She’s lost some of the baby fat she had in high school. A lot like you, as a matter of fact. (Oh, you looked great, by the way. I know I told you that—on my knees, on my back, on top of you, ha ha!—but you still make my heart go pitter-pat.) Hmm. I need to take a break from writing. My hand is getting cramped and a certain other area needs some attention. Be right back!
I set the letter aside and imagined Gina playing with herself. Was she using her fingers or her vibrator? What did she call it? Pinky? I pictured her dark, swollen pussy lips, slick with moisture as she masturbated.
My thoughts turned to Heather and my seventeenth birthday. I remembered how her breasts had bounced as I’d fucked her. Then I pictured her on her knees, sucking my dick with Gina. I had to reach for a handful of Kleenex in a hurry. I stifled a groan and blew a huge load into the wad of tissues.
My breathing slowly returned to normal as I cleaned up and reached for the letter.
Much better! I was thinking of that time on your birthday, with Heather and me. Remember how many times we did it? God! I’d almost forgotten those days, how much fun we had in high school. We
were so lucky. You were, especially. So many girls wanted to screw you. But you were mine! They were so jealous. I was happy to share, but Hands off, girls! He’s taken. Ha ha! God, we were so young then.
I mean, not like we’re old now, but you know what I mean. There’s a big difference between 17 and 20. Like, huge.
Anyway, now that I can think straight again… Did you take care of a certain problem too? I hate that you probably had to use your hand. I would’ve taken care of things for you if I’d been there. I’ve never been so jealous of Kleenex in my life. I probably shouldn’t get started again, or I’ll never finish this letter!
She went on to talk about Heather and how they planned to get together again. She wrote about her life too, about classes and friends. She knew I didn’t really like the sorority—I partly blamed them for our breakup—but she slipped in a few details. Regan was dating a new guy who wasn’t a Greek.
Things were going well so far. The sorority itself was planning a fall formal with a “brother fraternity” (wasn’t that redundant?). They had a bikini car wash fundraiser planned. She thought it was stupid, but she’d do it, she said.
I finished the letter and jerked off again, thinking about her and Heather together in Los Angeles. I could fly out and join them, I thought. That’d be fun. And neither of them would feel guilty in the morning.
The message was clear, and the little head agreed: I should forget about Christy and get back together with Gina. I picked up her letter and read it again from start to finish.
Afterward I sat at my desk and pulled out some stationery. I filled three pages front and back. I didn’t pour out my heart and confess eternal love, but I didn’t write about my daily routine either. Mostly I talked about the good times Gina and I had had together, from camp to high school to our trip to Europe. I also apologized for my first letter. I felt guilty for not taking more time and making it more personal. When I was done, I folded the pages and stuffed them into an envelope.
Chapter 16
The next evening I was reading in my studio when Christy tapped on the doorframe. I closed the book and held my place with a finger.
“What’s up?” I said.
She shrugged. “I was next door by myself and thought you might like some company.”
“Sure, whatever.” I opened my book and picked up where I’d left off.
She slid into the empty chair. “Whatcha reading?”
I showed her the cover.
“Sappho: A New Translation,” she read aloud. “A new translation of what?”
“Poetry.”
“Really?”
“Mmm hmm.” I went back to reading. Translation: leave me alone.
She took the hint and opened her sketchbook. She shifted in her chair to get a better view of me and began drawing.
I tried to ignore her.
After a while she stopped and simply looked at me. She wanted my attention. When that didn’t work, she nudged my foot with her toe.
I glanced at her briefly before returning to my book.
She nudged me again.
I crossed my legs the other way.
“Do you have a favorite?” she asked.
I didn’t look up. “Favorite what?”
“Poem.”
I held my place in the book and looked at her.
“Sorry. I was just curious. I just thought you might like to share.”
“Not really. No, wait.” I turned back several pages until I found what I was looking for. “Yeah, this is perfect for you.”
Why am I crying?
Am I still sad
because of my
lost maidenhead?
I gave her a flat look, not the least bit friendly.
She stared at her hands. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No, of course not.”
“Only… I feel like I have.”
I shrugged.
“It’s because of yesterday, isn’t it? When I went to church?”
“Nope,” I lied. “Didn’t bother me a bit.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why does it bother you?”
“It doesn’t. You’re you and I’m me. We’re different people.” Very different.
“Is it because I’m Catholic?”
“Is what because you’re Catholic?”
“Why you’re upset.”
“Why should I be upset?”
“Because… I thought… I mean…” She looked down again. “I guess I don’t know what I mean.”
I gazed at her with silent animosity.
“Sorry. I’ll let you get back to your book.”
“Thanks.” I opened it and found where I’d left off.
When she’d gone, I closed it for good and stared out the window at the dark sky. I sat for a long time, wondering why I’d been such an unmitigated ass.
I knew why, of course. I just didn’t want to admit it. I thought about it during my morning run on Tuesday and again on Wednesday. I thought about it between classes and at the gym. I was still thinking about it that evening when the phone rang.
Christy yelled up the stairs.
My thoughts were lost in the dark sky.
She appeared at the door. “Sorry to bother you. Phone.”
“Thanks.” I set my book aside and followed her down.
The phone in my room was Erin’s old one, a white Princess model with pink and yellow flower stickers on the handset. I kept it because it made me think of her and smile. I picked up the receiver and covered the mouthpiece.
“I got it,” I called to Christy.
She hung up the extension in her room.
“Hello?”
“Well, it’s about time.”
I smiled at the tone but frowned because I didn’t recognize the voice.
“Sorry, who is this?”
“Sara.”
“Um… I think you might have the wrong number. Who’re you looking for?”
“You! It’s me, your favorite dyke bitch.”
The penny dropped, but I decided to mess with her anyway. “Hmm, lemme see. My favorite dyke? Gertrude? No, she’s in Paris. Virginia? Uh-uh.
London, I think. Who else…?”
“Very funny.”
“Hey, Sara,” I said warmly. “How’re you? Where are you?”
“I’m fine. How’re you?”
“Good.” I kicked my door closed and flopped onto the bed. “I thought you moved to California.”