“I helped my parents pay off their condo a year after I bought my place. That’s how I knew I’d made it. It’s the reason my mom’s retiring. She worked for forty-three years. Can you believe that? She got a job as a cashier when she was in high school and never stopped working for longer than two months, even when she had kids. I think she was going to work until the day she died. But then she realized she didn’t have rent or a mortgage, she’s sixty-two, and she could probably stop. We don’t retire in my family. Nobody would retire in their thirties. Nobody would leave a good job without another one lined up.”
“I had no idea.”
“They don’t know what to think about me. Not the gay thing, or even the butch thing exactly. But the nerd thing. Nobody in my family went to college. My sister’s a waitress. My brother works in construction with my dad. And then there’s me, a dyke who hired people to reno her house and who spends all day in front of a computer. If you ask my dad, I have no practical life skills, and in a lot of ways that’s true. It’s confusing to them that I can make stupid things for people’s smartphones and make all this money when they worked their whole lives doing actual necessary things for a fraction of the pay. I feel uncomfortable about it too.
“And it’s my presentation too. I wore a bow tie to Christmas once and everyone still makes fun of me for it. In my everyday life, having this gentleman-style with pocket squares and big glasses means I’m sexy. I’m not bragging, but I’m a well-dressed masculine of center lesbian geek, and, well…I do all right in San Francisco. I never really liked how I looked growing up and I thought that’s just how it is. After college I was still cutting my own hair and wearing my brother’s old jeans like I always had. Then Laurie convinced me to get a tailored suit for her sister’s wedding right after we moved to California, and when I saw myself in it, I thought, wow, I’m not so bad. I got into men’s fashion and liked how I could look. But back home? My family thought I was ridiculous, trying to look like some snotty rich guy. They thought it was about distancing myself from them. I only pack jeans when I go home now. They just don’t know what to do with me.”
“My family doesn’t either. They cannot figure out why I would want to have a career that requires me to use my body instead of my brain.”
“You use your brain.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
“You do.”
I squeezed her forearm. She patted my hand.
“When you were a little kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?” I asked.
“I wanted to make things. It didn’t really matter what, just make things. But my aptitude for it is limited to programming. When I’ve tried to make physical things, they look like crap. What about you?”
“Oh, a ballerina, but I think that’s just because I didn’t know you could dance in any other way as a job. I danced my whole childhood. I have great turn out, but I’m not much of a ballerina.” I attempted to show her how I could point my toes apart with my heels together. This was impossible to demonstrate while seated in the car. “Then I was too punk rock for dance in high school. Thank God I found aerials, I really missed moving around.”
“We both got to live our dreams, huh?”
“I am, but do you get to make things?” I nudged her.
“I did a lot more in the beginning. Now I manage a company where other people make things.” She scratched her head. “I think that’s when things stopped being as fun, when I ended up managing a whole company by myself.” Kris sighed. “But that’s enough processing for my birthday. Now it’s time for fun.”
And fun was what we had. We checked into a cute inn, where we had a suite with a king-size bed and a couch that folded out, just in case. We wandered around downtown Santa Cruz for a bit our first night, got some pizza, and went to a bar where live music was playing. We were exhausted when we made it back to our room. We both stretched out on the bed mid debate about sleeping arrangements, and before I knew it, we’d slept through the night.
The next morning, we sampled the breakfast spread at the inn and spent most of Kris’s birthday hanging out on the beach, checking out the sea lions near the boardwalk, and going on rides at the amusement park. We grabbed sandwiches, played a round of mini golf, and headed back to our room. Kris looked the most relaxed I’d ever seen her.
“Vacation looks good on you,” I said as we plopped onto the bed. Her short hair was messy from the wind and her skin slightly pink from failure to reapply sunscreen, but she’d never looked better in my eyes. She’d left her phone charging in the room all day, and her face rested in an easy smile.
“It feels good too.” She yanked off her loose tank top, leaving her in men’s shorts and a sports bra. “But it also feels sweaty. Who knew it’d be this hot in April?”
“I like you sweaty,” I said and ran a hand over her stomach.
She smiled—oh man, those crooked teeth—and put a warm, strong hand on my lower back, pulling me toward her. “I like this dress.” She moved her palm up and down the curve of my hip, my cotton sundress inching upward as she did.
“You like it because it’s a halter dress and I’m not wearing a bra,” I said.
She slid her palm up my body to the side of my right breast, exposed ever so slightly. “It helps,” she said. “Whenever the wind blew in, your nipples popped up.” She circled one with her thumb. “And I could watch you bounce as you walked.” Kris pinched my nipple through the fabric. “But mostly, I could watch your ass. You don’t usually wear a thong.”
“It’s your birthday. And it looks better with this dress.” I reached behind my neck and untied the knot holding up my dress, but didn’t pull it down.
“You didn’t have to. It wasn’t going to be that kind of trip.” She edged the fabric down past my collarbone, but no farther.
“Yet here you are, staring at my body, touching me, making me wet.”
“I should have asked first.” She moved away.
“Ask now.”
“Phoenix, can I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
She gave me a long, slow kiss. It started gently, grew more urgent, and ended as we nipped at each other’s lower lips.
“Can I take off your dress?”
“No, but I’ll take it off for you.” I rolled her onto the bed and peeled off my sundress, tossing it to the floor. I straddled her and ran my hands over her body. She reached for my thighs, but I swatted her hand away playfully.
“You have to ask,” I said.
“Can I touch you?”
I smiled. “Not yet.” To tease her more, I touched my own breasts. A strangled sound escaped her throat. I responded by slipping my hand into my skimpy underwear and working my clit.
“What can I do?”
“You can take off your clothes, and I’ll touch you.”
“But it’s my birthday.”
“Exactly. You get to enjoy the show, and I’ll make you come.”
“But—”
“It’s not eight thirty. We’re not at home. Your requirements don’t apply. I’m in charge right now. Do you want what I’m offering or not?” I asked her, doing my best to sound like a sassy top.
She sat up halfway, took off her sports bra, and flashed a hint of a smile. “I’m not great at not having control.”
“I’m offering to get us both off. Do you want me to?” I asked.
“I can’t boss you around at all?”
“I don’t want that tonight. But you can touch me. If you ask nicely and I give you permission, you can touch me.”
She looked amazed. “I don’t know the last time I had sex without running everything.”
“We don’t have to. If you aren’t comfortable, we don’t need to have sex.” It was a little challenging to say that with my almost-naked body positioned directly on top of her crotch.
“I want to. It’s just strange for me, but I want to.”
“Try to relax. Now, I want to do all sorts of things to you. Should I ask first about each?”
/>
“You don’t need to ask, just start slow. Can I touch you yet?”
“You aren’t even naked. No.” I cupped one of her breasts in each hand and buried my face in her cleavage. Using my mouth and my hands, I played with her chest until she began to moan.
“Now you should be naked,” I said and scooted off of her.
“Why did you stop? I was enjoying that,” she grumbled as she shed the rest of her clothes.
“I wanted you motivated to get undressed quickly.” I climbed on one of her thighs. “It worked. Ready for your reward?”
“Do I get to touch you?”
I nodded.
She exhaled exaggerated relief and reached for my breasts. I returned my hands to hers, and we mirrored each other’s touch. As we did, I rocked my pussy against her thigh, pressing one of my legs up against her cunt as I did. She ground against me in response.
Slowly, I moved a hand from her nipple to her clit, taking my time to stroke other neglected parts of her on my way. I angled my hand between my leg and her wet lips, and touched her as she moved her hips against me.
“Unfair,” she said, her breathing ragged. “You’re still wearing that thong.”
“You come first. Then it comes off.”
She groaned. I couldn’t keep my balance and rearranged one arm on the bed to hold myself up as I touched her. I did my best to suck on her nipples, but it was impossible to keep her in my mouth with all the writhing. I marveled at her. Kris was so gorgeous, so sexy, and no one got to see her like this. No one got to make her come unless she was ordering them to. This sight of her, helpless and about to come and not running the scene, was one for me alone. I flicked her clit a little faster, pressed my thigh against her firmly, and watched her dissolve.
Kris wasn’t especially loud, but she was much louder than she usually was. Unlike me, she didn’t like touching to continue after she came, so once her cries softened, I released her. I put my head against her chest and listened to her hammering heart.
“Wow,” she whispered.
“It’s fun to let go sometimes, huh?”
“Maybe once in a while. Don’t get any ideas, though. This is not a thing that’ll happen every week.”
“Are you kidding? I love getting ordered around and roughed up. It’s been two days and I’m starting to miss it.”
“If that’s what you’re hoping for tonight, you’re going to need to give me some time.”
“Nah. But tomorrow you better at least pull my hair.”
She wrapped her fingers in my wild mane and yanked. I smiled at her.
“Well, now I’m inspired.” I wiggled out of my (now soaking) thong and handed it to her.
“I can’t believe you’re offering me this during the few minutes in the day when I’m incapable of doing anything about it. Give me a second, Phe.”
“Nope.” I batted my eyelashes and straddled her thigh again and started grinding on her. “Touching you turned me on so much I think I can come in about a minute.”
She pinched my nipples, hard like I liked it, and then tried to angle her hand to my pussy. Before she could, I was already tipping over the edge, rocking fiercely against her. She reached her hand back up, twisted both my nipples, and I came. I shook against her, clenching her thigh between both of my own. Then I fell beside her, panting.
Kris stroked my head and brushed stray tangles of hair from my face. “I didn’t expect that. It’s been a long time since I let go of control.”
“It’s not something we’ve done before. Spontaneous and outside of our dynamic.”
“It’s not something I’ve done since I had a girlfriend,” she said quietly.
“Was it okay?”
“It was excellent. I’m having the best birthday I’ve had in years.” She pulled me to her. With my face pressed against her bare sternum, she continued. “I’m having a good time with you. I know you’re going on tour soon, so there’s an end date, but I want to enjoy every minute I have with you. I’m a little sad I wasted time working so much when it drained me. I don’t want to waste anymore moments.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to make a change about work. I’ve decided for sure. I’m going to sell. And I’m going to have more fun.”
I felt simultaneously bursting with joy about this and also weighted with sadness. On the one hand, I wanted Kris to be happy. I was glad to be a part of her finding her way. On the other, I didn’t want to be the cute little artist who woke her up to fun. I didn’t want what was happening between us to simply teach her a lesson, and I didn’t want to be gone by the time she found balance. I wanted to be the one to see her happy and be happy with her.
But it was her birthday, and that was plenty of processing for one night, so I cuddled up to her and said only, “Happy birthday.”
Chapter Twenty-one
The rest of our vacation in Santa Cruz was as great as the beginning had been. I didn’t want to go home, both because I was having a wonderful time and because I was nervous about rehearsal starting the next day. On our way home, I got that horrible back-to-work feeling I’d gotten so many Sunday afternoons in my adult life. I felt irritable and tired and almost nauseous with dread.
Arriving at the studio for training the next day with Sasha was bizarre, because Sasha was completely perky. “This is most exciting moment in my life,” she said.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I said.
When we walked in, the giant open room was rigged for our performance. A dozen long pieces of red fabric hung from the sixteen-foot ceilings all the way to the floor. That floor was covered in crash mats. At the far end of the room, a few other apparatuses were set up, including a trapeze, a lyra hoop, and a rope.
Most of the other cast members were already there. The star, Mirah, had been the star in an earlier version of the show that debuted in London the year before. It had been a much shorter take on the story, just a mermaid and a prince twirling around aerial silks, with lighting representing the ocean and the land. Sasha and I had watched the videos of it close to fifty times in preparation.
Mirah looked bored as she stretched. Despite the fact that the story wasn’t Disney, they’d picked a lead with deep auburn hair, gigantic eyes, and a waist so small it looked like you could break her in the middle. Mirah had not been an aerial performer before being cast in the London version, and the show had initially gotten flak from British aerial dancers annoyed that casting was about looks more than skill. Mirah was an actress, though, with actual stage credits before she tried to shimmy up silks. Though the London show didn’t have much by way of inventive choreography or technique, it was pretty. Mirah had been training for the past year, and now was perhaps more able to anchor a show that spent half of the time in the air.
The prince from the London show—another attractive actor without an aerial background—hadn’t joined this one. His aerialist replacement was trying to talk to Mirah, making her look even more bored. Another actor, playing both the human father of the prince and the mer-father of the mermaids, was chatting with the guy playing all the other male roles. One was graying and one was balding, and both were incredibly fit. Sasha whispered that they were both well-known aerialists on the East Coast, but I wasn’t paying much attention.
I was looking at our mermaid castmates and the actress playing the both the mer-grandmother and the angel, who was probably no older than Kris. The mermaids were giggling and nervous, all beautiful, young, and perfectly made up, wearing an expensive brand of workout clothes, with matching headbands over their blond or light brown hair. Sasha and I were wearing ridiculously patterned leggings and crop tops over our sports bras. Their headbands probably cost more than our whole outfits. Even the “grandmother” wore lipstick and size-two designer stretch pants.
“Were we supposed to put on makeup for this?” I asked.
Sasha rolled her eyes. “We’d just sweat it off. You know that.”
“Then why are they?”
/> “Oh, they’re all LA people. You know how it is.” She waved the thought away.
I vaguely did from Connie’s descriptions and my occasional visits. She found the fashion and beauty culture there absurd. Though I identified pretty strongly as femme, I was also a femme in the Bay Area with a second-wave feminist mom. I loved my waterproof mascara with a passion and enjoyed lipstick, but half the time I skipped foundation. My wardrobe was almost exclusively exercise stuff and thrift store dresses and skirts. Though I looked cute and even sexy, I only looked polished when I was performing. These women looked like they were in an ad.
Not to mention that that every single one of them was really, really white. My skin wasn’t especially dark—my foundation was always in the “medium” range—but I was noticeably darker than any other woman there. And though I was pretty petite myself, my butt was probably the size of two of theirs put together.
My horror must have shown on my face. “So they got fancy,” Sasha said with a shrug. “What’s the big deal?”
“Am I the sea witch because my ass is bigger than everybody else’s? Or because I’m the only one who’s not whiter than paper?”
“The sea witch is the only one other than the lead who gets an aerial solo! They might be more dolled up for rehearsals, but you got the best female role other than her.” She nodded at the ethereally pretty Mirah. “And I’m her understudy. We got cast and we know what the fuck we’re doing. Act proud about it.”
With that, she sauntered into the middle of the room and started stretching dramatically, showing off her unusual flexibility.
I trailed after her, stealing uncomfortable glances at everyone around me.
Damien and his team arrived shortly after we did. This included the purple-haired choreographer, Geoffrey. In addition to being a dance choreographer of many years, Geoffrey had been an aerialist, and had put on a few interesting, experimental short shows in New York. Sasha nudged me when he walked in. He was one of those “right people” Sasha and I would meet on tour.
We began with Damien breaking down the show more thoroughly for all of us. His vision was this: the show opened with a gorgeous, lengthy “underwater” aerials scene with all merfolk, followed by Mirah hearing about humans from her older sisters, who’d been allowed to visit the surface, and the sisters aerially acting out the things they saw. Then she and her grandmother discuss humans and how they got to go to heaven after death, unlike mermaids. Mirah then goes to the surface, sees a prince, rescues him from drowning via elaborate silks duo act, and watches him be comforted on “land” (a trapeze) by a human girl. Then Mirah goes to the sea witch and asks to become human, followed by a silks sequence from my sea witchy self. Next was a dramatic sequence in which our mermaid lead gets human legs and a shot at a soul if the prince marries her, but she loses her voice. Then intermission.
Certain Requirements Page 19
