by Harper Bliss
“Josephine prefers staying home to read Caitlin James books.” Caitlin puts her arm around my shoulders. “That will always be our origin story.” She’s not shy about public displays of affection—though we are in the privacy of Kristin and Sheryl’s apartment—and pecks me on the cheek.
“Next year you’ll be holding a book with your own name on it,” Sheryl says, pride in her voice.
“Maybe,” I say. “We’ll see.”
“I’ll set up a meeting with my publisher soon,” Caitlin says.
“I won’t be able to keep you as a barista if you keep moving up in the world like that,” Kristin says.
“Trust me, you will. You’re the best boss anyone can hope for.”
“Hey,” Sheryl says.
“You are, too, of course. You’re both equals in every way.”
“Are you sure Kristin isn’t nicer than Sheryl?” Caitlin asks, a big grin on her face.
“No. They’re both equally great.” These two women have changed so much for me. Sheryl by being the sort of professor and mentor I was so drawn to intellectually, I knew from the bat I wanted her as my masters’ thesis supervisor. Kristin for giving me a well-paid job in the Pink Bean, even though I had no experience.
“If it wasn’t for me, you would never have met Caitlin,” Sheryl says.
“I guess I have to give her that one.” I put up my hands and smile apologetically at Kristin.
“That’s all right. I’m not interested in being better at anything than Sheryl.”
“You’re always so zen, babe,” Sheryl says.
“Of course—I’m Korean.” Kristin says it in such a dead-pan way we all burst out laughing.
“And I love you.” It’s Sheryl’s turn to give Kristin a quick kiss. When I look at them I can’t help but wonder about their relationship. I know they’ve had their ups and downs, but they seem so settled now. So content with just each other. And as far as I know, they don’t have an open relationship. I wish I could pull back the curtain and catch a glimpse of their true private life. I wish I had more experience at relationships before going further in this one with Caitlin. As much as I love being with her, and as much as she has had a positive effect on me already, I’m still carrying around a good amount of fear.
Twenty years from now, will it be Caitlin and me entertaining friends in our home like this? A lifetime of love between us, and all of it so easily visible on our faces?
On Saturday afternoon, I decide to finally take Amber up on her offer of a free private yoga lesson. With Caitlin in the picture, I’ve been missing quite a few morning runs, so I see it as a peace offering to my body. Caitlin has done a few of her classes and she keeps raving about them. She tried to teach me a few yoga poses herself but it’s just too distracting when she does it. We always end up doing anything but yoga—though nothing that has allowed me to come without having my own hands at work between my legs.
Maybe yoga will help with that, too.
Amber ushers me into a small room of which one of the walls is all mirrors, making me feel uncomfortable from the get-go. I’m wearing faded running pants that contrast heavily with her trendy yoga kit—funky-striped pants and a tank top so tight I can see her abs through the fabric.
“I’m so glad you came,” she says, and puts a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“I can’t say the same just yet,” I joke. “But thanks for doing this, no matter how I feel about it later.”
“Don’t be nervous. It’s just you and me. More often than not, what keeps people from the yoga mat is the perceived judgement of the others in the class. There’s none of that here.”
Amber rolls out two mats, then turns to me. “Things seem to be going well between you and Caitlin,” she says, kind of out of the blue.
“Yeah. Pretty well.”
“That’s really great.” I sense some hesitation in her tone.
“I get the distinct impression a but is supposed to follow that statement.”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”
“I appreciate that.” I would very much like to avoid that also. “Did she, er, actually hurt you back then?”
“Maybe not so much hurt me as threw me off balance for a while.”
I make a mental note to quiz Caitlin about how she treated Amber and how that aligns with her policy of respect above anything. From Amber’s point of view, which is the only one I have, Caitlin’s behavior toward her wasn’t very respectful at all.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Amber. I can handle myself.”
“I know you can. You’ll be able to handle yourself even better after this session with me.” She draws her face into a solemn expression. “Shall we start?”
“Does it begin with Ohm?” I ask, grinning.
“No. I’ll keep the more spiritual things for later.”
We sit down in lotus position and for the next hour Amber teaches me the basics of yoga and, in the process, has me bend my body in ways I never deemed possible.
At the end of the lesson, when she has me in something called shavasana, which is basically just lying down with my eyes closed, I conclude that, though challenging for my inflexible body, this yoga class was an enjoyable way to spend an hour. But I’m more the kind of person to practice it alone in my room, now that she has given me some of the basics, rather than ever set foot in a studio filled with people like Amber, or Caitlin, or Micky. And I look forward to my next run, though I’m unsure I’ll be able to move at all tomorrow.
Later that day, Caitlin and I are sitting on her balcony, a bottle of wine between us.
“There’s an open mic again next Friday,” she says.
“Do you want to go?” It could be fun to go with her again, look at her as she reads another poem, and notice all the differences between now and the first time she did it. It could be a good progression barometer of our relationship. “Read another poem?”
“I would like to go, yes, but not to read a poem.” She pours some more wine into my glass. “This morning, when you were in the shower, I overheard you sing, and I swear to you, Josephine, it touched me on some deep emotional level. I had tears in my eyes.”
I try to remember what I was singing this morning. The song escapes me. Perhaps because I’m more focused on the image of Caitlin standing outside the bathroom door, listening to me.
“Honestly, Jo. You have a gift. There’s such strength in your voice. You could move so many people with it.”
“I’m not really interested in moving many people.” Only Caitlin will do just fine.
“I’m serious. A voice like that. You can’t just keep that to yourself.”
“I believe I very much can.”
“Well, yes, I know you can, but why would you want to? I was standing outside and the water was running and even then, I could so clearly hear what you were putting into it and how you meant the words you were singing. It was so beautiful.”
“I’m very flattered, but I have two things to say about this and then I would like to talk about something else. One: you would find it beautiful because, you know, er, you and I…” How can I refer to us without sounding too forward? “We’re together. We’re in love. That makes everything sound better. Second, I’m not someone who likes to take to the stage. It’s not me. I don’t enjoy it.”
“You enjoy teaching.”
“That’s not the same thing at all.”
“Then let me ask you this: what are you so afraid of?”
“I think this might be one of the instances where you’re pushing too hard.”
“Oh.” She leans back in her chair, retreating. “Understood. But will you please just think about it? Just consider it. I think it might be good—”
I hold up a hand. “Please.”
“Okay, we’ll change the subject. Meanwhile, I’ll have you and your voice all to myself.” She sends me a smile but I can tell it’s not her widest, most convincing one.
“My turn to ask you a question
,” I say.
“Shoot. I’ll answer anything without inhibitions.” Her smile grows a bit more confident.
“Amber still seems kind of hung up on that time you slept together.” It feels so strange to say this. “Do you think you treated her respectfully enough?”
Caitlin ponders this for a moment, but doesn’t seem too taken aback by my question. “If she’s still talking about it now, then I probably didn’t.” She gazes into the night sky. “Being respectful is definitely the mantra I try to live by the most, but just like any other human being, I sometimes screw up. That’s the nature of life. I’ve yet to meet a single person who doesn’t have regrets.”
“Do you regret sleeping with her?”
“No, but I regret not being clear on my intentions.” She holds up her wine glass. “Most of my regrets can probably be tracked down to too much of this.”
“Ah, too much booze: the catch-all for our worst mistakes.” Another question pops into my head, but to be able to properly push the words from my mouth, I need another sip of wine first. “I have another question.” My voice sounds more coy than I would like it to.
“Yes?” Caitlin has a grin on her face. She likes this. She likes opening herself up to me, no holds barred.
“How many women have you slept with?” I don’t know why, but I avert my gaze as soon as the words have left my lips. As though I don’t really want to know the answer.
I hear her shuffling in her chair. “Does a number really matter that much to you?”
I turn to look at her again. “I don’t know. I’m just curious.”
“Understandable, I guess.” She sits up a little straighter. “If you really want to know the number, I could tell you, but I’d have to look in my diary first. I’m not really in the habit of keeping count.”
“Your diary?”
She nods solemnly. “Yes, I write in it every single day and have done so for more than twenty years. Cheapest therapy I’ve ever had.”
“Every time you slept with someone, you made a note of it?”
“Sleeping with someone is quite a significant action, don’t you think? One that merits a mention in my journal.”
I’m suddenly very curious to know if and what she has written about me.
“Do you, er… rate us. I mean, them?” I stammer.
“What?” She shakes her head. “Where on earth would you get that idea?”
“I don’t know. It just… came out.”
“I truly do wonder what goes on in that head of yours.” Her face has softened. “But just for the record, you have not been rated. It’s a journal. Not some system to measure sexual prowess. It’s just a way to clear my head and to work through things I have on my mind. I hardly ever reread what I have written, unless I’m in a very self-indulgent mood.” She snickers. “I highly recommend the practice. It’s great for unburdening yourself.”
“Between you and Amber, I feel like I’ve been in touch with two gurus today.”
“She’s a good teacher.” Caitlin remains serious. “Do you think I should apologize to her? She hasn’t said anything to me about it since I’ve returned. I truly believed we were okay.”
“That’s up to you.” My mind is no longer on Amber and whether Caitlin treated her respectfully enough. I can’t stop thinking about Caitlin’s diary and what I wouldn’t give to sneak a peek into the entry of the day she met me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next afternoon, I’m still at Caitlin’s. I’ve barely been able to move all day, which appears to be a great source of delight for her.
“If this is what yoga does to your body, I’ll gladly stick to running,” I say.
“It’s only the first time. Next time, you’ll feel good as new the morning after.” Caitlin stands behind me while I’m sitting in the sofa, her hands on my shoulders. “Would the young lady like a little shoulder massage?”
“That would be amazing.”
She sinks her thumbs into a particularly painful knot in my shoulder. “You’re so tense.”
“I’m in pain. I need a new body.”
“I know exactly what you need.” She gives my shoulder the lightest of squeezes then, disappointingly, retracts her hands. “I’m going to run you a nice hot bath and then I’ll give you a proper massage.” She puts a funny inflection into the word proper. “It’s Sunday. The day of relaxation.”
My muscles are so sore, I barely make it into the bath she has drawn for me. But when I sink into the hot embrace of the water, a fraction of tension seems to leave my muscles immediately.
“I’m never coming out of this bath again. It’s too divine,” I say to Caitlin who balances on the lip of the tub.
“I’m sure you’ll change your mind when the water gets cold. But do take your time. I’ll be patiently waiting.” She runs a finger through the water, until it reaches my breast, and lets it skim along my wet skin, then stops at my nipple. She leaves her finger there while she bends over and kisses me softly on the lips. A few seconds later, she has left the bathroom and it’s just me, my painful muscles, and a surge of desire spiking in my belly.
While I soak for as long as I feel comfortable keeping her waiting for me, I think about how quickly all of this has become easy. How I don’t think about covering my body anymore when we’re together. How I let her strip me of my clothes and help me into the bath. How arousal has pushed self-consciousness away as though there’s no room for the two to co-exist within me anymore.
By the time I drag myself out of the bath, the water is still pleasantly warm. Caitlin’s promised massage is much more alluring than being immersed in water, no matter how relaxed it makes my tortured muscles feel.
“That was fast.” Caitlin is waiting for me in the bedroom fully undressed.
“What kind of massage do you plan on giving me?” A smile appears on my face.
“Full body, of course.”
Even though my skin hasn’t fully dried up yet, I drop the towel and rush to her side.
“Lie on your belly,” she says.
I happily agree. I stretch out and put my hands underneath the pillow. Everything is soft around me and I eagerly await Caitlin’s first touch.
I hear her shuffle around on the sheets, then feel her hip press into my side. A finger skates along my spine and my skin already breaks out into goosebumps. Another finger follows the previous one’s path until I feel both of her hands on my shoulders. She digs her thumbs into my flesh again and I let out a little groan. There is no sign of any massage oil, which confirms my suspicion that Caitlin’s prime objective is not to give me a massage at all.
Her fingers ripple over the line of my shoulders, relieving some tension momentarily, only to have it replaced by sexual anticipation. I can hardly believe how easily I let it grab hold of me now. If I had followed my instinct, and Caitlin hadn’t been so gracious and patient with me, I wouldn’t be in this bed right now, with her hands all over me. I would be at home, miserable, thinking of what could have been.
I feel her lips on the nape of my neck. The soft, wet kiss she plants there feels like she just kissed a nipple. The contact travels through me and leaves my belly tingling and my entire body aching for so much more.
Over the past few weeks, we’ve become quite adept at both our hands working in tandem toward my climax. In a way, it’s frustrating how simple it has become, because it makes me think of all the missed opportunities I’ve had. Then again, perhaps it was my psyche’s way of waiting until someone like Caitlin came along. Someone who swept me off my feet so swiftly that my anxiety didn’t have much chance to intervene.
Caitlin’s kisses descend down my spine. Her hair tickles my back. This is better than any massage. In fact, I think all muscle soreness has miraculously disappeared. Caitlin’s hands and lips truly are magical. She kisses me all over my back, then changes position. She nudges my legs apart and not being able to see what she’s up to only increases my arousal. My clit is thumping wildly and I feel the familiar ti
ngle of extreme arousal between my legs.
Caitlin drapes her body over mine until her mouth is near my ear. “Your full body massage, Madam,” she whispers. She kisses my neck again and an arrow of lust shoots up from my pussy to every last cell of my body. Then I feel her nipples skim along my back. Slowly, she traces some pattern that’s impossible to recognize and I melt into the mattress a little more.
Her nipples graze my ass cheeks and soon after I feel her lips there, kissing every last patch of skin. She ends with one final peck, then shifts positions again and comes to lie next to me. I turn on my side to look at her.
“How was that for a massage?” she asks, a proud smile on her face.
“Not that relaxing,” I say. “You’ve got me in quite a state.”
“Yeah?” She scoots closer, her hand reaching for my breast. “What state is that?”
“Very hot and bothered.”
“That was the idea.” She leans in and kisses me. Her kiss is insistent from the get-go, the dance of her tongue in my mouth doesn’t leave any room for misinterpretation. It’s one of the things I’ve come to love about her the most. Her utter lack of hesitation. Her uncompromising views on desire—no matter how they might affect our relationship in the future. The ways in which she makes me feel so wanted—a foreign concept to me until not so long ago.
Her other hand is on the back of my neck, pulling me close. My hands skim along the small gap between our bodies, until one comes to rest on her breast. It’s a thrill to be brushing a thumb over her nipple while she does the exact same thing to me—an enthralling mirror sensation. It gives me an idea.
I’ll have to try some time and I’m already so aroused. All the memories of when I fucked her rush back to me, and the accompanying flutters of passion they ignited in me. Right now, in my life, there is nothing more enticing than slipping a finger inside of Caitlin. Fucking her and watching her while I do so, the way she asked me to. It’s the pinnacle of intimacy, to be able to let go like that, under your lover’s gaze. I want to try. I want to see what it does to me when we both do it.