Lawrence Block - Warm and Willing

“Then we’d better get to sleep.”

“But I’m not tired,” she said. And she turned away and said, “I want to see you, I want to hold you. I want to look at you without any clothes on or any robe. I want to touch your body. I want so much to love you, Megan.”

“Baby-”

She turned to face Megan again. “I don’t know anything,” she said miserably. “I have to learn everything.”

“Like what?”

“Like how to make love.”

“You’ll do fine, baby.”

“But I don’t know anything-”

Megan’s hand, cool and soft, on the side of her face. “Don’t worry. And don’t be in such a rush to learn. The first times are so sweet and warm, so new. It’s wonderful to discover yourself. Don’t hurry past those times. Let it come slowly.”

“I want to be good for you.”

“You are. You couldn’t help being good for me.”

“I think I love you, Megan.”

“Oh, baby.”

She sat up straight. “What do we do now? Do you love me, Megan?”

“God, yes.”

“Well, what do we do? That other girl, the girl you bought the pendant for-”

“Forget her.”

“Did she live here? With you?”

“Yes.”

She thought about it. No more being alone, no more sleeping in that narrow bed, no more living in that little joyless room alone by herself. She would live in this apartment, with Megan. She would sleep every night in this big bed, with Megan.

“I love you,” she said.

“My darling.”

“Take off your robe. I want to see you.”

And Megan stood up and let the robe slip off her shoulders. The robe fell to the floor and Rhoda let her eyes take in the full perfection of the blonde girl’s body. Arms and shoulders tanned golden by the sun. Firm and large and flawless breasts, larger than Rhoda’s own. A narrow waist, a flat stomach. Wide and almost shameless hips. Long, long, long legs.

“My love,” she said. And she said the words not so much to Megan as to herself. This was her love, this was the person whom she loved. This goddess, high breasted and gloriously blonde, this was the person who warmed her and excited her.

“Lie with me,” she said.

The phrase seemed slightly biblical. Lie with me. As Adam knew Eve, and she conceived and bore Megan was beside her. In the bed. Megan’s body was next to her own body, close to her own body, and she could feel the heat of the blonde girl, could smell the perfume of her. The lights were on this time. Before, they had come together in darkness. Now she could see the sweet flesh of the girl who had made sweet love to her.

“I don’t know what to do, ” she said.

“Just kiss me. ”

“I-”

She took Megan in her arms, drew Megan close. At first she kissed her very tentatively, not knowing quite how to go about it, not wanting to do anything that wasn’t good form. Her arms were around Megan and her lips touched Megan’s lips gently and briefly, and she felt Megan’s body against her own, and all at once she knew what to do, knew precisely how she ought to behave.

Her tongue moved to caress Megan’s lips. Megan’s mouth opened in response, and Rhoda’s tongue probed that mouth, stretching the kiss and turning it into something much greater than any kiss had ever been. And she thought suddenly that Tom had taught her to kiss this way, or had tried, and that she had thought it disgusting and unpleasant. But now it was neither, now it was good.

Her hands moved, moved instinctively. And she kissed Megan and taught herself the contours of Megan’s body, and she looked into Megan’s half-lidded eyes and saw how they swam in passion, and she knew that she would be able to learn all that had to be learned, that in her she already seemed to know all the secrets of love. She would be good. She would make Megan happy.

Afterward, she never quite dropped off to sleep. She dozed lightly. Outside, the sky grew light with the overture of dawn. She stayed in bed until seven-thirty, then slipped out soundlessly and went into the living room to dress. She looked at the couch, all made up with sheets and a blanket, and she thought how she had tried to sleep there, how she had fought a battle with herself and had neither lost or won, this depending upon one’s point of view.

She had won, she knew. She had gained a world, and all that she had given up was better lost. Loneliness, frigid independence, unsound self-sufficiency-these were gone, and she was better off without them. So that battle on the narrow couch had been a victory.

She dressed quickly, went back to the bedroom to look for Megan. The blonde girl was sleeping soundly. In the kitchen she found a pad and pencil. She wrote: My love, I’m off to work. Meet me for lunch, if you can. Or meet me after work and help me move in with you. She paused, chewed on the end of the pencil, then added: I feel so wonderful, so very wonderful. I can’t believe it. I did not think I would ever be this gloriously happy. See what you’ve done to me? You’ve got me running off at the mouth. Not at the mouth, I guess, because I’m writing this, not saying it. Running off at the pencil? Oh, I’m silly. I ought to tear up this silly note and start over. I love you, I truly do.

She was outside on the street before she realized that she did not know where she was. Megan had told her what street they were on, but she was bubbling with wine at the time and the street name had not sunk in. She memorized Megan’s house number, then walked to the nearest corner. Megan lived on Cornelia Sheet, she saw and she was now at the corner of Cornelia and Bleecker, which meant that she was only four or five blocks from her own room. She had probably walked past Megan’s building a dozen times, never dreaming she would know a girl who lived inside.

Not so strange, she realized. The Village was not so very large, and she had walked down all its streets at one time or another. Now she headed over to Seventh Avenue, found a diner and had a quick breakfast, smoked several cigarettes and drank three cups of black coffee. She had had hardly any sleep at all during the night, and yet she was somehow not at all tired. She paid her check and hurried off to work.

The shop was as she had left it, the work itself the same as always. And yet everything was entirely different this morning and she knew it, could feel it in the air and in herself. Her step was quicker and lighter, her voice firmer and easier when she spoke. People seemed different-more human, even. They were the same hurrying tourists with the same lack of taste as always, and she knew this, but she found herself relating to them in a different fashion.

It took no stroke of genius to guess what was responsible for the change. The world had not turned suddenly rosy; it was she who was wearing rose-colored glasses. And all of this had come about because of the night with Megan. It was that simple. All at once the words to all the silly popular songs seemed to make sense.

Megan met her for lunch. They sat in a booth around the comer and ate hamburgers. Megan said, “I got your note. You’re sweet.”

“It was a silly note.”

“I loved it. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You were sleeping so well.”

“I didn’t see the note at first. I was afraid you had left me.”

“Why? How could I leave you?”

“I thought you were sorry for what we had done. It’s hard to face the fact that you are out of step with the rest of the world. Society has a pretty picture of normal people and an ugly picture of us. Homosexuals are supposed to be sick or twisted or evil. When you grow up believing that, when the image is reinforced at every turn, it’s hard to wake up and realize that you’re one of the sick and evil and twisted creatures. I didn’t know how you would react.”