Born Again

by Heidi Lowe

  By the time the documentary was over, I’d already made up my mind. I pushed the curtain aside, peered into the falling darkness. A pleasant evening indeed, Brit was right.

  So I took her advice.

  The female bouncers on the door of Strobe were huge, trucker types covered in garish tattoos — on their arms, their necks, any visible piece of flesh. They joked with the ladies as they let them in, knew some of them by name. Regulars. Would I become one?

  “You here by yourself, sweetheart?” one bouncer asked me.

  “Yep,” I said with a nervous smile. “Sadly.”

  She smiled back. “Well this is a good place to make new friends.” She opened the door for me, told me to enjoy my evening.

  Inside, it was just as crowded as it had been the weekend prior. None of the faces were familiar, besides the barmaids. Everywhere I looked, women were in small to large groups of friends. No one was sad enough to come here alone.

  I thought about turning around and leaving, heading back home and rewatching the fish documentary. But that thought depressed me more than sitting in a bar on my lonesome.

  The barmaid came right over. “What can I get you?”

  “Something sweet. What do you suggest?”

  “I dunno,” she said impatiently. “I can come back if you need more time.”

  Jeez, friendly staff!

  “Just a gin and tonic, thanks.” Only once I’d ordered did I remember that Naomi had ordered the same thing. I didn’t want to piss off the barmaid any more than she already was, so decided not to change my mind.

  When my drink arrived, I twisted round to watch everyone having fun, and to catch the eye of someone who looked halfway interesting. Most people, like me, had opted for casual attire of jeans and a blouse. I’d chosen a tight pink v-neck t-shirt that I’d been meaning to give away, because I’d gained a little weight since buying it. But now I was glad for it; my boobs were doing things they’d never done before! The game of seduction was on.

  It took about twenty minutes before a woman approached. She was older, maybe early forties, but wore it well. Dark hair and eyes, a bit of a gypsy look to her. She smelled like incense.

  “I have to confess, I’ve had my eye on you since you got here,” she said, claiming the seat beside me.

  “Oh yeah?” It was time to turn the dial up on the flirtometer.

  “Uh-huh.” When she smiled I noticed the lipstick on her teeth. “I was waiting to see if anyone joined you. Like a girlfriend maybe...”

  Fishing, and not subtle about it. I smiled. “Nope, I’m here by myself.”

  “Brave. Can I buy you another drink?”

  It felt weird letting another woman who wasn’t my friend buy me a drink, but I let her anyway.

  “Has anyone ever told you you look like Bryce Dallas Howard?”

  I rolled my eyes with a laugh. “So I’ve heard. I’m convinced it’s just the hair. If I were a brunette, no one would think so.”

  “Take the compliment, honey.” She chuckled, and stroked my hand.

  We chatted for fifteen minutes, and I tried to feign interest. But she was agonizingly boring. She did have something going for her, though; the touchy-feely thing she kept doing drove me wild. What I wanted from her wasn’t her conversation, anyway.

  “...when I finished college I moved to—”

  My lips were on hers before she could finish speaking, shutting her up with a kiss. Her kisses were surprisingly not boring.

  “Do you wanna come home with me?” I whispered, kissing her neck, nibbling on her earlobe.

  She trembled with arousal. I knew what her answer would be.

  Our clothes were discarded in a careless, desperate manner around my bedroom.

  I shoved her to the bed, which made her giggle.

  “Aren’t you taking the rest off?” she asked, eying me up and down hungrily. I’d neglected to remove my bra and panties. What I wanted to do didn’t call for it.

  I shook my head, then crawled onto the bed, claimed her mouth. We kissed and kissed. I purposely let my bra glide over her exposed breasts, and felt her nipples harden through the fabric.

  Once they were hard enough I attacked them with my tongue, my teeth, my lips. Lightly biting, hoping to get that mix of pleasure and pain just right. If her moans were anything to go by, I’d succeeded.

  I spent a good deal of time abusing her nipples, until they were red and sore, all the while rubbing my groin against hers, getting that part of her ready for the next step.

  She was soaking wet by the time my fingers headed south. Penetrating her was easy and smooth, but my movements were not. I pounded without restraint, her writhing and whimpering only energizing me, that powerful feeling returning. I was in control of her orgasm, of her sex, of her body, and I loved this.

  I stopped just long enough to get her up on her knees, on all fours. Then I went in for the kill again, slapping her ass while I drove my fingers deep from behind. Her moans got caught in the back of her throat. Strangled. I knew her climax would be epic.

  Although I had no idea what I was doing, for some reason I felt confident. A new position but with the same mechanics. It was like riding a bike.

  When she came, eventually, my arm and fingers were tired. They felt like they would fall off. Who knew how long I’d been down there?

  She collapsed onto her stomach, gasping, the energy fucked out of her. She lay naked on my bed, and now that I’d gotten what I wanted, I just wanted her to leave.

  When she sat up she saw me collecting her clothes off the floor.

  “I think I’ve got everything,” I said, pushing them into her arms. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”

  She gawked at me in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, my, uh, my boyfriend’s gonna be here soon, so...”

  She looked truly flabbergasted, insulted. I left her and went to the bathroom. I stayed in there until I heard her say, “Thanks for the fuck, whatever your name is.” Then the front door clicked behind her.

  TWELVE

  Drifting through the chlorinated water of the Des Moines Aquatics Center pool on a Sunday afternoon made me feel refreshed. My arms ached, the muscles in my thighs burned, but it was all worth it. I’d honed my breaststroke down to a T. I risked a glance behind me, and spotted Brit lagging by a few meters. After two laps, she simply couldn’t keep up on the home straight.

  I reached the wall, stuck up my hand and declared, “I win.”

  I caught my breath, removed my goggles and waited for her to join me.

  “You cheated,” she said when she crashed into the wall, panting for air.

  I laughed. “How does one cheat at swimming?”

  We hoisted ourselves out, retrieved our towels.

  “I dunno how, but you did.”

  “Just admit it, I beat you fair and square.”

  She groaned, but not in the sore loser type of way she usually did when we raced and I won. This time she brushed it off, as though it didn’t really bother her.

  “Next time,” she said with a smile, “I’m kicking your ass.”

  And that was it. Usually we’d be arguing for five minutes straight, with her giving all types of excuses for why she lost. But not today.

  As we made our way to the showers, she smiled to herself, and I knew exactly why. Of course this loss meant nothing to her; I’d beaten her in this, but she was winning overall. Even though she didn’t know it, she’d had the ultimate victory over me. Naomi. What I’d hoped would be the shortest fling in the history of flings had now been going for over a month. And it didn’t look as though it would be slowing down any time soon. They weren’t exclusive, at least not on paper, but there hadn’t been anyone else, not on Brit’s part anyway. I’d seen Brit burn through four or five men in a month, as standard; not one single man had been to our apartment since Naomi. This both astounded and aggravated me.

  “What’s so funny?” I said.

  “Nothing. It’s just... when I told Na
omi we were going swimming, and that we would race each other, we made a bet.”

  It never took long before she brought her up. I resented the fact that they were talking about me, probably while they were lying in bed.

  “What was the bet?”

  She laughed, shook her head. “That if you beat me, I wouldn’t get any tonight. But she’s not here, right?” She headed for the shower, leaving me reeling with rage.

  Perhaps it was because she was the forbidden fruit, the most off limits woman in the world, why she seemed to grow more stunning every time I saw her. Every day when our paths crossed — at team briefings, in the break room, around the office — the crows would start fluttering in my stomach. That feeling never went away, even though I’d accepted that we would never be together. My mind had, at least; my heart was a different matter. My heart simply couldn’t let go. And so it beat faster when I looked at her, and ached that much more when she looked at me.

  That Monday morning, the team was gathered around the conference table, Naomi at the head of it. I zoned in and out of her talk, my mind reminiscing about the feel of her lips against mine, the softness of her thighs. There wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t despise myself for not kissing her everywhere when I’d had the chance. I’d only focused on the major parts, but now I wished I’d painted her whole body with them, left traces of myself all over her. Her back, her feet, her butt...

  “...that you should all be very proud. But this does not mean you get to slack off. We can always do better,” she said. I’d missed the first part when I zoned out. “In any case, the company has rewarded this department with an all-inclusive weekend skiing trip to Crystal Mountain. A fortnight from now.”

  Elation abounded across the table. Saeed put up his hand to speak.

  “And yes, assistants are included,” she said before he could ask. He beamed.

  I was the only one not celebrating. I had no intention of going anywhere. Not only could I not ski to save my life, I was terrified to try. Dangerous sports, all of that daredevil crap boring people did to seem fun, didn’t interest me one bit. When you spend your childhood fearing for your life on a daily basis, the thrill of danger tends to dissipate.

  “This is gonna be lit!” Saeed squealed.

  It was as if Naomi could read minds, because she looked at me, smirked and said, “Attendance is mandatory. You’re all expected to be there.”

  My heart sank. “Mandatory fun, the best kind,” I mumbled, but unfortunately not quietly enough.

  When everyone had disbursed to their offices, just as I was about to head to mine, she stopped me. “Miss Adams, a word.”

  Being alone with her always made me feel giddy. Seeing her swivel chair brought back the memory of our love-making. How I’d sunk to my knees and pleasured her with my tongue, without a second thought. I’d been with four other women, one-night stands I’d picked up from Strobe, and I’d never gone down on them. It just didn’t feel right. Because I knew they wouldn’t taste like her, that they would only disappoint. My tongue was a slave to her sex; if it couldn’t have her, it wouldn’t have anyone.

  “Is there a problem?” she said, once I’d closed the door behind us. She sat at the edge of her desk, crossed one ankle over the other.

  “W—what do you mean?”

  “Do you have an aversion to fun?” There was amusement in her voice.

  “No... I can be fun.” Defensive.

  “That’s not what it sounded like just now.”

  I sighed. “I don’t like skiing.”

  “Have you ever tried it?”

  “Well no, but—”

  “Then how do you know if you like it or not? I’m sure there are things you’ve tried, and enjoyed, things you didn’t think you’d ever like...”

  That glint in her eye was telling. I instinctively knew what she was talking about. Women. I’d arrived there a bigot but had now earned my lesbian stripes. Anyone could receive, but giving, that required dedication, and a very unbigoted tongue.

  I knew I was blushing because her smirk widened.

  “It’s dangerous. If I have to go I’m sitting it out.”

  She regarded me for a moment, and I shifted uneasily. Why did she have to look at me like that, look right through me to see all the pent up emotions?

  “Well, it’s not as dangerous as swimming, but you’ll get the hang of it,” she said, finally. When she got up to sit behind her desk, that signified the end of our little talk.

  I turned to leave, then stopped. Don’t say it, Dakota. Don’t start trouble. “I heard about your bet. Well I won yesterday’s race—”

  “She told me.” My surprised look only made her more spitefully amused.

  “She did?”

  “Yes.”

  I thought she would lie, I really did. And I thought by telling Naomi it would cause a rift. Don’t judge me, I didn’t feel good about myself for it, but I couldn’t help myself.

  I left feeling despondent.

  Last Ones Leaving had an eclectic sound, a mixture of rock, reggae and pop, that was unique to the band’s make up. It consisted of Dove, who brought the rock element, a Jamaican drummer named Sonny Marley (no relationship to Bob), and a Danish-American guy who played the keyboard. I’d been to a few of their gigs in the early days, but hadn’t seen anything since they regrouped, after the other two members started families and got corporate jobs.

  As the melody of their latest track played through my phone speakers, the sound and lyrics distorted, I began to lose the will to live. Maybe it was the best song ever written or performed, but I couldn’t tell.

  “Can you just send it when it’s done?” I screamed down the phone, for the fifth time. Dove couldn’t hear. They were in the studio, having just recorded it, and he was so proud that he called to let me hear it first.

  It was Saturday night, and I’d resigned myself to a night on the couch, in front of the TV, a family bag of Doritos and a glass of wine to keep me warm and comfy, and, most importantly, away from Strobe. Thus far I’d managed to avoid bumping into any of the women I’d screwed and discarded, but lesbian Seattle was a small place — sooner or later my trysts would come back to haunt me.

  I was thankful when the music stopped.

  “What did you think?” Dove said, hopeful.

  “I really couldn’t hear it properly.”

  “Want me to play it again?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “It’s too distorted. Just send it to me when it’s ready.”

  “Sis, this is gonna be huge, I can feel it.”

  I’d heard that before, and I knew how it ended. He was such a fragile soul that whenever his tracks failed to take off, he slipped into a depression that lasted weeks, sometimes months. I wanted to tell him not to get his hopes up, but that, too, would have made him question his abilities.

  “Fingers crossed,” was what I said instead.

  “What are you eating?”

  I stopped chewing. “Nothing.”

  He chuckled. “You’re such a liar. You’re eating Doritos, aren’t you? I knew you couldn’t keep away. Family bag too, right?”

  “Hey, I get to treat myself, all right.”

  We all had our addictions, and mine just so happened to be Doritos. I even remember the first day I tried them. I was seven, Dove ten, and our parents hadn’t come home the night before. There was virtually no food in the house. So we walked a mile to the nearest store, and Dove stole a family bag of the Cool Ranch flavor, tucked it under his coat, grabbed my hand and we ran out. The security guard caught my eye — I knew he saw us, but he didn’t come after us. He must have seen how emaciated we looked. When I got my first job, I bought a dozen packs, filled my food cupboard with them.

  “Colon not around?” he said. “Is he at church boning the pastor?”

  He could be so vulgar sometimes. He was convinced Colin had some dark secret because, as he said, “no one is as squeaky clean as that guy pretends to be.”

  “I’m gonn
a hang up on you in a minute,” I warned.

  He laughed. “All right, all right, I’m kidding. Where’s Bitchney?”

  He just couldn’t help himself. “She’s out.” I didn’t elaborate. Didn’t tell him that she was with the woman I... If I told him anything, anything at all, I would be unable to conceal my misery. Then he would ask questions, then I would have to say it out loud. Because my brother could read me like a book, even over the phone. We were almost the same people. He would hear it in my voice and tell me what I already knew, and he would encourage me to pursue her. Because one of his many addictions included the big L. That dude had made falling in love a career. He wanted everyone to know it like he did, especially me. He knew I’d never experienced it with Colin, or anyone before him. “Go get your girl”, I could imagine him saying. My girl who was currently dating my best friend. Ugh!

  The doorbell rang as he was talking. Frowning, I went to answer it, unsure of who it could be. Colin had already come over during the day, and he never came by twice. No one else visited at night.

  “I forgot my key. Can you let me in?” came Brit’s voice.

  She was always doing that. I opened the door without a second thought. And then I froze. Naomi was standing beside her.

  “Good evening, Dakota,” she said with a perfect white smile. Leather jacket, tight jeans, hair hanging over one shoulder, she looked like a bad girl from a Levi’s commercial. It was a side of her I’d never seen before, and it blew my mind... and crotch. The word “sexy” just didn’t seem to cut it.

  I, on the other hand, was the opposite of that. In my long, faded, pink nightgown with Disney’s Cinderella on the front, and worn white slippers, I looked like a kid who’d stayed up past her bedtime.

  I removed the phone from my ear while Dove was still speaking. They stepped past me, into the apartment. Naomi gave me the once-over, smiling to herself.

  “Cute,” she said.

  Oh my God! I wanted to die.

  “Dove, I’ll call you back.” I hung up before he could protest.