Mind Caviar

Kathryn Lane  has edited books on bisexuality (Unlimited Desires, BiPress, 2000; Bisexual Horizons, Lawrence and Wishart, 1995), gender politics (Beyond Sexuality, Phoenix Press, 1992) and polyamory (Breaking the Barriers of Desire, Five Leaves Press, 1995) and has been involved in the bisexual community and the organisation of the UK Pride festival. His bisexual erotica has appeared on Peacock Blue, in Exquisite Darkness magazine and in the Viscera anthology (Venus or Vixen, 2000).


I wake up in a drunken blur, at first can't figure out where I am or even what day it is - the room seems somehow familiar but the details just swim in fragments in front of my eyes. I realise I'm not in bed at all, but am just lying on a manky couch smelling of stale spilt beer and fag ash. A note is stuck helpfully to the phone. 'Trace, I've gone out to think things over, may see you later. Dave'. I re-read this ambiguous missive, trying to summon the energy to sit up, now remembering vaguely last night's alcohol-fuelled slanging match of recriminations and threats, a typical episode from this sixth year of our 'partnership'. Happy Valentines day ... I don't want to think about Dave anymore than I have to, so wonder about Maxie instead, about what is happening in her strange head. It annoys me when she tries to guilt-trip me into giving her more time, she doesn't understand, or try to understand, the limits I have, being more or less married. I want her, even love her, as a friend, but I can't love her in the way that she wants, never ...

Crawl to the bathroom, there is no sign of my erstwhile 'partner', who is most likely still sulking in a bar somewhere, casting himself as the wronged party yet again.

By lunchtime Dave still hasn't turned up, and is refusing to answer his mobile. I realise I don't care at all, I actually feel relieved not to have to talk to him again, and feel free in the flat for the first time in ages. Phone Maxie for a long bitching session, trashing Dave to her, something she is always keen to hear, of course.

By evening he still hasn't returned or phoned, so I decide to play him at his own game, and go up to London to spend the night with Maxie. She is her usual crazed and unpredictable self, especially once the rapid sequence of her first five pints of Fosters starts to take effect. She is angry at her prematurely-ejaculating police cadet boyfriend, as he has become very possessive and seems a dead loss and beyond education or reform or in terms of technique.

As the alcohol takes hold, I find myself looking more and more at her slim body, lean and hard, almost a man's build, but with a couple of humungous tits hanging down. I can see the nipples push out against the fabric of her t-shirt, and feel my own harden at the sight, even though I'm straight, in the daytime and in a normal state of mind. I know what it's like to hold that body, yet somehow I never seem to have the courage to take the initiative, or maybe it's that she never gives me the chance, always pre-empting me, making all the moves herself.

We get more drunk and rowdy, dissing our respective useless men. I feel a surge of jealousy but also admiration at her bravado as she recounts her many strange sexual encounters with blokes and girls. Her attitude is so confident and self-assured despite all she's been through.

As soon as we get back to her house we start drinking again, I know I need to get very very drunk to cope with sex, especially with women. And so somehow sometime later I end up semi-comatose in her bedroom and we are over the precipice of sex and not quite sex yet again, her hands gripping my breasts through my t-shirt as we lie together on her double bed (two mis-matching single beds cunningly wedged together, levelled with stacks of porno mags, there is hardly any other space left in this tiny room, there's no mistaking what its primary purpose is ...). Automatically or deliberately she slides her bare legs between mine, pushing her thighs against my groin. I don't resist but don't encourage her either, confused by contradictory desires and fear and guilt and a sense of wrongness from having to suddenly change gears - to replace 'friend' by 'lover' in my mind - and I can't quite do this. But I notice once again how beautiful her body is, her legs smooth and pale, strong and filled out with muscle and yet feminine and sensual. She strips, in the streetlight coming through the window I can see the line of the scars down her side from childhood surgery, an uneven ridge of flesh across the otherwise perfect taut skin.

She takes off my top, knowing better than to ask permission. Her breasts, much larger than mine, press against my chest, skin against skin, erect nipples against nipples, an incredible feeling sending an intense sexual charge all through my body, she smiles her twisted drunken smile at me and I close my eyes and kiss her, at this moment I can't think of any reason to ever go back to Dave again, everything I'll ever want is here. She pulls down my shorts, and to my shock, flips me over and starts slapping my exposed bum with her hands, quite hard, it hurts and I'm scared her housemate Alan or the neighbours will hear, I tell her "Stop that! Maxie, you bitch! Please ..." but her other hand works into my cunt and suddenly the stinging pain changes into intense arousal. For the first time I simply feel uncomplicated desire and happiness at the way we are, the way she is, don't have any questions or worries at all. This is love, I think, this is how it feels to be loved, to be cared for. I'd nearly forgotten.

Then my mobile rings - Dave's number. Maxie glares at me as I answer it. I try to calm my breathing - he interrogates me, wanting to know where I am, what I mean by walking out with no warning. He claims how upset he has been by what happened last night, how he needed to get away to think about our future. More like shame at the way you behaved, I think to myself. He wants me to come back immediately, it's 1am and I say there are no trains that late, let's leave it till tomorrow, I'm at Maxie's, I'll be back in the morning then we can talk properly. Even this thought fills me with dread and loathing. More arguments, Maxie gets up in disgust and goes into the lounge and shuts the door, not able to bear listening to this shit. I can hear her opening yet another can of beer.

Finally persuade the pig that no way am I coming back tonight, and leave it. It's now 2am, Maxie has turned off the lounge light and curled up booze-comatosed on the sofa. I do the same in her bed, with just a confused cat for company through the cold night. The only pussy I'm likely to get for some time to come, it seems ...  


Copyright  ©  2004 K Lane. All Rights Reserved. Do not copy or post.

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