THE LEGAL SECTION- this is adult material, so if you're too young to read sexually explicit things please stop reading this now. The same goes for adults who don't like this stuff. This story should not inspire you to do anything more than have a good time.
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I was sitting in my living room that Sunday morning, working on the broken clasp of one of my anklets, my favorite anklet. The most expensive piece of jewelry I owned, it was a silver chain studded with diamond chips given to me by an ex-girlfriend. But the price tag was hardly the reason I cherished it. She gave it to me last year for my twenty- fourth birthday and I considered it a sign of how she felt about me. I was in love with her and it was her way of saying she felt the same.
Frustrated, I tossed aside the anklet and the pair of needle nose pliers I was using to fix it. I needed to lift my spirits. My eyes found the small bong sitting on the coffee table and my mind thought about watching some Saturday morning cartoons stoned. A tempting idea until I remembered the ex and I used to do that together. I looked at the windows and decided to let the exhibitionist in me take a shot. I opened the curtains wearing nothing but a pair of thong panties, giving an eyeful to anyone watching, but to my dismay even the voyeur in the apartment across the courtyard wasn't home.
I left the curtains open and sat down on the couch, picked up the anklet and the pliers and tried working on it some more. The one bit of consolation I had was that it broke in the throes of passion last night, and for the first time in four months and I'm proud to say I wasn't alone for it. I kept fumbling with the pliers trying to reach the piece that was bent. It was tough because I was still swimming in a semi-hangover, trying to gather the troops in my head while keeping my eyes focused on the small clasp area. I heard keys rattling in the lock of my front door. It scared me at first, until I remembered I'd given Amy keys to the apartment before she left. By the time I reached the door she had the deadbolt open and was working on the doorknob lock. I opened the door and yanked her halfway inside with her hand on the knob.
"Hel-lo!" she said.
"Sorry, thought I'd give you a hand."
"I'd prefer the tit," she said as she patted my left breast. I shut the door and took in the vision before me. Amy is 5'5" and 125 lbs, I know this because her size and body type are almost identical to mine. Her breasts are a B cup, also like mine, but while I have brown curly hair down to my shoulders, Amy's coal dark hair is chin length. She wore a red halter-top that exposed her belly, giving me a nice shot of her deep bellybutton and the silver waist chain sitting below it. A pair of black jeans and flip flops finished the outfit, along with the silver toe ring on her right index toe which was the first thing about her to catch my eye last night.
"Well?" I asked.
"I got some coffee," she said. I noticed the cardboard tray in her hand with two cups from the coffee place down the block. Amy flashed her pearly white smile and walked over to the couch, setting the tray down on the coffee table.
I wasn't sure if she understood what I was asking, so I tried again. "How'd it go?"
"Fine." Her eyes darted to the table, where she noticed the anklet and picked it up. "I'm so sorry about this. I'll pay to have it repaired."
Okay, she was avoiding it. "Don't worry, that's not important. How'd it go?"
She took one cup out of the tray and took a sip. "It went fine," she said, her eyes looking at the cup instead of me. "I told her and that was that."
"And she's okay with it?"
She held the broken anklet in her hand and nodded. "Absolutely."
"Are you okay?"
She looked up at me and smiled, but her eyes were sad and I saw tears in the corners. The smile faded from her face. "No." she croaked, looking back at the anklet. "She said it was okay and no problem and all that." Tears started running and her voice was choked up. "Fuck. I saw it in her eyes. As soon as I said the words her face just.dropped. I mean, I knew she'd be shocked at first, but after that it was like, like she was disappointed." I sat next to her and pulled her to me. We hugged as she started to cry.
"I'm sorry." I said. And I really was, because I had brought all of this on her.
Thirteen hours earlier I walked into my friend Mario's apartment. We've been friends since college and he now lives in the building down the block from me. A year ago he'd been looking for a place to live and I saw the vacancy sign in front of what would become his new address. The apartment was a two bedroom, so one of his old frat buddies moved in with him. Even in school Mario was a neat freak, bordering on obsessive compulsive (as a psych major I noticed these things), but his friend played the Oscar to his Felix and when the lease was up the friend moved out. Last night was the first party with his new roommate, a girl named Cynthia.
Mario isn't involved with her, at least not yet, but since the boy has perfected his suave chick magnet routine I was taking open bets on the change in status. Of course with his track record, any involvement would be short lived and invariably end up badly.
I made my way to the kitchen, pausing to talk to the occasional friend I saw along the way. There were plenty of people I didn't know, Mario's co-workers or Cynthia's friends, and I felt more than a few male eyes checking me out. In the kitchen Mario was working the blender, mixing one of his alcoholic concoctions that could melt steel.
"Whatever it is," I said "it's not going to turn you into The Incredible Hunk."
"Hel-lo lez-bo!!!" he yelled and gave me a hug. "Here." He stuck a plastic cup filled with a purplish liquid in my hand.
I took a whiff and was able to imagine the hangover already. "What's in this?"
"Just try it!" he yelled. I took a sip and felt my tongue shrivel. "Well?"
"Now I know what turpentine tastes like."
A girl standing by the stove laughed. Mario grabbed her and pulled her towards me. "Cynthia, I want you to meet my best friend in all the world, Tanya."
I shook hands with Cynthia. A thin, willowy blonde, she could have been a model except for a slightly large, misshapen nose. "I've heard a lot about you," she said.
"Then you've gotten your first lesson in how you can't trust this idiot." I told her. Cynthia laughed again, a little too hard this time. She'd probably have laughed even if it weren't funny. We talked about Mario and I gave her some stories that he hemmed and hawed and made excuses for. I busted his chops a little about his reputation with women.
"I wouldn't talk," he said "you're dressed like you're on the prowl tonight." I had dressed provocatively, a tight orange tank top that showed my belly button ring, dark jeans that stopped mid-calf and sandals. I wore a gold armband on my left arm and my favorite anklet around my right ankle.
"Sorry to say you won't find too much here tonight," Cynthia said, "all of my friends are straight." There was something about the way she said it, a hint of arrogance so natural she probably didn't even notice it. Like the way a sheltered rich girl might tell you she'd just shopped at an outlet for the first time in her life.
As the night progressed I got a better idea of Cynthia. Most of her friends were male and she enjoyed flirting with them, liked getting attention. I talked to a few and found many of them had met Cynthia at dance clubs. When I told one guy I was a lesbian he did the usual- asked questions like a cop interrogating a murder suspect.
I watched Mario work the few girls who were there. I've always wondered what he sees in me as a friend, aside from the fact that I'm the only white person he knows who speaks Spanish. We enjoy the obvious- checking out girls together, making bets which one of us would get a phone number. I think he likes having a girl pal who can call him on his bullshit and see him for who he really is. And me? I like having a guy friend who never treated me like a specimen, some enigma he had to figure out. As much of a dog as he is, he never tried to get me into bed. I told him I was a lesbian who didn't sleep with men and he accepted it. There isn't much to respect Mario for, but the little that's there is worth putting up with the rest of it.
I was still debating my sexual preference with the guy I'd just met when Cynthia walked over to us. "You two getting along?" she asked.
"This girl is something else," the guy said as he pointed to me. "She's a lesbian, but she's never been with a guy before."
"I don't understand what you don't get about it." I said.
"You say you're not attracted to men, but how do you know if you've never tried it?"
