Naked Curiosity
I am looking at thighs. She is sitting on her heels facing me and I do not know what to do other than stare at her thighs. Three-quarters of the way up, her black silk stockings end in a black band. They are not lacy, nor do they have a bow. They are simple and held in place by a black garter belt.
***
When we were 13, we used to hang out in the basement of her parent's house because they both worked. She read her mother's Cosmo like it was a religious experience. I got bored watching her stare at the models and advertisements. I asked her if she wanted to take the quiz.
"We don't have boyfriends," she had said.
"But we will someday."
She just shrugged and said: "I don't think I ever want a boyfriend."
"Why not?" I had asked.
"I just don't," she said, staring at an emaciated model in a miniskirt. Funny back then I thought that was risqué. She pointed to the model, her finger landing right above the woman's belly button. "Don't you think she's cute?"
I had shrugged, then, finally looking. "I don't like miniskirts," I had remarked.
She was quiet for a while and I didn't understand why. When she spoke again, I thought she was telling me what she wished she looked like. "It's not the outfit. She has pretty eyes and beautiful lips."
"Maybe when we get boobs, we'll look good too," I had said and we had both laughed. "Even still, I don't want to look like that," I said after we stopped. "I like those women with black around their eyes and thigh high silk stockings. I guess when I'm older I'll wear stuff like that." I watched way too many old movies.
"Why not wear it now?"
"You know my parents. They're so strict. It's not worth it." I shrugged again. "I guess I figure one day I'll be old enough. Not worth fighting to do it now when I haven't got the body."
She nodded then, and turned the page.
***
Her thighs meet and are covered by a pair of small black lace panties. I can see flesh through them, but I'm trying not to. Instead I move up to the bare skin, pale and perfect. I look at her belly ring and examine the cloudy stripes in the blue gemstone.
We were 17 when she graduated from high school. She had always been so smart which I admired, but which also separated us early because she skipped a grade. She went right to college. Out of state, I only saw her for holidays and we mailed a letter now and then. I turned 18 two weeks after she did and a month later was off to college myself. I also went out of state and the letters got fewer and farther between.
***
I see her hands. Her fingers are long and thin, her fingernails short and manicured. For some reason I imagine them writing letters and I twist my hands, thinking of the letters I wrote. Internet was so new back then. Now I could email her and see her at the drop of a hat. It might be with the aid of a digital camera, but I don't have to. She's here right in front of me.
I was 26 when my sister got married. Standing near the dance floor, her parents were the ones to approach me. "She's doing great," her mother told me. "She said if I saw you I just had to get your phone number."
I dug through my pocket and came up with a business card I no longer needed and a pen. On the back I wrote two phone numbers so that if I wasn't at home, she could get my cell.
Three months later I had forgotten about the event because I hadn't heard from her right away. That was when she finally called. "Did you get a tattoo?" she asked immediately.
"Why did you ask me that?" I had responded.
"On the back of the card my mother gave me; it's a business card for a tattoo parlor."
I chuckled then. That's why I hadn't needed it anymore. I had decided I was simply too chicken to let someone stab at my flesh for a couple hours.
We started going out once a month, usually for dinner, and called it 'Girl's Night'.
Her black lace bra matches the panties and lift her breasts into perfect shapes on her chest. On her left breast is the tattoo of a black crow. His wingspan is less than six inches and he's beautiful.
I still wonder if I acted inappropriately when we were 27 and she told me she was a lesbian. All I said was "Oh." I figure she must have expected more because she asked me what I thought about it.
"I think it's about time," I had told her then. "I mean, ever since we were kids, you looked at women like chocolate bars." She smiled, then I continued. "Besides. It doesn't make a difference."
"It doesn't?" she had asked.
"No. I don't care." I answered, shrugging. I thought maybe it should and that's why she had told me, but honestly, hearing such things had never made a difference to me.
Now she is sitting before me in those stockings wearing too much black eyeliner and mascara. I finally meet her gaze and she holds me in her sights. I am mesmerized. "I told you it's okay to be confused," she is saying to me.
I can only whisper when I try to speak. "I think thigh high stockings must have been God's greatest invention."
She chuckles, then waits only a moment before reaching out to touch my knee. She looks as though she expected this, but when I stripped down to my underwear, I was forced to try looking comfortable in plaid cotton panties and a black velvet bra. I don't feel sexy, but she looks so sexy it hurts. My stomach is tightening into a knot. Finally I whisper again. "I don't know if I'm confused. I think I'm just curious."
"Curious about what?" she is asking.
"Specifically," she tacks on so I can't give my usual vague answers when I am in an uncomfortable situation.
"What it would be like to?" I hesitate because I know it will sound crude, but I remind myself that we've known each other for decades and we're not even 3 decades old yet. I swallow, close my eyes, and just say the things on my mind. "To taste a breast. I wonder how a woman tastes and what it would feel like if you came while my tongue was inside you." Her fingers tense on my leg and it's not until then that I realize I said 'you' instead of 'a woman'. I can't open my eyes so I imagine the look on her face - that one of horror and annoyance. I am sure her fingers tensed because she is preparing to take them off of me and end this now, but instead I feel lips on my lips. Her tongue touches my lips and pushes its way inside, feeling invited I'm sure, because my heart is pounding out of my chest and I want more. Her hand leaves my thigh, moving up to my hip and I can feel the room getting warmer.
I went to bed with her feeling curious. I wake now and look out the window of her beautiful loft and I think about the wonderful night. Last night I thought we would do this experiment and I would know for sure what it was like and what I wanted. Now I find that I am confused. What do you do when curiosity turns to confusion? I guess that's what I have to find out.
The End
2005