Never Say Never (17 page)

Our lovemaking was gentle and exploring, heated and passionate. More than once I caught myself arrogantly setting out to prove that sexually, at least, there was nothing a man could give her that I couldn’t. It was these times when I became most fiercely passionate, burying my fear and my anger in the passion that exploded between us. Guiltily, I was scared all the more by the intensity between us and the fear of it ending. I exhausted her with pleasure, knowing that for a time I had succeeded in my arrogance by the way she held me tightly, whispering how wonderful I felt.

Each day, the intensity seemed to increase. Until every look, every touch was charged with an unspoken, electrical current.

All of it heightened, I’m sure, by the uncertainty. Everything was made new by the change in our relationship. And any time I found myself not quite believing what was happening, Sara would be near. Subtly pressing a knee against my thigh in the middle of a meeting. Placing her hands on my shoulders and leaning over me just a little too close as we poured over computer printouts spread out across my desk. Brushing my hand as she reached down to point out a particular problem.

Then there were the evenings. The weekends. Sara was alternately romantic and playful. Each day was an adventure, and I never knew quite what to expect.

It was on one of these nights as we lay quietly holding each other that she raised her head and smiled tenderly. “Tell me about kindergarten. What were you like? Who was your teacher? Do you remember much about it?”

“Whoa. Wait a minute. What’s all this?” I tickled her lightly and chuckled.

The look she gave me was earnest. “I want to know everything about you. Who you are. Where you’ve been. Every important moment of your life.” The eyes that held mine were clear and serious. I wondered if she knew how important those words were to me. How much it meant that she cared enough to want to know me.

“Mrs. Stembauch.” I smiled, more at my thoughts of Sara than at the memory. “What about you?”

She shook her head. “You first. I’ll tell you about me tomorrow night.”

I liked the game. I looked up at the ceiling, letting the years fall away. I remembered being a little towheaded girl crying outside the school room, screaming at the top of my lungs, and refusing to let go of my mother’s hand.

“I bawled like a baby the first day. I didn’t want to leave my mommy.”

“You poor thing.” Sara looked so sad. “Tell me what happened.” So I told her, in vivid detail. And every night she’d ask where we left off. And every night one of us would tell the other of another moment or event from our pasts. Nothing was too insignificant as we spent hours talking and listening, prompting each other for explanations of feelings, going over each year of our lives in excruciating detail. And I came to know Sara. Not the Sara in the cool blue suit, but the little green-eyed imp with pigtails who always fought with her brother and teased her little sister mercilessly.

I had always known that I was attracted to Sara, and I could almost pinpoint when I knew that I wanted her. But it was during these late night conversations that I found myself adoring her, loving her, and falling for her completely.

“You are, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I have ever had.” Sara whispered the words under her breath, so that only my ears could hear. It was a Thursday evening, and we had joined our coworkers at a local bar just after work. I had insisted that we join them, knowing that it had been some time since we had seen the group socially and that we still had a responsibility to keep up appearances. So there we sat, occasionally joining in the conversation, but remaining more a decorative fixture than a part of the group. We sat at one end of a large table while the others slung back their drinks.

I sneaked a look at her and saw that she was regarding me closely. Certain that no one could hear us, I asked her to elaborate.

A grin tugged at one corner of her mouth, but she remained pensive. “You’re attentive in many ways, really. But right now I was thinking about the physical part.”

I raised a glass of wine to my mouth to cover my smile. “Tell me,” I said.

“You’re so careful and sensitive. It’s like you’re listening to my body. Like you can hear what it’s saying or screaming. And you know how to respond. Exactly how to touch me.” She settled back in her chair and we surveyed the others. Her voice, when she continued, was quieter than before. “It’s almost like I don’t know where my body ends and yours begins, the way you hold me and kiss me and touch me in so many places at the same time.

I feel overwhelmed and so full and rich inside.” Phew. My emotions swelled as my body reacted physically to her words. I took another sip of wine and gave her what I hoped was an inconspicuous glance. “I do all of that to you?” She looked at me, studying my face. Her own features were a mixture of pain and wonderment and fear and lust. She nodded, her green eyes piercing mine, sending a shiver through my body.

Someone interrupted our conversation, planting himself in the chair beside Sara, chatting lightly. And suddenly I watched the professional Sara, the
straight
Sara, come smoothly to life.

Smiling graciously. Laughing at just the right moment. My mind began to reel with déjà vu. Nothing was as it seemed. I was reminded, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, of the awkwardness of the situation. So tenuous.

Then beneath the table where no one could see, I felt a stockinged toe seeking the top of my foot, stroking my ankle, and traveling up the calf of my leg. I joined in the conversation, smiling and laughing easily. The pressure of her knee against my thigh was a constant reassurance.

For nearly an hour we kept up the light social patter, all the while keeping up the pressure beneath the table. She continued to charm the others, periodically reaching over to squeeze my hand or tap my shoulder in what appeared to be a friendly, demonstrative way. But the looks she threw my way spoke of her longing and caused shivers to roll down my spine. I watched her, excited by the game we were playing, fascinated by the way she kept everyone hanging on every word. I watched her the way I had so often in the past, but knowing that for the present at least, she was mine. Knowing too, that the present may have to be enough. I told myself that the future didn’t matter.

Finally, she turned to me, the carefully fixed smile on her lips as she asked if I was ready to go. “I’m getting tired and a little hungry,” she explained. Then she took a gulp of her wine and leaned over, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to swallow you up, and I want you inside of me when I do it.” The ache between my legs leaped to life, and I stifled my groan. Putty in her hands, I let her make excuses for us, going through the motions of wishing them well as we left.

We took our time making love that night. Stretching each moment. The sweetness excruciating. Afterward, we lay curled together, her head resting in the crook of my neck, her fingers tracing the outline of my body. She seemed pensive, and I waited for her to give voice to her thoughts as I knew she would.

“It’s not easy, is it?”

“What’s that?” I asked, dipping my fingers into the curls of her hair.

“Being gay.”

I didn’t respond right away, and she continued. “All I wanted to do at the bar back there was hold your hand. Such a simple thing. And I couldn’t do it.” She raised herself on one elbow until her face hovered above mine. “Do you ever get used to it?’

I felt the sadness in her words and could see it in her eyes. “You do. After a while,” I told her. “It tends to make you appreciate the little things all the more.”

“Don’t you ever get angry about it?”

“Of course I do. I can get absolutely vehement about gay issues. But I’ve learned to temper my anger and choose my battles carefully.” I sighed heavily, feeling inadequate, not knowing how to explain. “Sometimes I see things in the big picture. And sometimes I just have to take care of my own little world.” Sara nodded, carefully settling back into my arms. I could sense the questions that had begun in her mind. The same questions I had asked myself years ago. While I wanted to give her the answers, I knew that I couldn’t try to persuade her to feel the way that I wanted. I could only hope that the answers, when they came, would lead her to me.

* * *

As much as I couldn’t wait to tell Susan about the change in my relationship with Sara, I was reluctant to pick up the phone.

I wasn’t prepared to hear the disapproval that I was sure would come. Finally, it was Susan who called me on Sunday morning, just a week after Sara’s confession.

We had just finished breakfast, and Sara had me pinned to the bed, teasing me and tickling me mercilessly. Sara had settled her full length on top of mine, kissing me slowly, when the phone began to ring. I was prepared to let it ring all day, but Sara raised herself up just enough to reach over and pick up the receiver.

“Hello?” She put the receiver to her ear, tipping it toward me just enough so that I could hear the voice on the other end.

“I’m looking for Leslie.” I could hear Susan clearly, mouthing the name to Sara so that she knew who she was talking to. “Is this Michelle?”

Sara grimaced at the mention of Michelle’s name, raising an eyebrow as she grinned impishly.

“Nope,” she said. “Wrong girlfriend.”

I stifled a laugh, hearing nothing but silence on the other end of the line. I could picture Susan in my mind, caught off guard and scrambling for something to say.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she recovered quickly. “This is Susan Richards. Is Leslie there?”

“Hi, Susan.” Sara’s voice caressed Susan’s name. “She’s right here. Just a second.” She lowered the phone and dropped a loud kiss on my open mouth. “Shame on you for not telling her about us yet,” she reprimanded me none too quietly. Then she grinned and lowered her voice. “I’m going to take a shower. It’ll give you two a chance to talk.” She kissed me again and padded back to her room.

“Hello, Susan.”

“Shame on you for not telling your best friend about the new woman,” she mimicked Sara’s words. “My god, Leslie. Do you have a revolving door to your room down there, or what?” I chuckled, letting her play her game.

“What’s going on?” she continued. “Who is she? What’s her name?”

I braced myself for Susan’s reaction. “Susan,” I dropped my voice down, “it’s Sara.”

“Sara?” She was incredulous. “
The
Sara?”

“Uh huh.”

“Ahh!” She screamed loudly in my ear. “I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. You dog. I told you.” She spent the next minute or so congratulating herself on her accurate prediction.

“How did it happen? Tell me,” she implored. “I can’t believe it.” I hesitated, deciding not to go into the details. “She told me that she had feelings for me.”

“Feelings? Uh-oh.” I could hear the warning bells in her voice.

“I told her that I felt the same way.”

“Yeah? Then what?” Susan continued to prompt me, barely giving me time to reply.

“We talked. We danced ...” I let the sentence dangle, enjoying for a moment the way she was agonizing over my words. A mistake, I soon realized, because she was well ahead of me.

“Did you sleep with her?”

I cringed a little at her blatancy. Making love with Sara was so new, so precious, that it was impossible for me to be cavalier about it. My spine bristled, and Susan noted my silence.

“You did.” I could hear the oohs in her voice. “When? Tell me.”

“Every night, actually. Since last Friday.”

“A week ago?”

“Uh huh.”

“And you didn’t call me?” Her voice was high.

“I’m sorry. It’s still so new,” I sighed and said quietly. “I’ve been on cloud nine, and I haven’t wanted to break the spell.” She hesitated a bit. “This isn’t like a one-night kind of thing?” Her voice had settled down, becoming pensive.

“No. It’s like . . .” I struggled to find the right way to describe it. “It’s like we’re lovers now. We’re together all the time.” Susan whistled long and low. Then there was silence on the other end of the line before she said, “You’re happy with this.” I could hear the doubt in her voice, and I knew that she wanted to express caution.

“Very,” was my quick reply.

“Leslie, I’m happy for you. But I have to tell you that I’m a little worried about this.”

“Don’t be.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Don’t. Susan, please.” My voice was emotional. “I don’t want to think about that right now, okay?” Silence stretched on the other end. “I appreciate your concern. Really, I just want to enjoy this right now.”

Susan’s voice softened. “I suppose it’s a little late for warnings, huh?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid it is.”

The conversation went on for a short while longer. We changed the topic, and I explained that I probably wouldn’t be back to Boston before Thanksgiving. Sara had to go there to see her folks, and I planned on flying back with her. I told Susan I’d keep in touch, and we ended the call.

I hesitated before getting out of bed. The phone call hung over my head like a threatening cloud. There were too many unanswered questions. But it was too soon to worry, I told myself.

Anything could happen.

As much as I tried to insulate myself against my own fears, the outside world began to seep in. We were in my office, congratulating ourselves on another in a series of small successes when Sara was called away unexpectedly. Billy took the opportunity to pin me down.

“What’s going on with you two?”

“What do you mean?” My smile didn’t waver, my voice was nonchalant.

“Look,” he began, his voice clipped. “I don’t think anybody else has noticed. But it’s obvious to me the way you two look at each other. I saw her touch you three times in the last fifteen minutes. A month ago she didn’t even want to be in the same room with you.”

I had expected Billy’s teasing, but I was caught off guard by the anger in his tone. I looked at him evenly, trying to comprehend his hostility.

“Are you worried that the others will find out?” I asked.

“It wouldn’t be cool, Leslie.” He was scowling, and I became indignant.

My voice was cold. “Sara and I aren’t going to do anything stupid. And you’re not going to be outed any more than you already are.”