by Deena Bright
“Jake! Are you crazy? No, not at all,” I yell. “Plus, I’m not even… I don’t even know if…”
“So are you like ‘dating’ this girl… like hooking up and stuff?” he asks, quietly.
“No… I don’t think so… she and I… Vivian and I are just friends,” I explain poorly. “Nothing’s ever happened or anything like that… but I… I kind of want it to.”
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
“Jake? Are you there?” I ask, hoping he didn’t hang up on me and write me out of his life for good.
“Yeah… I’m here… I just… ummm… I got a little too ‘guy like’ there for a second,” Jake admits.
“Why? What do you mean?”
“Well, Vivian is Julia Roberts’ name in Pretty Woman, so I sort of… started picturing you… and Julia—”
“Well fuck Jake, come on! I called you because I’m freaking out and don’t know what to do, and you start… start… ewww… being a guy,” I yell into the phone, exasperated.
“Hell Sarah, what am I supposed to say? It’s a lot to take in… give me a second here,” he says, sighing.
The silence is once again deafening and seems interminable. I begin to start second-guessing my decision to tell him. What was I telling him anyway? That I had a “stirring” for a chick? Is that really newsworthy? Does it really warrant a phone call to my ex-boyfriend for his feedback? His approval? What? Why would I call him?
Simple: the only other person I am remotely this close to is the one person I have these feelings for. I needed to talk to someone. It’s not like this is the easiest subject to just spring on someone. But why isn’t it? Jake said so himself that I always seemed like I was holding back. Maybe I always have been. Maybe it’s time I stopped.
Finally, he says, “Sarah, all I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy… if this girl… wow that’s a tough one to swallow…” he says honestly. He takes a deep breath and starts again, “If this girl makes you happy, then you know I’m happy.”
“Thank you Jake… for listening. Nothing’s happened, but I just wanted you to tell me that I’m not crazy… or losing my mind or something,” I ramble, sighing.
“Listen Sarah, the fact that you called me… told me about all this… is something. Obviously, there’s something… I don’t know what exactly… but something is going on. Just go with it… You always worry about everything. Just let whatever happens—happen,” Jake says, easily. “Only you will know if it’s right or not… but I’m guessing that if it gave you enough courage to call me to talk about it… then it probably is.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, the greatest best friend and ex-boyfriend of all time, the one… the only, Jake Potato!” I say into the phone, my heart warming and my eyes pooling with tears. “I love you, Jake. Thank you. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that… now go take care of that Filipino.”
To:[email protected]
From:[email protected]
Subject: I NEED YOU!
Gwen,
I need you!
I need you!
I need you!
I can’t do this by myself. Gwen, I want her. I want her so bad! She’s all I think about. I know you don’t want me to pursue this, but I think I have to. I’m sorry, but I can’t not be with her. Don’t be mad at me!
I miss you! So much!
I love you!
V.
VIVIAN TEXTED ME about an hour ago and asked me whether or not my roommate, Hermit Hannah, was home. Just seeing her text made my heart speed up. Playing it cool, I simply responded with a picture of Hannah listening to her headphones and studying her Anthropology notes.
The five hours Hannah spent at her workshop this afternoon were the best five hours I’ve ever spent in my dorm room. Actually, those five hours were the longest consecutive, non-sleeping hours that I have been in my dorm room. Don’t get me wrong, Hannah’s a fine roommate, but a little alone time, privacy, space, every now and then is beneficial to one’s psych Other than her constant, nonstop presence, I’ve never had a problem with her. Hannah makes a lot of jewelry and scarves and crap. I wouldn’t own one accessory if it weren’t for her. So, there’s an upside there.
Vivian said that she wanted to stop by, but would I consider coming to her dorm instead since Hannah had hermit work to tend to. I was in the shower and getting ready faster than a bat out of Hell. I needed to see her, wanted to see, couldn’t wait to see her. After talking to Jake and “trying out” the words on someone, I needed to see her, talk to her, and just be around her.
I never could understand the way that girls just drop everything for their boyfriends—constantly needing to be around them, touching them, and staring at them. It never bothered me if a few days or heck even a week went by and I hadn’t seen or talked to Jake or Kyle. I figured that we’d meet up sooner or later.
With Vivian, I’m always on alert, waiting for her texts, her posts, her Tweets, Snapchat, anything. When I see that she’s done something, anything, then I’m all eager and excited to read it, share it, comment on it… whatever it may be. It’s been like that since about week two of knowing her, too.
There’s just something about her that’s gotten to me. There’s a part of her that’s flowing through my veins, overtaking me—almost as if I can’t get enough of her. Vivian is my drug, and I’m just always waiting for the next fix. I thought it was a weird friendship obsession, but after talking to Jake and really thinking about it. I’m starting to recognize it for what it really is. I’m not fan-girling and idolizing this smart, sexy, stylish, and fun woman. That’s not what I’m doing at all. No part of me wants to BE Vivian Marx. Every part of me wants to be WITH Vivian Marx.
“I HAVE TO tell you two things,” Vivian states, as soon as she opens up the door, motioning for me to come in. I walk in and sit down on her bed; she sits down next to me, facing me.
Vivian’s single dorm room is smaller than my pantry at home, but it’s decorated in a way that you feel like you’ve entered a quaint loft in Greenwich Village. Everything is artsy and eclectic and “too cool” for college kids. It’s vintage chic with an Upper Eastside flair. I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to make her dorm room look like something that Blair Waldorf and Dan Humphrey would’ve agreed upon together. (Not that they could ever really agree on much!) Every time I walk into this room, I feel like I’m a million miles away from campus and on vacation somewhere hipper than I’ll ever be.
“Alright number one, Charlie Ryan, from the bar…” Vivian starts, taking a deep breath. “Well, she wasn’t a bad date… I was. She blew me off and didn’t want to have anything to do with me. I was so obsessed with hooking up with a ‘gold star lesbian’ that I acted like a total jackass.”
“Gold star lesbian?” I inquire, not following her.
“A lesbian who’s never had straight-sex—ya know, with a guy,” she explains.
“Okay…” I say, not sure how I’m supposed to respond. “Why’d you tell me this? Why’d you say it was the other way around—that you blew her off?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was a loser,” she admits, biting her lip and frowning. “Are you mad?”
“No, not at all… it doesn’t matter to me what happened or didn’t happen with that girl. I don’t care. But, I don’t want you to think you have to lie to me or embellish stories for my sake,” I explain, placing my hand on her knee.
Vivian’s eyes dart to my hand, and she shifts on the bed, adjusting her sitting position out of my reach. Sighing deeply, she says, “Last year, I fell pretty hard… really fucking hard for my roommate Caroline Bartlett. She’d just gotten out of a two-year relationship with her boyfriend. He was abusive. Used to put her down, rough her up, and control her like a puppet. It was sickening. Anyway, after they broke up, she was pretty messed up,” Vivian recalls, twirling her hair around her finger and shaking her head.
Continuing, she says, “Well, one night, she
got on an ‘I hate men’ kick and one thing led to another… and you get the idea. She stayed on that kick for about five months or so—just enough time for me to fall in love with her.” Vivian stops speaking and looks to the ceiling, almost as if she can still see the whole painful thing playing out in front of her. “Then one day, it was like she snapped out of it and told me that she’d met someone… a guy someone. She said that we had to stop ‘screwing around’ and shit.”
“God Vivian, I’m so sorry—”
“That day… I swore… I swore that I’d never… ever… fall for a straight girl again, because that kind of pain… that kind of rejection is just too hard to bounce back from. I can’t do it again, Sarah. I just won’t,” Vivian vows, shaking her head, her eyes pooling with tears.
“Vivian, I don’t know what you want me to say—I don’t. But, I hope you’re not going to keep pushing me away. I already told you that what I’m feeling, what I feel like when I’m around you… is like nothing I’ve ever… in my life… felt before,” I admit, moving closer to her. “I know that when I’m not with you… I miss you. I miss you more than I’ve ever missed anyone… anyone… in my life before.”
“Sarah, that doesn’t mean that you’re—”
“That I’m gay? How do you know it doesn’t?” I ask, confronting her. “You won’t let me find out. You keep turning me down and pushing me away. How am I supposed to know for sure?”
“It’s not that easy,” she states, shaking her head.
“I think it is,” I say, boldly, closing the gap between us. “I know that for a long time now, all I’ve wanted to do is… is… this.”
I place my lips softly against Vivian’s lips as relief floods through me. All I’ve wanted, all I’ve thought about for a while is this very moment, the moment her lips touch mine. It is everything I wanted it to be and so much more. I catch Vivian’s sigh in my mouth, savoring her acquiescence and needing more of it for my own survival.
Sensing my need and finally meeting it with her own, Vivian reaches for my hand, holding it tightly as her mouth opens slightly, welcoming my tongue. I whimper in victorious pleasure and want as her tongue eagerly finds mine. Her lips are soft and delicate against mine, but her tongue is ravenous and wanton, hungrily and expertly guiding me in and out of her mouth. I pant into her mouth as her heated breath mingles with my own.
I have kissed and been kissed since I learned how to “French” in a makeshift fort in the middle of the woods in seventh grade with a group of boys and girls sitting around an old 7-up bottle, spinning on its side, giggling and praying for it to land on a certain someone. I’ve been naked and making out since the first time I let Jake feel me up and go down my pants during our sophomore year snow day in my parents’ unfinished basement. Kissing is not a new concept for me—not in the slightest.
But I have never—ever—felt the sensations of a kiss travel liquidly down my spine or to the tips of my toes. The second Vivian’s hands clasp behind my neck my insides burn with her touch, begging to turn inside out to feel the softness of her fingers, the lightness of her caress. Her hands tickle the back of my neck and glide through my hair. Every feeling in my body is heightened and aware of the woman who is awakening them, bringing them out of the darkness and enlightening them.
“Vivian,” I gasp, needing to call her name, to feel her name on my lips, to hear her name in my ears.
Breaking contact with my skin, Vivian pulls back, looking into my eyes. “Stop?” It’s one word. One question. But she’s asking everything in that one single word. That one word will determine it all.
My heart races.
My stomach leaps.
My eyes fill.
And I answer with the only word that I can, the only word that matters, “Never.”
Vivian’s eyes widen as her lips curl up, “Thank God,” she says, crushing her mouth against mine as she guides me back on to her pillow.
Pressing her body onto mine, I’m acutely aware of how light and unassuming the weight of her body is. Feeling her long hair brush and sweep across my shoulders sends shivers down my back and arms, creating visible goose bumps everywhere. Running her hands down my arms, she asks, “Cold?”
I shake my head as my tongue darts out, and the tip meets her neck. “Not at all,” I say, nipping at the skin. “You’re skin is so soft,” I marvel, trailing my tongue up her neck toward her earlobe.
Giggling, Vivian says, “I didn’t peg you as a ‘talker,’ Sarah.”
Chuckling, I say, “Touché, I didn’t see you as a ‘giggler.’ I guess we’re both full of surprises.
“Some of us more than others,” Vivian replies, pulling my bottom lip into her mouth with her teeth.
Vivian continues to kiss me, tracing my lips with the tip of her tongue and taking her time tasting me. I relish the time she’s taking, savoring the taste of my lips, my tongue, and my mouth. But for the first time in my life, I want to feel, taste, experience and have more—so much more.
Almost as if she’s reading my mind, Vivian shifts her body to the side of me and kisses her way down my neck and chest, stopping at the “V” in my neckline. Lifting her head, she stares into my eyes as her hands dance along the bottom hem of my shirt. With a questioning raise of her brow, she lifts my shirt, stopping for my approval.
I nod and my eyes flutter in anticipation. Vivian lifts my shirt slowly. Her eyes follow her hands, drinking in every inch of my flesh as it’s revealed to her, offered to her, given to her. The anticipation of her touch, her mouth on my breasts is making me squirm while my heart beats out of my chest.
“Mmm,” she moans, when she looks down at me. “You’re so perfect, Sarah. Everything about you is exactly what I’ve always imagined and wanted.”
Holy Hell, that was so much better than “you’re fucking hot.” How did she know exactly what to say? How did she know what would sound like Heaven in my ears and send shivers straight to my toes? She’s knows, because she’s my best friend and knows me—knows me better than I know myself.
Laying her head against my chest, she grins and looks up at me sheepishly, “The pound of your heart… those are for me… for this?”
Running my hands in her long, dark hair, I nod, smiling shyly.
“Are you sure? Afraid?” she asks, sliding my bra strap down while kissing the freckles along my arms and neck.
“Vivian, I… I… not only am I sure… so certain… I can’t wait,” I admit, biting my lower lip.
“You don’t need these front hook bras anymore. I kind of have the hang of the back bra clasp… seeing as how I’ve worn one since I was 12,” she jokes, just as she unhooks my bra, and slides the silky material away from my breasts.
Involuntarily, I gasp, heaving my chest at her—arching off the bed. Realizing what I’ve done, I shrink back, sealing my eyes shut. I wait for the embarrassment to rush through me, knowing that I revealed such a primal, carnal side of me. No humiliation comes—just absolute want and desire.
“Open your eyes, Sarah, I need to see you. I have to know that this is what you want… every single step of the way,” she says, running her fingers softly along my stomach.
I link my fingers in hers from the back of her hand and guide them to my breasts, circling my hard nipples with her fingertips. “It’s everything I want,” I say, staring into her eyes. “For the first time in my life, I mean it. I mean every single word of it.”
A large blissful smile splays across Vivian’s face. She leans forward, kisses me softly on the lips, barely touching them with her own—just a light tap of her lips to mine. Then, before I can protest or beg for more, her lips touch against my nipple, causing my body to dance from the inside out. I can feel every sensation as if it’s in overdrive and heightened. Nothing in my life has prepared me for this moment. Nothing.
Vivian sucks my nipple into her mouth, cupping my other breast in her hand, rolling that nipple against her thumb. I’m soaring. All I want, all I need, all I can feel is Vivian Marx. All there
is—is Vivian Marx. I arch my back to offer more of myself to her—to give all I can to her. She tugs harder on my nipple—pulling it further, hardening it more than it has ever been before.
“This is how I like it,” she groans alternating between my two breasts, pushing them together. There’s a “pop” as Vivian sucks harder and lets my nipple release from her suction.
“God, that’s so good,” I say, really meaning it, feeling it, and needing it.
Trailing her nails down my stomach, she tickles the flesh at the waistband of my pants. “Again Sarah, only until I see your eyes can I know for sure… know if I can keep going,” Vivian states, stopping her movements at the button on my jeans.
Opening my eyes and panting, “Please Vivian, don’t stop… I want it… I want it all… you… I want you,” I beg, pleading with her, heart, mind, body and soul.
Unbuttoning my jeans, she tugs them as I lift my hips off the bed, helping her to get them off. “I might need to go up a size,” I joke, not feeling at all self-conscious with her.
“The Hell you do,” she argues, pulling harder and finally getting them off. Laughing, she adds, “These look hot as fuck on you. I couldn’t wait to get them off of you… because I knew I wasn’t getting into them.”
“Hey,” I yell, feigning offense.
Lying down on top of me, Vivian moves the hair out of my eyes. “Woman, how many times do I have to tell you… you are beautiful… every single inch of you?” Her lips close down on mine as her tongue guides mine into her mouth, pulling, sucking, and biting softly. God, can this woman kiss!
Suddenly, I feel a painful, powerful need surge through me. I have to have her. I need her. I need to let go, feel the release that I know only she, Vivian Marx, can give me. Wrapping my legs around her waist, I grind myself against her, hoping to relieve the desire building and pooling inside of me.
“Sarah, I’ve got you… this… you… are all mine. I’m going to take care of every need you’ve ever had,” she says, staring into my eyes. “And some you didn’t even know you had.” She winks at me and then begins kissing her way back down my stomach.
