moan escaping her in between ragged breaths.
I trace my lips down to her belly button, flicking my tongue inside, then up again, needing her mouth again, needing her to breathe into me.
“I want you so much,” she repeats when we break from our kiss. “God, I’m so ready.”
She a
ll but pushes me down. I happily oblige. Caitlin’s hands gently nudging me, her fingers hot on the skin of my shoulders, is a sensation I’ll never forget. Because it makes clear exactly how much she wants me. And oh, do I want it too.
I crawl down, taking most of the covers with me. I block the thought of what I must look like to her, on my hands and knees like that, and focus on what I’m about to do. Give Caitlin the highest pleasure—I hope.
She’s already pushing her panties down. I guide them off her legs and throw them somewhere into the semi-darkness, which I’m very grateful for. She spreads her legs wide for me, displaying no qualms, only pure desire. I’m not sure I’ve ever really come across the very picture of raw lust like this. Part of me finds it hard to believe that I inspired it, but the evidence is undeniable.
I look at her, I have to. Before I kiss her there, I need to see the most intimate part of her. Need to acquaint myself and etch it in my memory forever. I don’t know where this will end. I might be in bed with her, but the chance of me actually embarking on anything resembling a relationship with Caitlin remains small. This is just sex. She’s not that much into relationships, anyway. We have so much left to talk about. I have so many questions left to ask her. There’s so much more of her to know, but right now, it’s boiled down to this very essence: me looking at her while she waits for me to go down on her. Caitlin at her most animalistic. At her most pure.
I can’t wait any longer. I plant a kiss just below her belly button, then make my way down. Her pubic hair is neatly trimmed—did she do that with this in mind? Or does she keep it this neat all the time?— and tickles my nose as I go lower.
“Josephine,” she moans. “Please.”
Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined Caitlin to beg me like this. It ignites my own lust. Her desire will spur mine on, will take me to where she is now. Ready. No doubts. Total surrender.
I let my tongue skate along her sex, her wetness is salty on my lips. The tip of my tongue skates lightly against her clit, but her limbs stiffen anyway. To see such desire on display makes my own clit throb between my legs. She seems so sensitive, so overly ready, as though the entire night was foreplay. Oh, to be carefree like that. But really, here I am, about as free as I’ve ever been. Never have I gone to bed with someone after the first date. It was never even a speck of a possibility. Who could ever garner that kind of lust for me without knowing me better?