Involuntary Reaction
She touches my hand and I feel suddenly special, then I am driving home with my hands clamped on the steering wheel listening to the stereo quite loud. If it spoke of love it would be apropos, but the singer can't stop saying that he's feeling good and I feel that too. All I can see is her bare breast and my unmanicured fingers or the imagination of my tongue tasting her abdomen. I feel dizzy. I want her, but what if we only work as friends? I can't allow myself to love her. How do you not imagine hands touching you, caressing you; lips, tongue, fingers?
I can't finish this thought.
Did you realize that love is involuntary?
~~~~~
Lionna and I have been friends for a very long time. I think back to the day we met. We both sat in detention for stupid reasons. Amongst the real trouble-makers who had brought knives to school or sluffed five classes a day sat Lionna and I. I had been caught in the middle of a misunderstanding, however the nerd image everyone had of me was certainly a mistake. Lionna, she explained when the teacher left the room, was there for kissing.
"Kissing?" I had asked.
"A girl," she responded. I could see that she was watching my reaction. In a conservative town like the one we grew up in, it was very hard to find a sympathetic person.
I smiled. I'd never been kissed. Not by a girl or a boy. 'How daring!' I recall thinking.
After detention, I invited her to dinner at my house. She accepted. My parents never really approved. I find that ironic, really. The friend they liked was the one who taught me to smoke and offered me my first beer. Lionna only ever made me want to think and be independent. She opened my mind to a whole world I hadn't looked at.
After college, she went to grad school. I started my career. Between the two, we saw each other on weekends and after she got her Master's she got a job. She put in so many hours trying to get ahead that our weekends became even more occasional.
Three years ago, she bought a house and started a relationship with a woman I didn't like, Sarah. It wasn't jealousy. Sarah wanted all the nice things Lionna could give her, but didn't offer anything in return. A year later, Sarah left and Lionna lay heartbroken on the kitchen floor until I convinced her that brownies and booze wasn't the solution. It was around that time that I started to realize I didn't just want to spend time with her. I didn't just like it. I needed it. I needed her. I missed her when she wasn't near and when she was, I laughed too hard at everything.
I had avoided relationships probably because I didn't want to admit that I needed anyone. I realize as I look around that other women like me who proclaim their need for independence are really just insecure, so I ask myself 'Am I insecure?' I know one thing. I don't trust very many people. I wonder if it's possible to grow bitter if I don't grasp onto a life that is presented to me with both hands.
We're sitting on the floor in her basement leaned back against the couch. A movie is playing and I watch her reach into the popcorn bowl between us. Her fingers are agile as they carry a number of kernels to her mouth. I know I shouldn't be watching her, I should be watching the movie. Instead, all I can think about is leaning over just a few inches and then our mouths would touch. I ache to kiss her, to begin kissing her and never stop.
Something funny happens and she laughs. I have no idea what is so funny because I'm not paying any attention to the movie, only to my sick perversions. She's my friend. We are only friends and that is all we are meant to be. Why can't I get rid of this image in my mind?
The buzzer goes off as I'm staring at her legs in those extremely short shorts and I realize the frozen pizza is done. I glance at her face and she smiles, oblivious. "I'll get it," I offer.
"You sure?" she asks.
I nod and move to stand. In the kitchen I grab a hot pad and open the oven. I put the pizza on the stovetop and look at it. Deciding it's not done, I move to put it back. The glove slips, the pan falls, and as I jerk back the back of my wrist touches the coil. My God! It only touched for an instant, but I feel the burn. "Dammit!" I grunt, the oven slamming accidentally. I only wanted it closed so I can rush to the sink and get cold water running over my burn.
I'm not even aware of Lionna as she comes into the kitchen to see what's wrong. She leans over my shoulder. "Are you okay?"
I jump a little, surprised. "Oh, yeah," I say, not wanting to admit how stupid it sounds that I wasn't very careful near the oven. Little children get scolded for such carelessness and for moment I think I want her to scold me. "I just wasn't very careful," I say, looking at her over my shoulder.
Lionna touches my hand and it gives me a thrill. "Let me see." I take it out of the water and she looks. "Ouch. I have some ointment upstairs. It's special ... for burns. It works great. Do you want to go put it on?"
I nod. She leads me up the stairs, turning on the water in the bathroom sink. "Put your hand under there while I find it," she commands, then begins to search the medicine cabinet. Eventually she returns and sits up on the counter beside the sink. She holds my hand so softly that I become sensitive to the fact that her hands are smooth and manicured. Mine are so clumsy and stubby. I look into her face, watching her concentrate on drying the wound gently.
"It's not too bad," she says. "A little red, but it'll be okay."
I nod. "Hurt like a son of a bitch," I murmur as she wipes the towel over it one last time, then lets go to uncap the anti-bacterial cream. I tremble slightly. Spreading a small amount over the cut, she then takes out some thin gauze. "Just to let it soak up the ointment. You're supposed to take it off in a few minutes." Taking my hand she places it on her thigh to stabilize it. My fingertips are touching the hem of her shorts and the rest of my hand touches skin. Placing the bandage over my injured flesh, she gently runs her finger over the tape to press it down.
Finally she glances up and smiles at me. I don't move my hand. She blinks, but doesn't seem to mind my hand there. I know what I want to do with that hand yet I can't seem to bring myself to do it. She doesn't think I'm threatening. I think that offends me, but I'm not going to analyze that right now. Instead I am trying to figure out why I don't just do it; why I don't let my hand slip just a little. Her shorts are a little baggy and I could easy slide a finger into one leg of them. If she doesn't react when I touch her inner thigh I can try something else, but I have to try the first step.
Just as I'm sure I've built up the courage, I stare at my hand, willing it to move. I feel a touch on my neck and look up. She's leaning toward me and her lips touch mine. It is at that moment that I think I'm going to wake up. 'All this has been a damned dream?' I ask myself. 'That's just not fair!'
But I don't wake up and I've gently moved fingers to her inner thigh. She's still kissing me, harder now, her other hand touching my hip, then my waist, then my ribcage, and as she cups my breast, I know it's not a dream. Clumsily, I grab her breast and let out an involuntary moan.
She leans back, taking her hands off me and I'm standing there, my hand on her breast and the other in her shorts, but I can't move them. She looks into my eyes and a moment later I realize how I'm touching her. I pull my hands back quickly and look away. "I'm sorry," I say breathlessly.
"I kissed you first," she says.
I look into her eyes and she's smiling. I swallow. "I got carried away," I offer numbly.
She touches my jaw. "So did I," she whispers.
I stare a moment before backing away. "Pizza?" I ask.
She chuckles. "Yeah. Let's eat."
I can't believe it happened. I know we only kissed, but I'm imagining more. The song about feeling good still isn't over though I've relived the entire scenario. I want her. I need her. Is this the first step to there being an us or am I fantasizing before it has happened?
The End
2004