here was a red ribbon tied around the hairbrush.
Later that morning, I called my roommate Melissa at work. It was a brief conversation – two words after the usual hellos – and both of them were mine: "Ten-thirty." Hanging up, I thought about my roommate, our arrangement and the hairbrush in my hand. I didn't return it to the bathroom, but rather removed the ribbon, and took the stout, oak brush and placed it on the coffee table. I placed the red ribbon in a manila envelop, addressed it to Melissa at work and left our apartment to run a couple of errands. The first was to the design firm where she worked where I left the envelop with the receptionist with instructions that it be delivered to Melissa. The next was to a small shop on Polk Street where I made a special, albeit small, purchase. Nothing but the best – or worst, depending upon how you looked at it – for Melissa.
With the exception of another call to Melissa's office, the rest of the afternoon was spent on work and other mundane pursuits. In the evening, I went to a friend's place for dinner, in part because I wanted to avoid Melissa. I got back to the house we rented around ten. Melissa was there, the red ribbon in her hair. She saw me and went into her room without a word. At ten-thirty she came out and stood in front of me.
I looked her up and down. She was having a hard time meeting my eyes. Whatever this was, it had upset her. "Well?" I asked.
She crossed her arms in front of her breasts. She was wearing a black Ramones tee shirt, Levis, a pair of old Nike running shoes and the red ribbon. She still wouldn't meet my eyes. I looked down at the hairbrush on the table and back up at the ribbon in her hair. "I'm waiting Melissa...there's something you wanted to talk about."
I nodded to the streak of red in her hair, "That ribbon came out of the drawer and was tied on the hairbrush – it's an action you can't undo now."
A whisper, "I know." Still she could 't meet my eyes.
"And I see you wore the ribbon in your hair all day. How did that make you feel?"
Her face was blank. Like mask on a character out of a Japanese Noh drama, worn by a master, it's emptiness spoke volumes. It spoke of shame, of fear, of guilt, of an unresolved battle taking place within her.
Still whispering. "I'm nervous."
"As well you should be Melissa, but I asked you not how you're feeling now, where nerves and butterflies in your stomach are what I'd expect, but how you felt today. When you opened that package and saw the ribbon you had tied around the hairbrush. When you saw the 'request' that you'd left me this morning coming back to you at work. That's what I want to know about."
She finally looked me in the eye. Her hands dropped from her breasts. Her voice was strong and clear. "I felt ashamed. Like I was the little girl on the playground and everybody knew what I had done and what was going to happen to me when I got home. I opened the envelope and went to the bathroom then went into a stall and sat by myself for a good ten minutes and put it on. My hands were shaking. When I came out, all I could see in the mirror was how red it was. I thought everyone was staring."
She was crying.
"What did you do Melissa?"
She wiped away the tear. "I fucked Rebecca's boyfriend."
It was a strange mixture of pride and guilt and shame. I let it live for a moment and looked her up and down – her subtle breasts, her waist, her hips – and contemplated what I'd do next. She wasn't joking this time and this wasn't play. It wasn't 'I forgot to take out the recycling' or 'I used a fake parking ticket to park at an expired meter.'
"Take off all of your clothes – everything: shirt, pants, bra panties, socks...leave the ribbon in your hair."
She did so slowly and methodically, folding each item as it came off. When she was naked she stood before me. I let the moment last (and will admit was enjoying the sight of her – she looked good in a ribbon).
"Look at me. Now open yourself to me. Go on...reach down, with both hands, and spread it open – I want to see – in all of it's glorious detail – where your best friend's boyfriend stuck his cock."
In her eyes, the pride was gone.
I indicated her pussy. "Open – I want to see where he fucked you."
Slowly she reached down and peeled open her lips, exposing the pink within. Far from erotic, far from the beautiful thing it usually is, this was obscene. I felt shame, whether from her or myself, I don't know.
"Was it worth it?"
"No."
