Rewind Boxed Set

by Rowan Shaw

  "Remember what we talked about. You should call her," Adrien added and bent down to put on his black leather shoes.

  "I don't know what to say."

  He raised his head toward me. "Just ask her to hang out."

  I hadn't seen Charlotte since that night the four of us had sex. That was five days ago—five days of me jerking off in the shower thinking about her every morning. After our foursome, she'd left late in the afternoon, looking absolutely gorgeous in her disheveled state, and she'd kissed me goodbye on the lips, telling me to call her when I wanted an encore.

  As if sensing my hesitation, Adrien narrowed his eyes at me and stood. "Noah, I was there to watch you two climax at the exact same time—more than once in one night. I think you're past the stage of acting shy around her. And I don't want you staying here moping all day."

  "I haven't been moping. At least not this week."

  He rolled his eyes. "She gave you her number, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "Call her or text her."

  "ENSA is starting today." I gestured toward Raphaël to make a point.

  As a response, Raphaël shouldered his bag containing his laptop. "I'm spending the day working on my thesis at Adrien's studio, actually. We don't have any conferences or anything going on today."

  "She's probably busy with her thesis, too. Or maybe she's working today."

  Adrien pursed his lips. "I’ve never known you to be so timid, Noah. Just one text. It's not that hard."

  When I saw he wasn't going to let it go, I gave a long sigh. "Okay. Are you done yet?"

  "Yeah, we have to go. But I'll be texting to check if you did it."

  Ugh, he was so stubborn.

  The two of them walked out the door, and the moment they were gone, deep silence surrounded me, mixed with an intense sense of loneliness. I did promise Adrien I wouldn't let myself fall into sadness, so I retrieved my phone from their room and sat on the bed to text Charlotte.

  Me: Hey, it's Noah. What are you up to today?

  Charlotte: I just spent the last three days working nonstop on my thesis. I'm exhausted and resting. You?

  Me: Nothing much. I was wondering if you'd like to come to the Père Lachaise cemetery with me.

  Charlotte: Is that a goth thing? You're not going to ask me to fuck on one of those gravestones, are you?

  I stared at the screen. What in the world?

  Me: No. Believe it or not, but I've actually never been there. And I've never had sex in a cemetery either.

  Charlotte: How ungoth of you! Next, you'll tell me you've never seen the Catacombs or never had sex while listening to The Cure.

  I wasn't sure what kind of stereotypes she'd heard, but I'd never done any of those things.

  Me: I did visit the Parisian sewers.

  Charlotte: Gross. Any tomb you want to see in particular?

  Me: Oscar Wilde's, among others.

  Charlotte: Sure. You're going to kiss his tomb?

  Me: No, why would I do that?

  Charlotte: Many people did. They had to put a glass around it to protect it. You'll see.

  Me: People are weird...and disgusting.

  Charlotte: What time do you want to meet?

  Me: Is two hours from now good for you?

  Charlotte: Yep, see you then.

  Chapter 14

  NOAH

  When I arrived at the cemetery, Charlotte was already there waiting. She sized me up, from my platform boots and trench coat to my platinum blond hair that I had brushed into a low fade comb-over. As usual, I'd outlined my eyes with mascara and dark eye shadow. Her gaze lingered before she smiled and slipped her arm underneath mine, then kissed me on the cheek. "You're late."

  "Only ten minutes."

  "Rude nonetheless."

  I gave a contrite grin and led her past the open gate down the aisles of stones. All the trees were bare, the sky still cloudy and gray, giving the place a gloomy look that fit it well. When Charlotte shivered in spite of her long coat, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders to warm her up.

  "You do realize Oscar Wilde's tomb is all the way in the back, right?" she asked, her lips turning slightly blue from the cold. I wondered if she was wearing a light dress under her coat again. I'd only managed to spot knee-high boots; the rest was hidden underneath. I closed my eyes when thinking about the dress she wore that day and how Adrien had taken it off her before laying her down on the bed and penetrating her. It was the hottest thing I'd ever seen, and I'd sure experienced my fair share of sex.

  "I don't mind walking," I replied. "We have time...if you don't freeze by then."

  "I'll be fine. Let's go see Molière's tomb first. He's closer."

  I walked with her along the alleys until we reached the Monuments aux morts—a temple-like sepulcher for unidentified dead Parisians. The white façade was large, with various statues that looked desperate and lost.

  "This is so depressing," Charlotte commented.

  "I think it's pretty."

  "Of course you would think that," she replied.

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "Goths love sad stuff."

  "Wow, judgmental much?"

  "Am I wrong?"

  "It depends on who you ask. Also, I never said I was goth."

  She looked me up and down. "Please! If you're not goth, then neither is Morticia."

  "Pfff. I'm far from being that pretty."

  She laughed, her gaze burning into my skin as it roamed my face. "Are you fishing for compliments, Noah? Because I'm pretty sure you know you're breathtaking."

  I pursed my lips, though her comment made me feel good. "No, I'm just saying."

  To shut her up, I pulled on her arm and led her toward the mausoleum of Heloïse and Abélard. I told Charlotte they were a couple pulled apart à la Romeo and Juliet—Heloïse forced to become a nun, Abélard a monk.

  Charlotte gave me a look. "Getting better and better. Remind me to bring tissues next time you offer to take me somewhere."

  I tried to hide a smile. "It's romantic. They were reunited after death."

  "That's not romantic. It's terrible." She looked horrified.

  "I guess back then, queers weren't the only ones not allowed to fall in love," I pointed out.

  Charlotte made a face and grabbed my hand to drag me forward, almost making me fall.

  "I didn't mean to upset you," I apologized.

  "We're in a cemetery," she said. "I guess sad stories are expected."

  We kept strolling around until she let out a cry of disappointment, nearly making me jump out of my skin.

  "What?" I asked, holding my hand to my chest as I tried to calm my racing heart.

  "Look at Molière's tomb. It's just some rock casket."

  I shrugged. "It seems fine to me."

  "And it's disgusting. Look at that! It needs some serious cleaning."

  It was true the rock was black in some areas, and the tomb was slightly underwhelming, but it was better than what most people got after death. Her outrage made me laugh.

  "At least he had a decent burial. That's more than most playwrights and actors of the time could say."

  "Right," she sighed, shaking her head at the stone.

  "I'm sure we'll see better ones," I whispered, leaning closer to her.

  We continued our walk in silence. She never dropped my hand. Our gloves prevented me from feeling the soft skin of her palm, but the touch was comforting nonetheless. It took a while to find Oscar Wilde's grave. A large rectangular block made of some yellow stone, it was definitely larger than Molière's. The statue on the side evoked Indian and Egyptian art, though I wasn't sure if that was what the artist was going for. The stone was covered in lipstick.

  "Look at that!" I exclaimed. "They desecrated his tomb. Vandals."

  Charlotte laughed. "I don't think he would have minded. Do you?"

  "How would I know? Besides, I thought the tomb would be different."

  "Different how?" she asked as I raked my ha
nd through my hair. The wind was getting worse, making us both shiver. She tightened her coat around her neck.

  "I don't know," I replied. "I'd heard that some people wanted it to show homo-erotica."

  "That would have been interesting."

  "Yeah, well, one wouldn't want to shock the bigots, now would they?" I lamented.

  "The tomb is still gorgeous, though."

  I had to give her that, but still. It angered me that the sculptor had tried to conform to heteronormative standards.

  "When I die, I want my tombstone to say, 'Noah Perrin, eccentric bisexual who did it both ways just to piss you off.'"

  Charlotte burst out laughing. She truly was beautiful—with high cheekbones and plump lips that expanded into a mind-blowing grin.

  "You're so silly." She tapped my arm. "Come on, let's go."

  She jerked her chin at the aisle, and we continued our tour in silence. I was surprised she was so quiet. She was so talkative the other times I'd seen her. But she barely said a word the rest of the stroll, as if she was soaking in the peaceful vibe of the place.

  "Would you like to go get some coffee?" she asked when we were about to exit. "It's really cold. I'd like to warm up."

  "I'm supposed to meet my friend Nour in a little while," I said, feeling bad for having other plans. "Do you mind if I text her so she can join us?"

  Charlotte shrugged. "The more the merrier."

  I pulled out my phone, then glanced at Charlotte after receiving a confirmation from Nour. "She'll join us in the Marais. Is that fine?"

  "Why so far?" Charlotte asked.

  "That's where she lives. And it's on the way to Adrien's place. I love their gay quarter."

  "They have a gay quarter in le Marais?"

  I stared at her. "Yes, it's the gayest area in Paris. You didn't know?"

  She shook her head.

  "Oh you're missing out." I took her hand and led her out the gate. "I'm correcting this right now."

  Chapter 15

  NOAH

  Almost as soon as we arrived, Charlotte asked for an espresso, and I for some hot cocoa. We were sitting inside a café that surrounded us with big rainbow panels. There wasn't anything particularly gay about this place besides that and the distinctive welcoming warmth often radiating from queer spaces. The bar area was a typical circular counter; the tables around it were black, and the metal chairs all colored red. I especially enjoyed coming here at night when rainbow lights illuminated the façade.

  "They also have food," I told Charlotte when she kept looking around.

  "I'm fine for now, thanks."

  It was almost lunchtime, but I wasn't that hungry either. I welcomed my drink when the waiter brought it. I didn't wait long to take a sip that warmed up my cold body from within. The velvety texture of the chocolate comforted me.

  "May I ask you something?" Charlotte’s eyes trailed the rainbow lines of the panels.

  "Always."

  "How did you know you were bi?"

  "What do you mean?"

  She shifted in her seat. "Well, I know it's an annoying question queers get all the time, but I think it's valid. I mean, we live in a hetero-normalized society, so there has to come a point when queers realize they're not what society tells them they should be, right?"

  "Yes, I guess that's true."

  "When did that happen for you?" she asked again. "How did you know?"

  "I was twelve."

  "Wow, really? That early?"

  "Yes. I know some bisexuals find out later in life, but some others don't. I knew fairly quickly. I already had an inkling as a child, but I didn't know how that made me different from other kids."

  "So how did you find out?"

  "I've always been attracted to all genders, but back when I was really little, I thought it was just a fascination, that I wanted to be like them or something. I had a huge crush on Daniel Balavoine. That should have tipped me off, but my parents never really talked about queer people, whether poorly or in good terms. When I hit puberty, that's when I knew it was more than just fascination. With all the hormones, I couldn't control what my body was doing, and when it reacted to people other than girls, I knew I wasn't straight. The first person I kissed was my best friend. They were gender-queer. Then I fell in love with a guy."

  "Did you do things with him?"

  I shook my head and laughed. "He was straight. Hugo was my first full sexual experience. By full, I mean more than just a hand job."

  "How old were you?"

  "Eighteen. And you?"

  She looked at me. "What?"

  "When was your first?"

  "Oh, I was twenty-two."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, well, don't sound so surprised," she exclaimed with a laugh.

  "It's just...you're so open sexually."

  She inhaled deeply. "When I was younger, I dealt with a lot of depression and anxiety. Sex was on my mind, but it wasn't essential to my life. Survival was my priority."

  Sadness engulfed me without warning. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was Charlotte. "Are you doing better now?"

  "Yes, I haven't been depressed in years. But it's only remission, you know. It could happen again. Depression is like addiction in some way. We can get better, but we always have to be careful not to relapse. We never know when it might strike again."

  Though I'd never suffered from either condition, I understood what she meant. I'd seen Adrien struggle with depression for years. I'd seen how hard it was for him to overcome the pain.

  "The first guy I did it with was a prick too," she explained. "We dated for two years, but it turned out he was cheating on me the entire time. I only found out when he gave me chlamydia."

  I widened my eyes.

  "Don't worry, I don't have it anymore. I got treated with antibiotics, and it's all clear now. I get tested regularly. But it broke me, you know? That my first love was a cheating jerk. That's when I decided monogamy was bullshit. If my partner was going to stray, I might as well have some fun too, you know?"

  "Polyamorous people can still cheat, though." I knew that from experience, after all.

  "That's true." She let out a long sigh. "So how did you realize you were bi?"

  "I just told you."

  "You told me you found out when your body kept reacting to all genders, but you didn't give me any specifics."

  "I knew for sure the first time I saw a guy and his girlfriend kiss, and I wanted to kiss them both...at the same time," I laughed. "But it's not that easy for all bisexuals. It can be hard for some people to realize what's going on and even harder for them to accept it."

  "Did you accept it right away?"

  "Yes. But I was blessed with open-minded parents. In my entire life, I've never heard them utter a single anti-queer slur. I never developed the kind of self-hatred some queers do. I was lucky."

  "Raphaël is the same way. I haven't met his parents, but I've heard they're wonderful."

  I gave a smile. "So I've been told."

  "What about Adrien?"

  "Familywise, he wasn't so lucky."

  "So I've heard. It really sucks."

  "I don't think you know the half of it," I said, but that wasn't for me to discuss. Adrien still had trouble opening up about his past, and if he preferred to leave it all behind, who was I to question him? "So why are you asking?"

  She took a sip of her espresso and looked at me in puzzlement. "Huh?"

  "Why do you want to know how I found out I was bi?"

  She shrugged, but something flickered through her eyes.

  "Do you think you might like other genders? I mean, other than men?" I remembered her reaction when we watched Le Crazy Horse and how flustered she got.

  "You won't tell Raphaël what I'm about to tell you, right? It'll be between us?"

  I gave a nod, though Raphaël was one of the most laidback people I knew. I wasn't sure what she had to tell me that needed to remain a secret.

  She cleared her throat, and her gaze
flicked to the side. "I've had a shift in my...uh...my desires recently."

  I narrowed my eyes. "Meaning?"

  "There's this woman I've done a few presentations with, and she's just so beautiful..."

  "You want her?" There was no need to dilly-dally about this.

  "I don't know." A blush rose to her cheeks, deep, scarlet, and quickly spreading down her neck. I stared at her, baffled. During our foursome, I'd watched her get double-penetrated by Adrien and Raphaël while sucking me off. How could she be so bashful about a tiny crush on a woman?

  She was adorable.

  "What are you afraid of?" I asked, still confused.

  "What if I'm not really into it? What if I hook up with a woman, and I hate it? Then she'll think I was faking it. I'd feel awful. I don't want to be one of those straight girls pretending to be bi just 'cause they think it's cool, you know? That's just wrong."

  "Well, being bi is pretty cool," I said, raising an eyebrow.

  "That's not what I meant. Being queer comes with baggage, history, and pain. I don't want to use a marginalized label that's not mine if I'm not really bi. And I don't even know if she's queer either."

  "Being queer doesn't always come with pain. That depends on one's family and general environment." I studied her before asking, "Does it turn you on to think about her? Did you touch yourself thinking about fucking her?"

  Her flush deepened, but she gave a nod. "I felt so bad afterwards."

  "Did you come?"

  She nodded again—reluctantly. "I hadn't come that hard on my own in a while."

  "Why did you feel bad?" I asked. I didn't get that. Why were people so ashamed of sex? Why was the idea of feeling pleasure so condemnable for so many people? Why should life only be about grief and pain?

  "It was like the first time I had a threesome," she answered. "I felt terrible afterwards. I was raised to believe certain things, and accepting I was poly took a lot of self-work to get rid of all the guilt I felt. Liking women makes me feel that way too. And I'm scared I'll screw it up and do it wrong. It's ridiculous, I know. I've slept with so many guys, but this is different somehow."

  "Every time we sleep with a new gender, it's like losing our virginity all over again. It's humbling, and it can take time getting used to the idea. You shouldn't beat yourself up for being scared."