The Change Room

by Karen Connelly

  Expecting to find a student’s space filled with rickety furniture, Eliza was pleasantly surprised by the simple elegance of the sitting room. A thick Persian carpet covered almost the entire floor, a soft pile in blues and greys. The sand-coloured sofa along one wall was obviously expensive. Likewise the matching wing chair in front of the window and the sleek glass and wood desk with a computer and a neat pile of books on it. Eliza immediately deduced generous parents—or a huge student debt. A wall of bookshelves in dark wood had two tiers dedicated to small mementoes and framed photographs. Stepping toward them, she quickly realized the photographs were of Shar’s family, and turned away; she didn’t want to be reminded of families. Instead she gazed out the large window at the snowy expanse of park. She could see herself running across it. The longer she was in the room, the more Eliza’s boldness ebbed away. The apartment made everything too real. Surrounded by objects, photographs, books, the smell of her, her style, Shar resolved into what she was, neither memory nor fantasy, but an actual woman.

  What am I doing here, Eliza wondered. This was wrong. And stupid. She turned to look at the entrance to the hallway—she could just walk out, couldn’t she?—and saw instead an old painting, tall and narrow, beside the doorway. With little perspective, a walled garden filled the canvas from top to bottom. She had to step closer to see what kind of trees were in the background. The paint was faded, but she made out pomegranates, both ripe fruit and bright red blossoms. The only place Eliza had ever seen those trees was on Lesvos, but their fruit was still green when she left the island. And the painting wasn’t Greek; the writing on the upper left-hand side of the canvas flicked down, licks of ink in a language like Arabic.

  Narrow canals divided the rectangles of red flowers. Men in turbans tended not only the flowers but the water also, leaning over little streams, peering into them, diverting one of them with a spade. The canals formed a blue maze around and between the men and the flowers. It was a painting with the sound of water in it. She looked up; the Amazon was coming down the hallway.

  “Here I am,” Shar said lightly. She came into the room holding a tray laden with wine and water glasses, one for each of them, and a bowl of almonds and raisins.

  “This room is lovely,” Eliza said. “It feels like another country. Old European or something.” She sat down on the well-appointed sofa and closed her legs.

  “That’s what my mother says. She’s French, from Marseilles originally, but when I was little, we lived in a Parisian suburb, just this sort of place, a long hallway with a series of rooms, one big window in the sitting room. That’s why I took this apartment. It felt like home. There’s a great view to the west. Every room is bright.” She kneeled down in front of the small table, handed Eliza a glass of water.

  She popped an almond in her mouth, stood and crossed the room, flicked on her computer. Music rose through the air, not only in front of Eliza but behind her from two small wall speakers, complex rhythms on an oud or mandolin, tied up with a horn’s high silver ribbon. A woman began to sing in a Middle Eastern language. Shar sat down on a pillow in front of the sofa. “You can relax. I promise I won’t bite.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Okay, I promise I will bite, but not hard enough to leave any marks.” Eliza shook her head, a drop of smile on her lips. Shar drew an X over her chest. “Cross my heart. I said I would take off your boots for you, but first I want to look at them. Very nice boots.” She popped another almond in her mouth. Still chewing, she rose up on her knees and used her hand and elbow as a wedge to spread Eliza’s closed legs just that much, elbow to fist. Eliza did not re-close her legs. She just sat there, frozen. Shar sat back and took a swallow of wine. “Now pull your dress up to your thighs.”

  Eliza was almost offended by the command. But it worked. She slowly pulled up the thick sweater. Lap level. “Keep going,” Shar said. Eliza lifted her ass and hips, stopped when the folds of the skirt were resting on the tops of her thighs. The air came in; she felt the wet gusset of her tights and underwear.

  Shar turned her head sideways to get a better view between her legs. “Mmmm. Waaow. Gorgeous boots.” She ate a few raisins. “Sorry I don’t have grapes. They’re sexier.” She held out the bowl; Eliza shook her head.

  “So, tell me,” Shar continued, “have you ever had an affair before?”

  It was like being hit by an elastic band. Eliza snapped her legs closed. “No.”

  “You haven’t slept with anyone but your husband in…”

  “Ten years. Since we got together.”

  “Wow.” Shar lifted her eyes above Eliza’s messy hair. At the painting, maybe, those men in the garden. “I don’t know how anybody does it. Monogamy, I mean. It’s like…being a nun.”

  Eliza opened her mouth, set to defend the marriage contract, then clamped it shut. It was absurd to defend monogamy on the eve of her first infidelity. Instead, she drily asked, “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m wondering if I can go down on you without a piece of plastic.” Shar was serious. “I’m all about safe play. I’m clean, I was tested recently. And I’m extremely careful.”

  Piece of plastic, safe play, tested. These words intimidated Eliza so much that she had to ignore them. The apartment was another country; she could only pretend to be comfortable here. “If I have an STD, it was immaculate infection.”

  Shar laughed. “Or from the pool.”

  “You can’t get an STD at the pool.”

  “Well, you could, the way you behave in the change room.”

  Eliza pulled her sweater dress down to her knees. “That’s not how I usually behave at the pool.”

  “Hey, I’m joking. Sorry.” Shar raked both her hands through her thick hair. “I love the way you behaved.”

  “You know what, I think I might have made a mistake. This is…I…I should go.”

  “If you wanna go, go. I get it.” Shar held her gaze while languidly unfolding her legs. She stretched them out in front of her and leaned back on her hands like a kid watching TV. Eliza did not move a muscle. Shar smiled, generously, considering that she had just called Eliza’s bluff. Then she said, “Now pull your sweater up again. And pull down your tights.”

  “What are you going to take off?”

  “Me?” Shar took in a big swallow of wine; Eliza heard the gulp. “I’m going to take off your boots. At the right moment.” She eyed them, and the rest of Eliza’s legs. “Those tights are great. Thick. Is your pussy still nice and wet?”

  Eliza made a sound between laugh and cry.

  “I guess that means yes.” Shar smiled differently now. Her face had narrowed, somehow, with sly intention. “Spread your legs.” Eliza spread her legs. “Up on your toes a little. Lift your ass. Imagine taking in a nice big cock.” That shocked Eliza; it showed on her face. Shar whispered, “Oh, yes, I have a very big cock. A strap-on. You’ll love it. I will fuck you better than any man ever has.”

  Eliza swallowed. Lust and fear and distress brought sweat out under her arms. She didn’t want Shar to fuck her better than a man. She did not want to think about men; one man in particular needed to be shut firmly, impossibly, out of her mind. This was simply a…ladies’ night out, a drink with a friend, they got a little tipsy, and here they were. It wasn’t meant to have the same force as sex with a man; it was supposed to be just fooling around. She knew this rationalization was specious, yet she clung to it.

  Besides, it was different. For one thing, if Shar were a man, Eliza would already be naked; they would be fucking by now. She would be a fallen woman instead of one perched, legs awkwardly spread, at the precipice. Her whole lower body was thumping, as though her heart had liquefied and poured into her genitals. She said, “If I put my legs together, I think I could come. I’m basically vibrating down there.”

  “Down there! Name the parts, baby. Do you mean your cunt?”

  “You know what part I mean. Throbbing.”

  “Do you come easily?”

  “No. I almos
t never come without touching myself.”

  “You don’t like to give it up, huh?”

  “It’s not a matter of giving it up or not. I just…It takes a while.”

  “Keep your legs spread.” Eliza complied, writhing slightly. Shar said in a low voice, “It’s hard for me not to lean over and pull those tights off you. I love seeing the pussy for the first time. All wet and ready…How you doing?”

  Eliza just shook her head.

  “Touch yourself. Give yourself a little pat so she knows I’m coming.” Eliza gingerly placed her whole hand between her legs, and squeezed.

  This time Shar smiled differently. Playfully. Oddly innocent, considering the circumstances. But it was infectious. Eliza grinned, bobbed her eyebrows up and down. “So. Now what happens?”

  “Ma belle amie, il y a deux méthodes. The slow method and the fast method. As you can tell, I love the slow method. Why should those foodies have all the fun? I’ve started the slow sex movement. If you wait for an hour or two for an orgasm, the orgasm is really delicious.”

  Eliza let her head fall back against the sofa. “Shar, I do not have two hours.”

  “Another time. Tonight we’ll just have a snack. Speaking of which, you’re going to have to close your legs to pull your tights down to your knees.”

  “Say please.”

  “Please.” Shar undid the buttons of her white blouse and pulled the shirt off one shoulder. Eliza inhaled a deep breath and hooked her thumbs into the tightly woven material of her tights. She wriggled her hips and ass out of them, unconcerned about the rolls of fat on her belly. With a woman, even the first time, you didn’t have to wish you were thinner or pretend you were perfect. Most healthy women had flesh on them; it was natural, unremarkable except that her whole body felt remarkable right now, open, soft, tense, agitated for touch. She left her purple underwear on.

  In front of her, just like that, Shar’s shirt was off. Her bra dropped to the floor. Those lovely breasts! Eliza involuntarily gasped.

  “Keep pulling down your tights. And keep your legs open. I need to be able to see you.”

  By the time Eliza had worked the tights down to her knees, she realized why Shar had made her keep her boots on. Because she couldn’t take off the tights. She was stuck.

  Sitting directly in front of her, Shar licked her hands like a cat and rubbed them up and down her nipples. “Don’t be shy,” she said. “Pull the panties down, too. I’ve never seen your pussy. Remember that day at the pool? I touched you, but I didn’t get to look.” Eliza pulled her underwear to her knees. “Keep your legs open at the same time.”

  Eliza spread her thighs against the elasticity of the tights; it was like doing an absurdly erotic resistance exercise.

  Shar’s voice dropped lower. “You’re going to have to work harder if you want me to get my fingers in there. Isn’t that what you’d like right now? Hold your knees open as wide as you can.” Eliza literally felt weak in the knees, but she performed her task.

  When Shar was satisfied, she crawled over, eye-level with Eliza’s quivering thighs. She slid her hands slowly along them, then slid the right one further, until the fingers came to her lips and pushed in between them. With her other hand, she spread Eliza’s labia. “Ooo-la-la. Look at that. So swollen!” She began to rub the dark red nub with her thumb. Eliza didn’t know where to send her eyes, to that expert thumb, to Shar’s face, or her gorgeous tits, the big hard nipples, or back to her own body. Shar slid two fingers across the whole glistening mound, found a good rhythm for rubbing and caressing and pressing every wet contour. Eliza couldn’t keep the quiver out of her thighs. Each exhalation of breath became a small cry. She stared down, mesmerized; one finger slid inside her slowly. She gripped it and whined to feel it pull out. Two fingers entered again and she pulled Shar’s hand against her and bucked against it. When a third finger slid in, she cried out. “Shhh,” said Shar. “Don’t scream.” She kept her fingers inside and massaged Eliza’s cervix while still flicking her thumb over her clitoris.

  How long did Eliza writhe around on Shar’s hand? A minute? Three? Ten? She had no idea. No thoughts; she was all body. She closed her eyes. Rising up, Shar came close to her face and whispered, “Don’t close your eyes. Watch me.” Eliza ignored her, and kept her eyes closed; she wanted to come. She lifted her hips up higher, pushed down. Shar’s voice was so sexy, so deep and pushy and soft, so unabashedly slutty, that each phrase was like another set of fingers, or a cock, or a tongue; each expression pulled the orgasm closer. When Shar said, “That’s it, nice and deep. Fuck my hand,” a ring of energy bloomed open inside Eliza and just as quickly began to close. She kept thrusting; she heard her breath become whimpering and was surprised to be coming so fast.

  Then Shar relaxed her arm. Stopped moving her thumb.

  Eliza cried out. Shar slid her fingers away and stroked her again, more slowly. For Eliza, the momentum was lost. For Shar, it was beginning in earnest. She caught Eliza’s angry eye, flashing wide and open, bluer than she had ever noticed, and grinned.

  “Don’t be grumpy, Madame Fleur. I think it’s time to take off your boots.”

  —

  As soon as they were naked and sprawled on the bed, Shar said, “Lift up.” Eliza raised her hips, the pillow slid under her. She would not have liked it if a man had positioned her this way. Strange. She was not herself. Shar was naked, too, acres of skin and muscle, her hair electric, a short mane tossing around her head as she leaned over Eliza, man-handled her. Woman-handled. She caught her ankles, spread her legs just so, lifted her knee. “So I can get in there,” she said. Eliza was pure attention. Shar murmured, “You look gorgeous right now. And your eyes! Your eyes are turquoise. Are you stoned?”

  “Utterly.”

  “On what?”

  “Lust. And confusion. Why do women ever have sex with men?”

  Shar laughed. “Because they’re men. I like men. They have a certain attraction. I mean, beyond their cocks.” She smiled wickedly. “But I have a lovely cock, too.”

  “So you said. I thought you were kidding.”

  “It’s always hard! Would you like to see my strap-on?”

  Eliza squawked, “No!”

  “Nothing to fear but fear itself,” Shar whispered, still grinning. “But I agree.” She sent her eyes wandering over Eliza’s body. “No need to be gluttonous. This is already a…feast.”

  It was like falling into the sea with an open mouth. Live-wired and snapping through Eliza’s flesh and mind was a single, happy certainty: She’s going to lick my pussy! She did not allow herself to calculate how long it had been since Andrew’s tongue had touched her there.

  She fell down the deep ravine of Shar’s spine, fell up, onto her big round ass curving in the air. Then she gasped (diving open-mouthed slowly into the sea) because Shar didn’t lick her. Shar took her own breast in her hand, arched her back and applied her erect nipple to Eliza’s clit. Rubbed, flicked, slid, pushed. Eliza doubled up the other pillow under her head to see better. She wanted to cry from the pleasure of it but she also wanted to watch, to remember it. No one had ever done this to her before.

  Shar switched sides, rubbed until both her breasts were wet. Her whole chest was slick and red. Then she slid her fingers inside and began to lick. For a long time (What is long? What is time?), she licked Eliza’s pussy teasingly. Then she began to kiss her, lips to lips, tentatively, gentle little kisses that ranged outward, to her thighs, where they turned to easy bites, not too hard, but sharp, before going inward again, back up and over her clitoris. Eliza was amazed. She could not remember the last time anyone had spent so much delicious, decadent time with her body. Well, actually, she could. Thalia had been like this, sometimes; different, but generous like this, languid, the flesh and its combinations unravelling and unravelling and unravelling, the maze inescapable. Eliza gave up trying to rush. After all, it might never happen again. She swivelled her hips, following the movement of Shar’s mouth, trying to get that roving
tongue where she needed it to be. Still kissing her, Shar slowly slipped her fingers out of Eliza’s pussy and let her hands range, too, over the expansive flesh, following the curves, reaching up to her breasts, her nipples. Eliza opened her mouth, inviting those fingers. Shar teased her there, too, sliding her middle finger in time with her tongue around and around the lips of the two openings, entering both only slightly. Eliza went still, trying to absorb the exquisite doubleness of pleasure. She let her head fall back. The room disappeared. She had never been so naked in her life. She spread her legs wider and moaned.

  Shar’s fingers left her mouth and slid down again. She rested her head and neck for a moment on Eliza’s thigh while her fingers kept the momentum going, flicking back and forth, inside, back and forth, inside, pressing deeper. Her tongue took over again, and flicked more quickly now. Her tongue knew how to keep time and find time and ignore time. Tongue out, rigid, Shar slipped fingers in Eliza’s pussy again, then in her ass (Which one? How many fingers did she have?) and began to shake her head, slowly at first, no no no. Eliza mouthed, then whispered, then cried, oh yes yes yes. Covering her own mouth was not a possibility. The cries of her children had long ago ended her own sexual cries. With her thighs clamped around Shar’s head and hands, she howled in time to the bucking of her hips. She hoped Shar could breathe.

  Shar hoped that her new neighbours wore earplugs. Or slept deeply. When Eliza’s legs fell open, she lifted her head, grinning again. “So. Did you come?”

  “What did you do to me?”

  Shar lightly bit the inside of her thigh. “Ma belle amie!” she said. “That’s just the beginning.” She put her head down again, tongue out, and began to lazy-circle around Eliza’s clitoris. At first Eliza was going to protest, but then—she didn’t. She just lay there, slowly moving her hips in time to Shar’s mouth and tongue. Within a few minutes, Eliza came again, more easily and not as noisily. Shar let her rest for a few minutes then lowered herself again.

  Six orgasms later—she counted each one carefully, on her clenching and unclenching fingers—Eliza said, “You’re just showing off now.”