Long breath in. Long breath out. Waiting.
What we’re waiting for is hard to describe. You’re waiting for me, and I am waiting for...myself, I suppose. Or is it that I’m waiting for you, except...you’re already here. Maybe I just haven’t noticed it yet, haven’t gotten used to it, can’t believe it, won’t accept it, can’t imagine it, I-
But there you are, regardless. Waiting.
You don’t wait like I do. I don’t have your patience, your serenity. I look at you, and I can’t believe your expression. You’re so calm, Vinyl, how are you...how you are always so calm, and so kind?
I’m not like you, and I keep thinking that I don’t deserve you. And you don’t deserve me either - wait, no! I didn’t mean it like that! I meant that you deserve better than me. I’m a nervous wreck, aren’t I? Sitting here on the edge of the bed with the most delectable girlfriend and I can’t even-
I look back at you with fear and shame, and your eyes meet mine with impenetrable patience.
What on earth am I afraid of?
You always remind me that I’m free to refuse you, that I can always say “no” if I’m uncomfortable. I am uncomfortable, but it’s not because I don’t want you. I do want you, Vinyl. I’ve wanted you since before I even realized I wanted you. I catch myself staring at you, at your eyes, your lips, your...your curves...even when fully clothed. Which we still are, incidentally. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed while my girlfriend lies behind me, and the both of us are fully clothed.
I’m not a very good lover, am I?
“Don’t beat yourself up,” you whisper.
I turn back to you again, quickly. “How did you....how did you know?”
You smile. “‘Cause you’re always doing that.”
“I...I’m sorry.”
You rise to sit cross-legged on the bed. “Don’t apologize.”
“Well then- “ I give a quick sigh in a fruitless attempt to feel less flustered. “-what do you want me to do?”
“Give yourself some slack, Octy. It’s totally normal-”
“It’s not normal!” I snap, surprising myself with my own anger. “I’m not normal! A woman my age, I…I must be the oldest virgin this side of-”
“I love you.”
I spin around again. “What?!”
“I love you”, you repeat. I cannot fathom how you manage to be so steadfast about it. Your wild blue hair frames your red eyes as you say it to me, saying those words for perhaps the hundredth time. You’re so casual, but in the exact same moment you’re extraordinarily sincere. I don’t know how you do it.
“Well, I love you too,” I stammer out. It’s true, of course, but I’m not nearly so skilled at expressing it. And I still have no conception of how this dynamic actually works. Surely it ought to be I who finds it easy to speak of love and you who finds it difficult, because I’m the one loving you and you’re the one loving me! Loving you is easy! All that...energy of yours, all your passion, your fearlessness, honestly who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Loving me, on the other hand, well, obviously that must be extremely difficult, and I just-
“It’s gonna be ok,” you whisper, and I realize I’ve been spacing out. Another one of my disreputable qualities.
“Hey” you continue, softly, “it’s no big deal. If you want, we don’t have to do anything. I can leave.”
“Leave?” I ask in surprise. ”Why would you leave? It’s your apartment!”
You give me one of your signature joking smiles and a casual shrug. “I could go to your place.”
I nearly laugh. “Oh, is that what we’re going to do? I’ll sleep in your bed and you’ll sleep in mine, and what, we’ll just pretend to be together?”
“If that’s what makes you happy.”
A pause. I soften a little. “How are you so patient with me?”
You shrug again. “You’re worth it.”
“I am not.”
“You are.” You take my hand in yours. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Darling, I’m not...I mean...what I mean to say is…”
I take a long look into your eyes before continuing. I must have churned these thoughts through my mind a hundred times already, a thousand times. Always looking for some way out of it, some way to just “get with the program”, as they say. But there is no program here. The path ahead wasn’t written out like sheet music, everything pre-arranged and organized.
I’m beginning to realize that love is an improvised piece.
Swallowing my shame, I finally manage to mutter “Suppose I’m...suppose we get closer and...I’m not...what you expect?”
“What do you mean?” Your voice remains gentle.
“Vinyl, I...I want to be a good…” My mind stumbles on the word, but I force myself to say it. “A good lover for you. The best. You deserve the best.”
The words begin to tumble out of my mouth now. “I want to be, oh, I don’t know…passionate and uninhibited and all these wonderful things that I’m sure you’d appreciate, and I’m afraid that I’ll just bring all my nonsense with me instead. And it won’t be lovemaking then, it’ll be a mess of anxiety and depression and all my twisted emotions and it would ruin everything! You know how I get sometimes and I don’t want to bring that into bed.”
As I ramble, your expression grows more and more confused. Suddenly you interrupt me, putting a hand on my shoulder. I turn my head away, blinking back tears, waiting for a reprimand, a stony silence, something-
“Octy,” you say. I turn back to meet your eyes, and I watch you as you say: “That’s what beds are for.”
Tears roll down my cheeks. “What?” I whimper. “What do you mean?”
“Octy,” you say again, with a hand on each of my arms now. You smile, but it’s a tender smile, not a mocking one. “Octy, you...you’re not a hooker.”
I can’t help myself; I laugh. “What?” I laugh in the midst of my crying, and I lean closer to you as you run your hand through my hair.
‘I didn’t, like...hire you...” you say. I laugh again. The most ridiculous laughter, full of confusion and relief. You continue with that same smile in your voice “...to like, pleasure me or something. Ok? I mean if you were a hooker, ya know, fine, that’s legit.”
“I’m not!” I blurt out, smiling despite myself. I rest my head along your collarbone, my tears dripping onto your shirt.
“Right, I think we both know that. Not a hooker. Great. Also, you’re my girlfriend and I love you. Do you know what that means?”
“What does it mean?” I sob, my eyes closed tight.
“It means you’re allowed to have feelings, ok? And I’m gonna love you anyway.”
I begin sobbing, and for a long while there are no words between us. There is only me, in the strange relief I can scarcely describe, and you, holding me in kindness.
Something begins to happen then. It starts happening before I’m even aware of it. I notice things. Your scent. The feeling of your neck against my forehead. The delicate touch of your fingers in my hair. My tears begin to dry. Slowly, very slowly, I pull back, and I look at you, and I find myself whispering.
“I...I really like your skin.”
“Thanks.”
I pause to think.
“Vinyl...I’m not sure…I mean honestly….I don’t think I’m ready...for sex.”
You nod. “Ok.”
“But…” I hasten to add, “would you like to...cuddle? With me?”
You smile. “Sure.”
You reach for me again, but I put a hand up to stop you. I look into your eyes. Those wonderful eyes. “What I meant was...would you like to cuddle...topless.”
A pause. I smile, gingerly, delicately. “I....would really like to feel...more of you...so...I-”
“YES.” In a flash, your white tank top is gone and discarded. I catch my breath as your hands reach back for the clasp of your bra. You pause and smile. “You wanna see these tits, pretty girl?”
I nod, sheepishly. “I want to hold them.”
You unfasten the clasp, but the bra doesn’t drop. You slide the straps over your arms, waiting for me. Waiting. You lean back against the bed, inviting me in. I lay down next to you, placing one hand upon your bra, my fingers brushing against your exposed skin. I take a long, deep breath, readying to reveal your precious chest. I take a long, deep breath, and I realize I’m breathing in you.
I kiss you, slowly, and tears come back to my eyes.
“Are you...are you sure?” I ask.
“Babe, if you wanna cry and grope me at the same time, I’ll still be the luckiest girl in town.”
“I love you, darling.”
‘Love you too, babe.”
Slowly, my hand grasps at the garment…
…and pulls it away.
Your breasts are warm, soft and comforting. Your lips are more inviting than they’ve ever been before. Your hand embraces my back.
I murmur. “You can...reach under my shirt...if you like. Feel my skin...please….”
“Sure, babe.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
In time, you dry my tears.
