by Jenn Cooksey
I was drooling again, seeing her standing in the firelight; naked aside from the charm bracelet I’d given her and the sheer white thong that was essentially just for decoration, holding her dress in one hand. I squeezed my eyes shut again against the painfully tantalizing vision she was and nodding my head and pointing in the dress’s general direction I mumbled, “Yep, mm-hm, that’s the one…”
“Ooops,” she said, making my eyes pop open to see that she’d dropped her dress and flames were devouring it.
It was devious and it was wicked and it was totally on purpose. And it made me start to truly whimper.
“Wh-h-hy, Camie? Why are you doing this?”
“Why are you fighting me on this?”
“Wh—fighting you? Camie, I almost ra—”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Uh, yeah. I did.”
“No. You didn’t. Tristan, you can’t rape the willing and I was more than willing. I uh…just didn’t tell you I wa—”
“Nope. Nu-uh. You were not willing. You were as far away from being willing as Brandon is from being clean cut.”
“You’re wrong. I made up my mind when I woke up Saturday morning and I was planning for it to happen that night, Tristan. Planning. I just didn’t say anything to you because I didn’t know how and honestly, I thought it would make the whole day and party really awkward and also, I thought it would be better or more romantic or something if it was a surprise. But then I saw you take that shot with Mike in the kitchen so I scratched my plan because in the desert you told me you wanted to be sober for the main event. That’s why I started drinking too, but I promise, I was one hundred percent sober when I decided, I was one hundred percent sure and I was one hundred percent ready.”
“Be that as it may, Camie, I saw your face. You weren’t ready. You were petrified. And you said no. More than once! I mean do you remember how many times you told me to stop? Because I do! Five times, Camie! Five. And once should’ve been enough! Actually, you shouldn’t have even had to say it once… And I knew it! I knew it, Camie! I knew how hard it was getting for me to control my base desire to have you even when I was sober for Christ’s sake, and I should’ve never put us in that situation in the first place!”
“You didn’t, Tristan. I did. If I’d told you…if I’d just talked to you and let you know I was ready and wanted you to give me that gift, neither of us would’ve ever taken a drink that night and none of this bullshit would’ve happened! The whole thing, the last four, miserable weeks, all the hurt, anguish and heartbreak, all the confusion, all of it was my fault, not yours! And I wasn’t petrified, I was about to puke up my intestines and I desperately didn’t wanna puke them up on you!”
I didn’t know what to say. I was shaking my head in denial, not willing to let her, not even for a single moment, believe that she was at fault for even a minute part of this but everything she’d said made sense. I could see where she’d believe she was to blame because her argument was sound. It had merit. Then it occurred to me that everything that had happened could be summed up in one word. Communication. Or rather, a frightening lack of it. And we were both to blame. Equally.
Well, almost equally.
“I get what you’re saying, I do, but Baby, I won’t let you take the blame here because I am responsible. Regardless of the details and everything I didn’t know and that you didn’t know that was the result of a devastating lack of communication, ultimately, I’m still the one who has to be responsible. We can throw everything else out as non-factors because regardless of why you said it, you said rain and I didn’t call the game.”
She’d moved so that she was standing within arms of reach of me and as she looked into my eyes, I saw none of the hurt, anger, fear, repulsion, judgment, or accusation I was so sure I was gonna face in hers tonight. All that was there was grace. And love. So I took it. I took what she was giving to me as the free gift it was, and I didn’t argue with her or turn away from her when she walked into my arms and whispered, “But you did. Maybe not right away, but, you did.” Then she raised herself on her tiptoes as she brought my head down to hers and when our lips met and melded, she gave me her breath and I took that too.
And because the contents were no longer under pressure, Camie and I were without risk of bubbling over; free to enjoy the “champagne passion” we have for each other. I only wish that the without risk part carried over throughout the whole night, but, turns out that wasn’t gonna be in the cards. I’m also pretty sure God had been getting another really good chuckle at my expense with the wicked curve ball Camie would shortly be throwing at me in tonight’s game of Thunderdome. I mean, He had to know I would go down in this round, too, the big omnipotent jerk…
“Are you sure? I mean are you really, really sure?” I asked her in a whisper, looking into her eyes as we were lying on the blankets next to the fire, under the stars and full moon of a clear night sky, “Because once it’s done, there’s no going back and I can wait, so, you need to be sure.”
She nodded and with her voice not producing even the smallest quaver of indecision she said, “I’m sure. I wan—no. I need this…we need this.”
Finally assured of her certainty, I went back to kissing her, but cracking my eyes open to look above her head and the pillows, I pulled my essentials bag closer, mentally noting the idea that I would’ve made a phenomenal Boy Scout based on the fact that I’m always prepared, while I also went to reach for my little (don’t laugh), black iCat that was next to the bag that I’d had out here so I could listen to music without needing earbuds while I camped out. However, rather than making all the decisions myself, I stopped in mid-reach, looking at her again, and pulling my lips away from hers I asked, “Music or no music?”
“Um…music?”
I chuckled a little at her indecisive answer while completing my reach, then when I had the girls’ musical cousin in my hand; I turned it and my iPod on and brought up a playlist I’d began making on Halloween after I found out that I might be her first and that she might be mine. I scanned some of the songs but again decided to not leave her out of the process. “Shuffle or no shuffle?”
“Really, Tristan, can you just take this one? I think I’ve made enough life impacting decisions for one night.”
I grinned at her and the impatience in her tone to get things rolling that she didn’t even bother trying to hide and said, “The songs in this playlist are all pretty great so let’s have Jesus DJ for us.” Then I put the cat shaped speaker back where it was and clicked the play shuffle icon before looking down into her beautiful face and eyes that were filled with starlight and anticipation. I’d just barely gotten myself comfy again and had brought my lips to hers when the first song started, causing me to suddenly bury my face in her neck and my whole body to shake with laughter.
“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me!” She grumbled under me when she heard and recognized John Fogerty’s classic, hilariously upbeat, and ludicrously inappropriate for this moment baseball song, “Centerfield.” The whole song is about playing the actual game of baseball, but I mean the chorus is “Put me in coach, I’m ready to play today,” and another line is “You know I think it’s time I gave this game a ride,” and it goes on to describe him hitting a home run. And after we’d talked in my car the morning of Halloween, this song was the first to make the playlist…I mean I couldn’t not! “I’m finding it really hard to believe, Tristan, that Jesus would choose this song!”
“Well! He’s obviously got a warped sense of humor, granted, but, really good taste in music too?” I laughed and then looked at her and made a more serious attempt to get serious. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll be serious now…but Camie, come on, that was hysterical. You have to admit it…that was damned funny.”
“Ha. Ha,” she said and then started to giggle.
So that’s how we started. By the time we really got down to business however, the song was long over and neither of us were laughing or giggling. My whole body was still trembl
ing though. I’ll be perfectly honest here; I was beyond nervous. Nervous like I’d never been nervous in my entire life! Nervous about asking her out? Nope. Nervous about kissing her the first time? Mm-mm. Nervous when I got to see her naked for the first time? Nu-uh. Nervous about telling her the truth tonight? Not even that can compare to the nervousness I was completely wracked with, knowing that I was about to make love to her for the first time. And it would be the first time for that for both of us. Little did I know I would end up experiencing another first at the very same time.
I’m not even gonna try to deny that my hands were shaking so violently that when it came time for it, I couldn’t even hold onto the condom. I dropped it. Twice. My voice even cracked when I muttered, “Damn it” at my jittery ineptness. I finally managed to hold onto it though and stuck a corner of the wrapper in between my teeth to keep it still while I tore it open, but Camie came around to conscious thought right about then and seeing what I was about to do…well, she kind of freaked.
“Let me see that!” She demanded as she grabbed the condom out of my mouth to read the microscopic printing on the wrapper, and because I’d been clamping onto it as tightly as I was, my teeth came together so hard you heard the impact. Then she swore and literally threw that piece of my Boy Scout equipment into the water.
“What th—! Why did y—”
“We can’t use that, Tris—”
“Why the hell not?” I asked, being close to thinking in consonants and symbols again in my confusion. Then I reached for another one to see if they were expired or something, which I highly doubt…I mean I’m pretty fucking diligent about this shit, you know? “Camie, there’s nothing wrong wi—”
“I’m allergic to latex, Tristan.”
It took me a second to process what she said and what it meant, and the very first thing to pop into my mind once I did was FML. Seriously. Fuck my life. That’s just so fucked up and surpasses unfair by so much that I don’t even know where to begin! How in the fuck am I supposed to make love to my girlfriend when she’s allergic to LATEX?! Wait…I know the answer to this one…YES! Non-latex condoms! Of course! Then I thought, ohhoho, I bet You’re just loving this, aren’t You, you sick, twisted creator of everything including deathly allergies! Because, of course, this means no making love for the first time tonight for us. Why, you ask? Well, because, we’re in the fucking boonies and it’s the middle of the goddamned night so there won’t be any running to the local pharmacy for the modern medical miracle of latex fucking free condoms. FUCK! So this is what? Not rain…I mean we’ve been rained out for weeks, but now the sky is clear, the sun is shining and the goddamned birds are even singing (The Eagles are on the iPod at the moment), and I have to call the game on account of latex?! Which put me right back to FML.
“Wait…I thought you said you were allergic to banan—” I stopped myself when I made the connection. Bananas = Rubber = Latex. Bananas have a similar protein that’s found in natural rubber which is where latex comes from and lots of times, if someone is highly allergic to one, they’re highly allergic to the other, but not all the time so I looked at her and asked, “You only said bananas, Camie, why didn’t you tell me about latex too?” I mean I could’ve put it together had I been thinking, but at the time, I was more concerned with how many ways I could kill pure Evil.
“Really? Like what was I gonna say? Hey, I know we’re broken up and all and sex is totally off the agenda now, but, just in case, you should know I’m allergic to latex? Not to mention we were in mixed company when I told you about the banana part, you know?”
“Good point,” I conceded, realizing that I probably would’ve seriously freaked out if she’d mentioned something like that in front of Evil, thinking that she was giving him the pertinent information instead of me. I looked back down at her and sighed, “I wish I would’ve known earlier though…we can’t do this tonight, Baby, I’m sorry.”
“What?! Why?!”
Why?! Did she just seriously ask me why? I think she did… “Because you’re allergic to latex, Baby, and that’s all I got! I am not about to risk your life just so we can have sex tonight!”
Oh. My. Fucking. God. When I said I wouldn’t risk her life, it hit me. I would’ve killed her if she hadn’t caught me in time. We left the hotel tonight without thinking about it and not only did I leave my baby book behind, but she left her purse and overnight bag, which means she doesn’t have an EpiPen and with the distance we are from the closest hospital, she’d need two. Then I thought back some more and wanted to throw up. I could’ve killed her the night I almost raped/not raped her. I had it on. And I was right there, about to force my way inside. We were both so drunk I don’t think I would’ve known what was happening until it was too late.
That’s perfect.
Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey, but umm…I raped your daughter and killed her in the process because even drunk out of my mind, I’m uber-anal-retentive about using protection. Would you like me to load the shotgun for you or would you prefer to do it yourself?
Then I added another attempt on her life I’d inadvertently made…I gave her a banana with her breakfast the morning after the accident. She considered eating it too. I saw her indecision when she saw it and that’s what made me ask what was wrong. Jesus Christ, I’ve almost literally killed the girl I don’t wanna live and breathe without three fucking times while trying to keep her safe and healthy…
“Yeah, I know I am, clearly, but why can’t we still have sex tonight?”
Now, anyone who’s ever been fishing in a boat knows that when you catch a fish, it’s a good idea to have a sturdy net handy to help you get your catch in the boat. It allows you to protect the fish in the battle of landing it and allows you to remove the hook safely without causing any permanent damage to you or the fish. Basically, it’s for ease and safety when you’re planning on releasing the fish, not mounting it on the wall. I look at condoms in a very similar way. I really enjoy fishing but I don’t ever wanna mount my catch on my wall so I’ve always made sure I take the precaution of having a net. I’ve just always bought latex nets.
“What part of that’s all I got are you not grasping? I mean really, Camie, what do you want me to do? Run up to the kitchen real quick and wrap my dick in Saran Wrap? Providing of course there’s no latex in it?!” I honestly don’t know if there is… Shit, I’m gonna be reading labels on everything from now on!
“Oh my Go—no…” she said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.
“Then what? ‘Cause I’m tellin’ ya, Baby, unless one of us can produce a latex free condom out of thin air, this ain’t happenin’, and last I checked, neither of us has that kind of magical power.”
“Well, I was um…thinking of just doing it the old fashioned way, Tristan…you know, without a condom.”
……… “Are you insane?!?”
“I kind of thought you might react like that…”
“Uh-huh! Yeah, ya think?! You wanna go fishing without a net! You’re suggesting we have unprotected sex, Camie! I mean, that’s seriously what you’re suggesting here, isn’t it?”
“Well, no…yeah, sort of…but um…can I ask you something kinda personal first?”
I stared at her, being at a loss for words…like she needs to ask permission to ask me anything, personal or not! I mean really, has she not been here for the conversation and events of this evening thus far?! But shaking my head and being kind of afraid to hear what she might ask or suggest next I replied, “Uh, yeah, of course…ask away, Merrill.”
“Well, you’re pretty good about getting tested, right?”
I frowned. “Uh, yeah…?”
“And when was the last time you did that?”
“February first,” I answered automatically.
“Feb—why did you—oh God…you did have s—”
I cut her off immediately when I realized she’d misunderstood and thought I’d gotten tested because I’d had sex with someone who wasn’t her since the last time with Sa
mantha almost six full months ago.
“No no no no…habit, remember? First of the month every month except if the first falls on a Sunday and, of course, New Year’s Day because it’s a holiday. It’s just easier to remember to do that way.” But that time it corresponded with my last doctor appointment when I decided I’d most likely stalk The Little Mermaid if she were real. I know it’s not cheating, but is it totally deranged if you’re thinking about a cartoon mermaid that you’d like to metaphorically troll for and seriously land in your boat when porn doesn’t do it for you? I hope not.
“Oh. Well, in that case, I’d just like to say, thank God,” she sighed in pure relief, “So…um, I’m assuming you’ve been passing?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, so why do we need a condom? If you’re clean and obviously I am too, we really don’t need to wor—”
“Oh hell, hell no! I’m not worried about that, Camie, I’m way more fucking concerned with not getting you pregnant!”
“But the chance of that happening is teeny ti—”
“The hell it is! Teeny tiny my ass…do you know what the statistics are for pregnancy occurring during unprotected s—” The numbers are staggering. I swear I read somewhere that in every one thousand times a couple has unprotected sex, they’ll get pregnant one billion times. Yeah, so I’m exaggerating, so what. I’m fucking freaked by just the thought.
“Actually, we are protected…I’m on birth control pills.”
“What?!”
“I’m on birth cont—”
“I heard you! You’re on bir—bu—but—since when?!”
“December seventh.”
“December?! The beginning of December?!”
I looked at her, being stunned stupid again. She kinda winced and nodded and then said, “Yeah…I think maybe that’s another one of those things I should’ve told you about earlier…”
“Uh…uh-huh, yeah, that might’ve been nice to know, and kinda explains some things,” I said and absentmindedly stared at her boobs while thinking about her weight gain, “But umm, it doesn’t change anything tonight, Camie. I’m sorry, but, pill or no pill, we’re not having sex tonight…I can’t risk getting you pregnant. I can’t,” I told her, firmly shaking my head and then kissing her on the forehead before gently removing her leg from around me so I could roll onto my back and blow out a very long awaited, very long suffering sigh.