by Crykt
(9/1/99)

I was standing at the stove in the kitchen, spatula in hand, working on scrambling an egg. I was very new to eggs, and found that I burnt them if I didn't work very hard at making them come out right. I was watching this one very carefully, trying to decide whether the burner was turned up too high, when my roommate swept out of her room.

She was an amazingly pretty girl, but in the six months we'd shared the apartment I'd never given it a second thought beyond envy for her looks. Today something clicked inside me, because when she appeared in her doorway suddenly she was in slow motion.

Now I was aware of her flawless skin; the muscles in her long legs uncoiling in her tight jeans. The wave of her dirty blonde hair, the bounce of it, the way it moved in perfect sync with her step and the bounce of her chest underneath her shirt; I could feel a unified rhythm in her motion. I could feel her eyes sweeping upwards to meet mine.

"Mornin' Chrissy."

Click. She was moving in real time again; she pulled the door closed behind her. I made a conscious effort to take my next breath.

"Hey, Jill." I looked back down at my eggs, afraid that they'd burned in the eternity that I'd left them alone. They hadn't.

There was a pause of a few milliseconds before Jill spoke again. I didn't look at her, but I still had a residual sense of over-sensitivity from that moment when she walked out the door. I could still feel her eyes on me; I knew the look in them. They'd narrowed a little, and there wheels turning behind them, combining and permuting, solving problems. Comprehending.

"You got the hang of those eggs yet?"

"Getting there...these appear to have turned out all right." I took the skillet off the burner.

"Neat, you'll have to teach me how to do that. What are you doing tonight? Homework?"

"Actually, once I turn in my statics assignment today, I don't have anything due for a while. I have the night off; blessed freedom." Beat. "I'm not used to having free time...I wonder what to do with it?"

"I've got some time off, too. Maybe we'll think of something." With a "have a good day" she was gone and the door clicked shut behind her.

I inhaled and let my breath out slowly. I didn't understand what had just happened. Jill and I had first met when we moved into this apartment together, and we'd become good friends since then; not the kind of friends that went out together on weekends, but the kind of friends that could stay up late at night talking, exchanging stories. And I had always known that she was attractive, but I had never been attracted to her. And now my face and neck flashed fire, and I could feel the heat radiating up from my neckline.

And I wasn't a lesbian.

And neither was she.

And it had just been a moment, something fleeting, and it was gone now. It likely hadn't meant anything. I just think she's pretty, that's all. And there's nothing wrong with that.

The day passed. Slowly. Lectures dragged by; the prof would be droning about something, and my mind would drift from me. My eyes would be open and completely unfocused, I would see Jill in front of me, in slow motion, her body flowing forward in one long unified movement, as if she floated instead of taking little individual steps. I'd spend a hours being awestruck at the grace of her every movement, the artistry of her every curve. And then a noise would pull be back to reality, and I'd look at my watch, and something less than thirty seconds had passed. I'd lived another forever, populated only with her, exhausted myself, and the prof hadn't even finished his sentence, the same one he started before I'd left.

And then it would happen again.

After class I practically ran back to my room, locked the door behind me and leaned against it, trying to catch my breath. Later I would heat up some leftovers for dinner, but now I just needed to lie neutral in bed and internalize. To escape myself for a while.

Jill didn't come home until after 9. We exchanged hellos, bantered, told each other about our days. She had been out with some friends of hers, for dinner. I hadn't anything nearly as exciting to exchange with her. Then she disappeared into her room. She didn't mention this morning, didn't mention having any free time. I told myself that I didn't care.

I decided to get ready for bed and curl up with a book for a few hours, read myself into a deep sleep. Both the reading and the sleep would be very welcomed. I brushed my teeth and washed my face, went into my room to change.

When I opened my door, Jill was there, sitting on my bed. This wasn't an offense of any kind; we were very comfortable around one another, we spent a lot of time sitting on each other's beds.

She was wearing the same dress she'd worn to dinner, a simple thing with short sleeves, a modest neckline, and a skirt that flared out from her waist and covered her almost to her knees; a careless, airy thing. She didn't have a bra on underneath it.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing much, you?"

That just hung in the air between us. I turned to my dresser and began removing my earrings.

Then she spoke. The words came to me in slowtime; like I could feel the rush of air from her speaking before the words actually reached me.

"You want me, don't you?"

It wasn't an accusation, or flung at me in any way violently. It was gentle, like she'd hold my hand if it hurt to hear it.

The breath left my body anyway.

She gave me a moment, but when I didn't answer she continued, "I saw you this morning, your eyes, when I came out of my room. That was an amazing look, in your eyes. You saw me; you saw everything." Emphasis on "me" and "everything."

I finally found the breath to talk. Not turning to her, I forced out, "I'm not like that. Sure you're...pretty, but I'm not like that." Everything felt muddled, my mind wouldn't work to generate anything more intelligent than that.

"Pretty?" she asked. "That's not what your eyes said," she didn't add.

Beat. "Not pretty. Flawless."

"Chrissy, breathe. It's okay. I'm not 'like that' either, if that's what's scaring you. I'm not lesbian, and neither are you; I'm just as virginal as you are, so just take a few breaths and be cool. It's okay."

That was something we had in common; a passion for virginity. Sex could wait; nobody was going to objectify us the way women were so often objectified. Sex would mean something, and until then, it could wait.

I finally turned to face her. "Then why did you bring it up? Why even mention it?"

Her eyes were searching mine very intently. "Because you're curious."

"And you?"

"I wouldn't be in here saying any of this if I wasn't."

"Okay, fine. So what are you proposing?"

An enigmatic smile broadened onto her lips. "How did you know I had a proposition?" Her eyes hadn't left mine, even though I had wished a thousand times in the last few seconds that they would, so that I could breathe.

I didn't have an answer.

She waited for a moment, and then continued, "Do you want to play a game?"

"What kind of game?"

"Are you afraid?"

Of course I was. I snapped, "Answer the damn question, Jill."

She stood and suddenly her arms were around me, holding me, trying to quiet my trembling. I didn't move, but I felt myself melt into her care.

Her lips close to my ear, she whispered words I more felt than heard. "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to scare you, to push you. I'll leave you alone, I'll go, just please be cool."

I didn't answer, I just let her comfort me for a moment. Then I took a breath and asked, very quietly, "What kind of game?"

She stepped back, regarded me at arm's length, studied me, hands holding my shoulders. She asked, "Are you sure?" as if at that moment I could have kept any secrets from her if I'd wanted to.

I nodded, very slightly.

"The rules are simple. We get comfortable, get some coke, some music, and we sit here on your bed with the lights on. We relax, we talk, we look each other in the eyes. We sit next to each other. Close. And we don't touch one another. For hours. First one to flinch, loses."

She looked to me for an answer, and I just looked back, my head tilted a little down and to the side, watching her from the tails of my eyes. Watching her watching me.

And for a reason I'll never understand, my mouth soundlessly formed the word, "yes."

She went to her room, got some CDs, got glasses, a two-liter, and ice. I dressed for bed, pulling on an old T-shirt that hung to my thighs. I went to the bathroom. "Hours," she'd said, and we'd be drinking cokes. I hoped my bladder was strong enough.

When I got to back into my room, she was there. Glasses and coke were set on the nightstand; she was loading my 3-disc changer.

Without looking at me, she asked, "Are you sure about this?"

I laughed uneasily. "No."

"You're afraid."

"Of course." I let a beat pass before it dawned on me to reach beyond myself, out into the room, into her. Click. "And so are you."

Still without turning, she nodded so lightly that only her hair moved.

She started the CD player. Something rhythmic and synthesized, with a beat faster than a pulse, came booming out of the speakers. Low and real, you could feel it.

We sat on the bed, facing one another, she indian-style, my on my knees, leaning in towards each other. Like an intimate conversation, like so many we'd had.

Close.

I was really enjoying the music; I'd heard it coming from her room before, but never really listened to it. "What CD'd you put it?"

"Vegas, by The Crystal Method. After that, there's Orbital and Deep Forest."

"Rhythmic, quiet."

"Seductive. If we're going to torture ourselves, let's do it right." She grinned something reckless.

I grinned back, not really meaning too. As if she'd infected me, connected with me, as if we were in sync. I realized that when I'd reached into her earlier, I hadn't let go. I was still feeling her.

We kept talking, just about everything, about anything, without really listening to each other or too ourselves. The words weren't important, they were ambient, noise.

And all the while I was studying her; I had the connection, the sync, the lock, the whatever the hell it was, and I was further inside this girl than I'd ever been with anybody. Almost as far as I'd been into myself.

It was a dangerous thing to do, given the game. It was the quickest way to lose. If I was going to resist her, then I should have distracted myself instead of focusing on her presence. But that's not playing fair, that's not really even playing. If you're on a platform high in the air, you're not in danger unless you're near the edge. Stay back and you're nothing, you're not really there, not playing, so what was the point?

So I walked to the very edge of myself, deep inside her, near to her core, and I perched there, like a gargoyle. And I explored. Combined and permuted, solving problems, piecing together realities. Piecing together what it was I always saw in her eyes.

The CD ended; the changer rotated the next one into place. One hour, give or take. As if time mattered.

She was still there, inches from me, eyes dancing. And behind them, the same things I'd always seen. Laughter. Carelessness. Motion. A light, airy, sunny day with wind blowing through a field, making ripples in the wheat. And beyond that, an edge, like the edge of a very sharp knife, like she could cut you if you didn't handle her with respect and care. There was a steeliness in the eyes that spoke of danger. Cold.

Words were still coming out of her mouth, and out of mine. But we didn't laugh, didn't react, didn't speak above a whisper. Didn't need to; I could feel the words forming on her lips as surely as I could the words on my own. I could sense the movement of her tongue, touching her lips, then the roof of her mouth.

Connected, out beyond myself.

Occasionally, the music would degenerate into a stringed instrument being plunked, with a synthesized glass chime in the background. Then it wandered into something complex.

I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, moist, filling the room. The scent of her along with it, not shampoo the way women always smell of shampoo, but her. Subtle hint of sweat, and her mouth, and something else, innocent, but stronger than coriander if I could get it in larger doses.

Her words in my ears, meaningless, but there. Noise.

I felt her say, "You're stronger than I thought."

I was stronger that I thought. This morning I would have either ran from her in terror or melted in her arms, leaving my eggs to scorch. But now I sat across from her, full of her, inches from her, breathing the same air, and I was strong.

"I know," was all I could think to say. Then, "Why, did you think I was an easy mark?"

"Yes, I did. I thought you were toasted the moment I set my mind to it."

I smiled a subtle smile, feeling my own sense of power. "Is that what this is about?"

Beat. "Not anymore." Her eyes hardened. It occurred to me that there was a part of her that would drive an ice-pick through a person just to see their reaction. She controlled it, but it was there. That was the ice behind her gaze.

The CD player rotated. Sensuous rhythms boomed through the room.

She shifted position again, we both had several times. Now she was sitting with her legs curled up half under her, half beside her, her weight on one arm. She slipped her free hand up under her dress, lifted her body slightly, and slid her panties down her thighs. She worked them down her legs and off her feet, letting them crumple into my floor.

"You're going to break." She didn't smile.

I was going to break. And soon. My body was shivering, my mind flooded with images of her naked just under her skirt, just a few inches from me, from my fingertips.

I didn't say anything.

I tried to ignore my own body. I could feel heat radiating from my skin, gathering in my shirt. My skin sticky with sweat; I considered pulling my shirt off just to cool down, so I wouldn't pass out.

My heart pounded in my chest. My nipples were getting tender from being so hard, so hyper-sensitive, for so long, rubbing up against my shirt. My back ached from the stress of trembling for hours. My underwear was wet and bunched between my legs, my knees hurt. I was breaking, she was right there, just a few inches. I wanted her body against mine.

I just sat very still.

Some time passed in silence.

She spoke. The words didn't surprise me; I had known what she was going to say before she said it. It was hard waiting for her to actually say it before answering.

"How do you feel?"

"Tired, sore."

"You want to lay down, take a break?" At first I thought she was extending a condescending kindness, but I quickly knew better. She was pleading.

"No, I'm fine," I answered. I searched her eyes for something. I found nothing; I just redoubled her resolve. Not by refusing, but by understanding that she was tiring as well. I'd almost had her, almost won, and I pushed too hard. Now she knew, knew how close I was, and now she wasn't going to let me win. And I was near breaking.

I realized that I could feel her breathing. I don't know if it was just her breath on my face, hovering so near to mine; or if I could hear her exhale. But I knew when she took a breath, I could feel air rushing into her lungs. I knew the deliberate rhythm of it, I could feel the control she was using to keep her breaths regular.

I explored her further, reaching out from within her body. Her heart was steady, beating slower than the music. Her arms and legs were tense, tired, sore. There was a dull frustrated ache between her legs. There were knots in her neck, her lower back cried for rest.

My eyes must have flicked from her face for the thousandth time, to focus on her chest, her dark nipples pushing against the fabric of her dress. She saw it, knew where I was looking, understood how vulnerable I was. She played into it.

"You want inside this dress, and you know it." Words like needles in my brain. She kept pushing, twisting, prying, her voice low and monotonous, like a litany. "You're curious, mindlessly curious. You're thinking about the full curves of my chest, your mind is focused between my legs. You're so desperate you can't stand yourself; you want to feel my hands on your skin, my lips on your body. You want me, don't deny it."

I didn't deny it, I couldn't. It was all true. I could feel her in my mind, one continuous sinuous curve, shoulders-spine-rear-hips-calves. I wanted that curve wrapped around me.

I bit my lower lip to keep in from trembling.

The CD rotated again. I don't remember drinking any coke, but now there was only half a bottle left. I probably had to pee, but I couldn't tell. I was hardly aware of my own body, I ignored my own aches. I was so involved with her I didn't care; my body could destroy itself, from the inside out, if it wanted to.

Besides, it was over. I couldn't stand the tension, the wanting. The inches were too much, I wanted to be all over her, and there was no way I was going to hold out for any longer. Fine, I was a lesbian, a slut, a slave, I'd be all of those things, all of those things for her, and she could control me and hold my secrets over me. Everything was resonant, we vibrated, pulsed, we were electric. My body ached for her, my nerves screamed for her, my soul cried to touch her. I'd lost, I was weak, she was stronger than I was, and I no longer cared. I needed.

And before the emotion could cross my face, before my muscles could uncoil into her, I heard her whimper and her mouth covered mine. She was kissing my fervently, lips pulling gently at mine. She breathed into me in trembling, uncontrolled gasps; her jaw shook.

She had rushed me, bowling me over, pushing me backwards. Her body met with mine, she was folding and fitting and tangling herself into me. Her lips hadn't left mine, and I was kissing her back, rabidly, forgetting to breathe.

Her arms were wrapped around my back, and mine were sliding up and down her back, first holding her close to me and then pulling her hips into mine. I could feel her body on the length of mine, her stomach and breasts hot against mine. She was kissing my jaw and ear and neck, and let my head fall back to let her closer.

We weren't touching each other, exploring, pleasuring each other with our hands or mouths. We were trying to occupy the same exact spot in space at the same time. No compromises, we wanted to coexist.

Our legs had tangled together, her thigh pressed between mine and mine between hers; we were pushing into each other, hips bucking deliberately, in time with one another. We were in time with one another, in sync, breathing, pushing, hearts beating, all perfectly coincidental. And a little moan escaped her throat every time we pushed.

I could feel the pulsing of her all her muscles along the length of my body; her arms, her stomach, the muscles of her thigh stroking me between my legs. Her muscles pulsed in time with the electricity pulsing up my spine, round my lungs. I left her body behind, and mine, and lived sensation. We floated, we were resonant. We were perfect.

Her thighs tightened, squeezing mine, her body contracted and clenched, and one long whimper escaped her throat. Her hips bucked wildly against mine and she buried her face in my neck.

The arrhythmia drove me back into my body, all my muscles drew up and then uncoiled, driving the breath from my lungs. I simply didn't breathe anymore, just let my nerves scream, felt my legs, hips, between my legs, back, everything clench and unclench.

And then there was quiet, My lungs were empty, and I was too tired to fill them. It didn't matter; my body was relaxed, every nerve tingling. Jill was curled up on top of me, face buried in my neck. My arms were around her; our legs were still tangled together, still pressed against each others' bodies. My shirt had ridden up to my stomach, her skirt tangled up around hers.

I closed my eyes and rested, letting my mind wander back into her. I didn't even have to try anymore, I just wandered there naturally. She was loose, relaxed, and bewildered.

"I could have sworn I had you," she whispered, breath light on my neck. I had known her thought before she voiced it. "I did have you. You were all but broken."

"But that's not what you wanted. That's not the confession you were looking for."

"No, it wasn't."

"Did you know?"

She let a beat pass. "I must have, somewhere deep down inside. I just didn't want to admit it."

"If you were so afraid, then why didn't you say so? Why the games? Why try to beat me, to win, to prove you were stronger? Who were you trying to prove it to, anyway? ...Or did I just answer my own question?"

She didn't respond, and I didn't say any more. There would be time for tenderness later, to undress each other carefully and properly worship each other. There would be time; whether we actually would or not was the question. Maybe not, maybe just hold each other, maybe just fall asleep right then, or maybe she'd get up and straighten her clothes and we'd never say anything about it again. Either way, it hardly mattered anymore.