I sat back in my chair, my heart pounding through my chest, my hands shaking so violently that I had to clinch them together to make them stop. "Holy Shit!" I said out loud to no one.
Rachael and I had been best friends since Junior High. We couldn't have been closer if we'd been sisters. We shared everything with each other, confided in each other, and helped each other through difficult times. Attending different colleges hadn't mattered. Even my marriage to Glen and our later move half way across the country hadn't dulled our friendship. Rachael eventually moved to L.A., in the opposite direction. We spoke on the phone several times a week and kept each other apprised of everything that was going on in our lives. For the last several years, we'd managed to see each other only two or three times a year, but we always looked forward to those times with great anticipation. This was one of those times.
It was a few days before Thanksgiving and Glen was visiting his family in Dallas. He'd graciously let me beg off and fly to L.A. to see Rachael. She was in Chicago on business, but would arrive home a few hours before my flight landed. That was the plan anywayābefore her boss insisted at the last minute that she stay over an extra day. I ended up having to take a taxi from the airport to her high-rise apartment building. She arranged to have a key waiting for me at the security desk and assured me that she would be home the following day. That was the first in a series of events that led to my startling discovery. The next occurred no more than an hour after I walked through the door of her apartment.
My laptop wouldn't boot up. I tried everything, removing and reinserting the battery, plugging it into the electric outlet, and even banging on it more than I should. It simply wouldn't get past the boot up. It just kept restarting over and over. All I wanted to do was check my email. Finally, I went to her desktop PC and turned it on. Fortunately, it wasn't password protected, so I didn't have to call her for thatānot that she would have minded giving it to me anyway.
I laughed when I saw her desktop background. It was a picture of us from high school. We were both red-eyed drunk at a party, her arm over my shoulder, her silky dark cheek pressed to my pale one, and both of us sticking our tongues out at Tonya, our other close friend who was taking the picture. Those were fun times.
Just as I was about to start her Explorer and check my email, an icon on her desktop caught my eye. Evidently, Rachael had started keeping an online diary. There was no way I was going to open itāno wayānone whatsoever. I simply wasn't going to do it. It just wouldn't be right. Besides, we told each other everything anyway. We didn't keep secrets from each other, even when they were very personal and sometimes very embarrassing. But, in a moment of weakness, I double-clicked the icon anyway.
I decided to start at the most recent entry and work my way backward. I was in total shock before finishing her latest entry, but I read on, my jaw agape, barely able to breathe, and my hand shaking so violently, I could barely manipulate the mouse.
The bottom line is that Rachael, my best friend, was sexually attracted to me, and she had been since high school. Had it been Tonya, I wouldn't have thought that much about it. Tonya was fairly open about being bisexual, but not Rachaelāand for sure not me. I had never had such thoughts, let alone been tempted to participate in such a thing. And from what I could tell from reading her diary, Rachael had never actually done anything either. She wasn't attracted to womenādidn't want to do anything sexual with themāonly with me. She hadn't written about "a woman's touch" or "a woman's lips" or "a woman's tongue" or "a woman's breasts" or "a woman's pussy". She had in each instance written "Beth's", always "Beth's", or "B's" as she often referred to me.
Her diary was replete with confessions about her thoughts and feelings during times when we were together. How could I not have known? How could I not have even suspected that while I was rambling on about some recent event or experience, Rachael was sitting there imagining what it would be like to kiss me and touch me and make love to me?
We had shared with each other our sexual desires, and even the most intimate details of sexual encountersāwith boys and later men of course. And we'd had many discussions about Tonya's behavior, most often right after witnessing it or hearing her talk about it. Rachael's reaction had always been the same as mine, "To each her own." Never once had Rachael shown any indication that she felt differentlyānot even a single hint. Or had she? Had I simply been too naĆÆve to pick up on it? According to her diary, that was indeed the case. She had put out little hints here and there over the years, but they had all sailed right past me unnoticed.
We had never been shy or modest about such things as nudity when together. It was nothing for one of us to be at the sink drying our hair while the other was in the shower. Often, we didn't even turn off the water, one stepping in as the other stepped out. Walking around naked or half naked was common. But those times weren't "nothing" to Rachael. Her diary made that blatantly clear. She had even masturbated while thinking of those times, sometimes with me right in the next bedroom. I had unknowingly provided the inspiration for her to take "Oscar" out of her nightstand and let him help her achieve multiple orgasms while thinking about meāmy body, and what she would like to do to itāwhat she longed for us to do together.
There were little things mentioned too, many, many of them. They were often as innocent as a hand on a bare arm, or even one of us slightly brushing past the other while cooking in a small kitchen. Even those were important enough to Rachael to be worthy of mention in her diary. I simply had no idea.
How would I have reacted if I'd known? I'm sure now that my earlier reactions to Tonya's behavior caused Rachael to suspect that such a revelation would not elicit a positive reaction from me. That could account for her going to such lengths to hide her feelings. Was she right? Could it have ended our friendship forever? After all, neither of us had made special efforts to keep in touch with Tonya.
We were going to find out soon enough. Rachael had chosen this visit to finally make her move, and she had spelled out in her diary exactly how she was going to do it. She will take me downstairs to the exercise room for a good workout. That was normal. We both exercised religiously. It was more important for me than for her. She had never had a problem with her weight. I, on the other hand, being shorter and naturally a bit chunky anyway, had to constantly battle my weight. Hell, Rachael just liked the cardio for health and toneānot weight. I wasn't the only one who thought she could have done very well as a model. Her almond completion, long black hair and sleek body would have made her a natural. And being of Polynesian descent would have only held her in higher demand. But, she always sloughed off such suggestions, using her smallish breasts as an excuse. "And I will never get implants." She would say. Of course, she was the only one who thought they were too small. Any bigger and they would have drawn attention to themselves and detracted from her overall sleek look.
After working out, she will take me out for dinner, but that will require us to take a shower after our sweaty workout. Of course, there will be a stiff drink firstāfor courage on her part, and hopefully some loosening up on mine. She will let me get into the shower first, and then join me, making the excuse that the hot water tank has been running out too quickly, and she doesn't want to take a cold shower. We'd never showered together, except in the girl's locker room at school, but without having read her diary, I would not have given it a second thought. When my hair is full of shampoo or conditioner and my eyes closed, she will make her move. She even typed out and practiced what she will say, "B, there's something I've been wanting to do for years." And when I ask what that is, she will say, "This" and kiss me passionately. Then, she will let my reaction dictate the rest. Damn! She had it all planned out, right down to the smallest detail.
My problem was both obvious and overwhelming. It was no longer a matter of how I would have reacted, but how I was going to react. That question never left my mind for even a minute of that evening, and it was there each time I woke up from my fitful sleep that night. And yes, it was still there the next morning. By the time Rachael called to let me know her plane had landed and that she would be home shortly, the answer still eluded me. I just didn't know what to do.
* * *
So that's how Rachael and I came to be in the shower together. Yet, I still hadn't decided how to react to what was about to happen. I'd thought about nothing else since she'd gotten home. My first non-decision had come when she suggested we go work out. I hadn't yet made up my mind about anything, so agreeing to that just allowed me more time to think. And then there was the drink. At my suggestion, we had a second. I was both delaying the inevitable and hoping the alcohol would help me deal with the situation, regardless of which way it went.
But just as I began applying the shampoo to my hair, I had an epiphany. This wasn't fair to Rachaelānot fair at all. I knew then what I had to do, so I wasted no time. I didn't want to take a chance on letting her say what I knew she was about to say. "Rach?"
"Yes?"
"Will you do me a favor?"
"Sure, what?"
I held out my hands, my eyes closed to protect them from the shampoo that was running down my face. "Give me your hands. There's something I need to tell you." When she put her hands in mine, I held them firmly. "Yesterday, I . . . I did something I shouldn't have done. My laptop screwed up, so I used your computer to--"
"You read my diary?" She asked in a panic.
