by Harper Bliss
“I’m, erm, not very good at being touched in an intimate way,” I mumble.
Katherine does me the courtesy of staying in position—and not turning to look me in the eye.
“What do you mean by that exactly?” Her voice is only mildly inquisitive.
“It’s not something that is of vital importance to me.”
Katherine doesn’t immediately say anything. The in and out of our breath is the only sound in the room. “May I ask why?” she says after a while.
“I’m not sure there’s a why. That’s just how it is.” I wish I could say this with more aplomb, with more gravitas.
Katherine does turn toward me now. She pulls her knees onto the sofa and faces me. Before she speaks, she takes my hands in hers. “Has it always been like that?”
I chuckle. “You make it sound as though I have some sort of condition.”
“That’s not how I wanted it to sound. I’m just curious… because I like you.”
It’s hard to keep my hands in hers. “I understand if this is a deal breaker. That’s why I’m telling you now.”
It’s Katherine’s turn to chuckle nervously. “I don’t think it’s a deal breaker. I’m just trying to understand.” She tilts her head. “Your partner. Sam. She never touched you?”
“She did, before…” This is an almost impossible conversation to have. I don’t have the words for it. I can’t even explain it to myself—despite trying many times. “It’s just not a part of my life anymore.”
Katherine sucks her bottom lip between her teeth the way I’ve seen her do many times by now. “I can’t sit here and look you in the eye, and honestly tell you, that this isn’t hard for me to understand.” The clasp of her fingers around mine becomes firmer. “I—I want you in that way, Hera. So much. I mean, I happily gave myself to you. Very happily, but it was always under the assumption that I would reciprocate.”
“Sex doesn’t always have to be about reciprocation.”
“I think I know that.” She drops my hands and straightens her spine. “You don’t have to educate me on all the things sex can be.” She narrows her eyes. “It’s not because I used to be an escort, is it?”
I shake my head vehemently. “No. I promise you that has nothing to do with it.”
“Good.” She huffs out a sigh, as though if I had even hinted at that, she’d be out of the door in no time. “Is it a matter of trust? Of going too fast? Admittedly, things have moved quickly between us once we—”
I shake my head again. “It’s how I am. How I’ve become. Maybe how I’ve always been, although it’s not that easy to find out.”
“Do you…” She takes my hands in hers again and looks at them. “Do you masturbate?”
Even though I feel like I owe her answers to these questions, it doesn’t make them easier to reply to. “No,” I say.
She nods slowly. “I feel like I should be able to deal with this better, but I’m not quite sure what to say.”
“It’s a lot to take in, especially after I pounced on you like that… I should have had this conversation with you a lot sooner. But, um, I hadn’t anticipated things progressing so quickly all of a sudden.”
“That’s what I have such trouble understanding,” Katherine says. “You clearly feel sexual desire. You obviously want me with all that is in you. But you don’t want to have an orgasm? You don’t need release from all that tension?”
“I get my release when you come.”
“Really?”
I nod.
“So, right now in this moment, when I’m sitting here in front of you in this T-shirt that barely covers me, what is it that you feel?”
I shoot her a grin. “I very much feel like ripping that T-shirt off you.”
“And I very much feel like ripping yours off you,” Katherine replies, melancholy in her glance, reminding me that, even though the conversation might have briefly taken a lighter tone, this is not the sort of thing that can be resolved just by having a quick chat.
Moreover, I have no reply to what she’s just said. What could I possibly say? I surely can’t take the liberty to have my way with her again—I probably should have restrained myself before.
“Do you want to watch The Caitlin James Show with me?” I ask. Because to me, watching TV with Katherine by my side can just as well be a pinnacle of intimacy.
“Sure.” She cocks her head. “She’s coming to the Pink Bean next Monday to pitch a new angle for that interview she so desperately wants to do with me.” Katherine leans into me again.
“You’re a very interesting woman, so you can hardly blame her.”
“Don’t you start as well.” Kat puts her head on my shoulder and, in that gesture, I can sense her willingness to stay—to give this a shot regardless of what I’ve just confessed.
While I switch on the TV and find the right channel, I vow to take some time this weekend to articulate what I find so unspeakable. Katherine deserves more than what I’ve just given her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kat
“I could so easily fall in love with her,” I say to Liz and snap my fingers. “Just like that, actually.”
“Then why don’t you?” Liz grins at me.
I sigh. “It’s even more complicated than I first thought.”
“Isn’t it always?” Liz brushes her hair out of her eyes. “Life’s complicated. If anyone knows that, it’s us.”
“Simply knowing things are complicated doesn’t really change anything about the situation.”
After a long day at the Pink Bean, during which I didn’t really know what to say to Rocco—except that, perhaps he was right to be worried about our working relationship if things go south between Hera and me—I remain preoccupied, unable to confide my innermost thoughts to my best friend.
This entire day my brain has been busy mulling over what Hera said last night. So much so, that I called Liz and asked her if I could stop by after work, even though what I really needed was a hot bath and a very long night’s sleep.
“Do you want to tell me what makes it so complicated? Except for you being a former call girl, of course. But if that’s it, let me hook her up with Jess. She can tell her all about the tricks we have up our sleeve.” Liz’s lips curve into a wide smile.
“That’s just the thing. I’m not allowed to show Hera my tricks. Any of them.”
“What do you mean?” Liz twirls her beer bottle between her fingers. “You haven’t had sex yet?”
“She doesn’t want me to touch her,” I blurt out and, as I say it, I realize I really needed to voice that to someone else.
“I see.” Liz seems stumped for words for a bit, but then says, “Like in the stone butch kind of way or because she believes you’ve touched too many a lady already in your life?”
I snort at the way she phrases it. I knew she was the right person to talk to about this. I couldn’t possibly discuss it with any of my gay male friends—never in a million years would they understand.
“I suspect the first. Although I get a feeling it’s much more than just that.”
“Wow.” Liz lifts the beer bottle to her mouth. “How do you feel about that?”
“I’m not really sure.” I drink from the crisp white wine she has poured me. “I’m still processing.”
“Perhaps it took you by surprise.”
“You can say that again. The first time, I thought she was just tired, you know. Fair enough. But yesterday she told me, after she made love to me.”
“I’m sure you’ve had clients like that,” Liz says matter-of-factly. “I sure had my fair share of them, but I always thought it was… I don’t know. Fear more than anything else stopping them from wanting to be touched.”
“I don’t know Hera well enough yet to work out what it is, but it is definitely a thing. And I really, really like her, and I almost feel guilty for being so dramatic about this. Like it’s untoward in some way to question someone’s sexual proclivities, because maybe it is just her
nature, you know. But that’s how I feel. Massively conflicted.”
“You have every right to feel conflicted, Kat. You even have the right to turn the tables on her. What if it were the other way around? Would she continue to see you?”
“Good question.” I shake my head. “I really can’t imagine it. Her appetite for me is rather… voracious.” A throbbing rises between my legs at the mere thought of it. “Maybe it’s more a question of compatibility. Like with gays. Top or bottom.”
Liz snickers. “Maybe. Compatibility is a big thing in every relationship.”
“Also… in what we used to do, seduction was one of the main parts of what we did. To drive someone crazy like that. I truly got off on that, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to do it for so long, and to have to completely ignore that part of me to be with Hera. It seems unimaginable.”
Liz arches up her eyebrows. “Maybe you should seduce her until she can’t stand it anymore.”
“I’ve considered it, but after our conversation, it would just be disrespectful.”
“Do it stealthily.” A grin appears on Liz’s face. “Subtly drive her so insane she won’t have another choice.”
I shake my head. “That’s not how I want it to be.”
“I know.” Liz nods. “You want to be wanted.”
“It’s such an essential part of who I am.”
“What are you going to do?” Liz’s voice has dropped into a lower, much more serious register.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I truly don’t.”
“My best advice is to talk to her again. Try to get her to tell you what’s going on in her mind. It’s probably all you can do.”
“I want to keep seeing her.” My tone is as insistent as the sentiment behind my words. “It’s not as if I don’t have my own shit to deal with as I enter into this relationship.” I find Liz’s gaze. “Was it hard for you? When you started seeing Jess?”
“Not hard, but definitely strange. I wanted it. I wanted something else than what I’d grown so accustomed to. And it took some convincing because dating a hooker simply isn’t for everyone. At least you need to give Hera credit for that.”
“She did give me a really hard time about that.”
“Try to find someone who won’t.” Liz snickers and holds up her hands. “I loved being an escort, but being with Jess has made me want to quit as well.”
“Do you regret quitting?” I ask.
“Sometimes I do, yes. But you’re probably the only one of my friends who understands that.”
“My life is just so incredibly different than before. It’s much busier, for starters. But it’s also… is it odd to say that, at times, I miss being an escort?”
“I think it’s perfectly normal,” Liz says.
I huff out a sigh. “Look at us, two old hookers reminiscing about the good old days.”
Liz bursts out into a belly laugh. “No one is safe from nostalgia.”
“Life is strange, don’t you think?”
Liz lifts her beer bottle. “And we just have to roll with the punches.”
Chapter Thirty
Hera
It’s Sunday and I still don’t know what to do with myself. Katherine and I have only exchanged a few non-committal text messages since she got up early yesterday morning to open the Pink Bean. I can only conclude her enthusiasm for being with me has waned since we had that talk.
I try to go about my usual Sunday morning business of reading the newspaper extras and drinking too much coffee, but the coffee reminds me of Katherine, and I can’t focus on the long reads in the weekend section.
I wonder if I should book an emergency appointment with Jill, try to move our Wednesday evening time together to tomorrow, but, as much as I appreciate her, and I believe in what we do together, I know she can’t really help me.
I haven’t spoken to Jill about any of my sexual issues since Sam has died—there seemed no more reason to focus on them. This is also one of the reasons why I didn’t want to start another relationship. Not only because I never want to go through the excruciating, paralyzing pain of someone being taken away from me again, but also to avoid needing to have the conversation I tried to have with Katherine.
I’m happy with how I am and I don’t want to be pressured into defending myself. The only conclusion I can possibly draw from this is that Katherine deserves someone who is more suited to her. I let myself go when I was with her—I practically ravaged her—and that’s on me. I let myself be intoxicated by her abundance of charm, by the warmth of her flesh. And she accepted my advances under the logical assumption that all would be reciprocated.
Maybe I should try writing her a letter. Perhaps I can articulate myself better, but I honestly don’t know what more information I could divulge about my inner workings. To me, this is just how it is now. I could dredge up the whole history of the intimacy between Sam and me, how it changed over the years, but, frankly, I don’t want to do that. That’s Sam’s and my private history and it doesn’t concern anyone else—not even someone I think I’m falling for.
Or maybe, I should just call Katherine. Even though the thought of speaking with her makes me nervous, I prefer it over dealing with the inadequacy of text messages. I check the clock on my phone. It’s almost eleven. I know she needed a lie-in, but surely she’s awake by now.
I don’t give myself more time to get worked up about it and dial her number. It rings a few times, then goes to voicemail. I don’t leave a message. She’ll know I’ve tried to reach her.
After trying to call her, I definitely can’t focus on the newspaper anymore. Because now I’m wondering if she heard her phone, saw who was calling, and decided not to pick up. It’s a possibility.
I decide to go for a walk before I drive myself crazy at home, which is already too filled with memories of her—I can’t even look at my couch without my skin breaking out into goosebumps.
After I pull a sweater over my head and glance at myself in the reflection of the window, I say, in hushed tones, “Why can’t you just do it, Hera? Why can’t you just give yourself to her?”
But I can’t. And it may very well be the end of us.
Just as I’m about to head out the door, my phone starts ringing. My heart skips a beat.
It’s her.
I pick up as quickly as I can. “Hey.” I instantly go all warm inside.
“Hey, you,” Katherine says. “Sorry I missed your call.”
“No worries.” The warmth spreading through me is quickly turning into something else. Desire.
“Was there a particular reason for your call?” Kat’s tone is different. She sounds more cautious than excited to be talking to me.
“I was wondering if you wanted to get together later today?” I ask. “I understand if you don’t,” I add, for some reason I don’t quite get. It must be the tension building in my gut, crushing that initial flash of desire.
“I do, Hera, but…” She pauses.
The tension coils into a knot.
“I need a day of doing absolutely nothing,” she says.
“Okay.” I should probably ask if she wants to do nothing with me, but by now, I’m afraid to.
“Maybe tonight?” she asks. “Shall I give you a call later?”
“Sure. Yes. That’s fine,” I stammer. As I say it, it’s as though I know in my heart of hearts, that she won’t call me tonight. And that, if I want to see her again, I need to force something. I need to snap out of this. “I would like to, um, talk to you. I need to say some things. Please.” I’m not sure why I’m suddenly pleading because I’ve no idea what these things that I so desperately need to say to her might be.
“Come by tonight?” she says. There’s a subtle difference in her tone—as though she wants to give me another chance. “Around six?”
“I’ll be there.”
“See you then.”
We hang up and I realize this is not the kind of phone conversation two people who have slept togeth
er would normally have—it’s the conversation of two people who have considerable doubts about whether they should be together.
I arrive at Kat’s empty-handed. At least that’s what it feels like, even though I’ve brought a bottle of wine. Apart from that, I only feel an inevitable emptiness inside of me. Like my brain is still hanging on to something my body already knows I’ve lost.
Kat hugs me after she’s let me in, and it’s not a quick, dismissive hug. Her arms around me feel surprisingly inviting. Maybe, with her, it’s the other way around. Perhaps her body is still willing to go through the motions to counteract the thoughts swirling in her mind.
“How was your day of doing nothing?” I ask.
Kat stares at me, as though instead of making small talk, I’ve just asked her to resolve all the mysteries of the universe.
“It was pretty awful, to be honest.” She sits and I follow her lead.
What a contrast with the last time we greeted each other, when she allowed me to be all over her only a few seconds after laying eyes on her. She’s dressed down in jeans and a wide, loose-hanging blouse. I can’t detect any make-up on her face.
“I guess that had something to do with me.”
“Should I get us a drink?” she says, ignoring my statement. “Do you want a beer?” She gets up again and rubs her palms over her jeans.
“Kat.” I reach out my hand to her. “Let’s just talk.”
“Okay.” She sits again. “I don’t really know where to start. I wouldn’t exactly call myself an expert at relationships.” She chuckles nervously.
“I wouldn’t call myself that either,” I say.
“Yet you were in one for how many years?” Kat stares straight ahead.
I angle myself toward her so I can at least see her body language. I get the impression she’d rather sit with her back to me.
“More than twenty years,” I say.