I’ve been working away on a bunch of stories — the next Visitor story, a looooong new fantasy-ish/paranormal-ish M/F/F story…. I’ve also been working on the next Juliet Takes Flight story. And since my publisher is putting out the first collection of the Juliet stories soon, we pulled the first section together to include as part of the collection.
I thought I’d share it with you guys. I’d really love to know what you think.
So here it is: “Juliet Takes the Floor”!
Juliet Takes the Floor
An Erotic Student-Teacher Tale
Kissing my cunt gently, Ken shrugs my legs off of his shoulders and lets me pour down into his lap.
Well, he kisses me. My lips, like the rest of me, are fluid, unresisting.
He grins into my mouth. “Still think I need that army?”
I manage to shake my head.
By the time I brought Jordan to the bus stop, three days after that first night together, we walked hand-in-hand without even thinking about it. My school’s pretty liberal, but still: rural Ohio. The one other person waiting for the shuttle, a middle-aged man I vaguely recognized from the financial aid office, got up and walked out of the shelter, even though it was freezing. Not the OMG-it’s-chilly freezing that Jordan and I had grown up with, but actual water-turning-to-ice freezing. Once he was outside, however, he turned back toward where we were standing.
“That guy’s staring at us,” Jordan muttered.
“Fuck it,” I sighed, my breath turning my glasses opaque. “Let him stare.” And I kissed her.
“Damn,” Jordan groaned. “Don’t want to leave.”
“Stay,” I murmured into her lips.
“Aren’t you usually the one who tells me to be more responsible?” It was the kind of thing Jordan usually said as a tease when I’d been nudging her into studying more.
A puff of her hot breath steamed my glasses even more. She backed up and put her mittened hands over my lips. “Stop. Please stop. I don’t want to go…”
I nodded. “I guess you should get back to your so-called college out by the beach. And we really shouldn’t fuck with poor Franny’s mind any more than we already have.” My poor roommate hadn’t ever seen us doing anything, but seemed very jumpy every time Jordan and I entered the dorm room.
Jordan snorted. “Yeah. Have to save something. For next time.”
By the time the shuttle bus to Columbus came we were both laughing, though why I doubt either of us could have told you. Jordan got on and sat by a window right above me — the guy from the FA office sitting as far from her as he could — and mouthed I love you through the glass.
“I love you,” I sighed back, though the bus was already pulling away and I knew she couldn’t hear me.
It was almost dinner time, and so I walked to the Old Dining Hall, the place that Jordan had dubbed Hogwarts because of its stone walls and long wooden tables. Franny, who often ate early, was sitting at our usual spot; I sat next to her with my bowl of soup and mug of cocoa. “Hey.”
“Hi. Jordan get off okay?” Then Franny’s incredibly fair sking caught fire. It was kind of cute. “I mean, did she catch the bus?”
“Yes, Franny, Jordan caught the bus.” I figured that if Franny had something to say or ask about my relationship with my BFF, I’d let her say it.
She nodded, chewing on her lip.
Here it comes, I thought.
Cheeks still bright pink, but lips pale, she said into her dinner, “Jason and I slept together Saturday night.” Her fingers tightened around her fork. “Had. You know. Sex.”
“Oh.” I tried to think of what to say. “Okay?”
“Yeah. But it does feel better after a while.”
She nodded, still not looking at me. “It did. When we tried it again last night. I mean, it still hurt some, but it also felt pretty nice.” Now she looked up at me and I saw that her eyes were red. “I’m trying to figure out what this means. About my promises to Joe.”
“Yeah. I bet. You want to talk about it?” She’d already told me way more about her relationship with her fiancé than I really wanted to know, but I figured she might need someone to talk to.
She shook her head, however. “Thanks. Maybe later.”
Now she nodded, as if we’d come to some sort of decision. “So. You. And Jordan.”
“Me and Jordan.” As I said, I wasn’t going to make it easier for her.
“Are…?” She took a deep breath and released it. “You…?”
Are we lesbian lovers? Sapphic sweethearts? Have we been making out, making love, fucking like demons every time you’re out of the room? I had to work neither to blush nor to grin maniacly.
Another round of lip-chewing. “When I came back last night from… Jason. You were already asleep?”
Spooning naked in my twin bed. “Yeah. Tired.” Once we’d gotten too sore actually to fuck. Which we both thought was hysterical. “We talked about stuff until we got sleepy.”
This, as it
happens, was true. Stuff, I didn’t mention, included whether it would be fun to use a strap-on, and would it feel good for both of us, or just the one being fucked. Also, whether both of us waxing our bushes completely would give us more of a road rash or less from rubbing our crotches together — the rather gymnastic act that Jordan swore was called tribbing, though that sounded like a remarkably silly name to me, even for a sex act. Also about Ken, and the phenomenally detailed fantasy that Jordan had developed when we were still in his class involving the old wooden desk chair in the theater, whipped cream, and lots of rope. Also our mutual ex, Lucas-of-the-Quick-Trigger. And some funny stories about the guys Jordan had dated and/or fucked before she swore off sex. I didn’t think Franny wanted to hear any of that, so I only added, “About boyfriends and stuff.”
“Oh,” Franny said, and then blushed, looking down.
“I was thinking maybe… maybe she was… your boyfriend
Well. Shit. I
looked over my shoulder at the mostly empty dining hall. “As a matter of fact, no. She’s not my boyfriend back
home. She’s just… Jordan.”
“But…?” Franny frowned.
“But my boyfriend knows about Jordan. Knows about
Her frown deepened.
“Franny? This isn’t… too
weird for you, is it?”
“What, you mean…?” She shook
her head, shrugged, and then nodded. “Well, yeah, a bit, but… It’s not that.
It’s… Your boyfriend? He doesn’t… mind?”
“Well,” I said, trying to think how to explain,
“we’re not exclusive, you know? He said he actually expected me to see
other people.” He’d told me to, as a matter of fact, but I wasn’t going to say that to Franny. “Also, I hate to say it, but, see, if it had been
another guy, it might have bothered him more.”
“Oh.” She stood up straight then, picking up her tray. “Thank you,
I spent the rest of February with my head and heart absolutely whirling. I tried to think about how what had happened between me and Jordan had changed me. Had changed my life, my choices.
I consciously looked at women for the first time in my life not just as friends, classmates, and teachers, but as potential partners. I noticed after a bit that some of them were looking back. Jeannie, the redhead who had played Titania in the Midsummer Night’s Dream that I’d been in that fall, started smiling at me in a way that made me, in fact, quite uncomfortable.
Well, Allison, said a voice in my head that sounded remarkably like Ken’s, do you want to kiss her? Fuck her? Or don’t you? What do you want?
I was standing in the vestibule of the library one night, a couple of weeks after Jordan’s departure. I’d been doing research for my Psych project: The Eternal Triangle: Freudian, Adlerian, and Jungian Interpretations of Threesome Fantasies. Sounds like it should have been fun. It wasn’t.
The weather was bitterly cold and I found that I couldn’t make myself leave the relative warmth of the library. I was about to chicken out entirely when an arm slipped through my thickly bundled one.
“Come on,” said Jeannie, her voice low and throaty as always, “it doesn’t get any easier if you wait. We’ll keep each other warm.”
“O…kay.” It’s funny: when people are swathed from head to foot in winter gear, what you notice is their faces. Jeannie had lots of freckles, and grey-green, mischievous eyes. “Um. Thanks.”
“Least I could do for my favorite fairy.”
Huddled together, arms around each other, we stumbled along the icy streets of the campus through the blustery winter night. We didn’t talk. It was too cold.
Jeannie’s dorm was closer. “Want to come warm up?”
“I’ve got a single. You can spend the night here if you want.” She said it purely factually, but I didn’t have to work hard to hear a subtext.
“Um.” I was looking at her eyes. Trying to decide whether I actually wanted to kiss her or not.
She took the choice away, pulling down the scarf that covered my mouth and pressing her chapped lips to mine.
It was okay. It wasn’t Jordan. Or Ken. I guess the ten layers of clothing didn’t help. Maybe it’s just the cold. Maybe if you went up to her room and warmed up…
I realize however that, in fact, I really wasn’t interested. Not that she wasn’t pretty. And nice, in a smirky kind of way. But kissing her really wasn’t doing much to me. I broke the kiss.
“So?” she asked, a hunger on her face that I felt badly not satisfying.
But no; I really wasn’t that interested. Not turned off the way I might have imagined kissing another girl would make me feel before Jordan. Just not turned on. I shook my head. “Thanks. But my life is already so complicated, I think that would probably be a really bad idea.”
“Complicated can be fun,” she said, moving to kiss me again.
I leaned back. “Maybe. And it’s not as if it doesn’t sound fun. But no thanks, Jeannie.”
“Hmm.” She stepped back and squinted at me from under the hood. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Thanks.” I tried to smile, even as the chill took hold of me again. It didn’t leave me until long after I’d gotten back to my dorm.
Neither of them got back to me that night.
Shit, I thought as I lay in my bed listening to Franny snore, if you’re both going to ignore me, maybe I should just have gone up to Jeannie’s room after all. I tried to work up some enthusiasm about all of the freckles dusted across Jeannie’s skin, about the wide, pink nipples that she’d shamelessly showed off in the women’s dressing room. About the feeling of her lips, chapped but warm, against mine.
But it was too cold to go back out. And the idea still didn’t strike me as terribly exciting.
The next morning I met with the Psych professor to talk about my project. Professor Green was short, shapeless, and ruthless in her pursuit of making the students in her classes feel as unsettled as possible. She like to flirt mercilessly with both the guys and the girls, and describe in full, breathless detail assorted fantasies and fetishes, and then cackle at the looks on our faces, saying, as she put it, “I love it! You can’t think of me and sex at the same time!”
Well, I could, but only when thinking of sex in the driest, most academic, least exciting terms possible. “The limitations of the three schools’ views of sexuality are making it really frustrating trying to come up with a thesis that’s worth arguing,” I grumbled.
“Oh? How do you mean?” she asked with a look of bland innocence so out of character that I knew that I must be on to something.
“Well…” I tried to think through the research I’d been trying to do the previous night when not stealing off to the library bathroom, my head filled with thoughts of my two very different lovers and just what I wanted them to do to me. What I wanted to do to them. “Well, none of them really accepted the idea of bisexuality as nearly as I can tell, and all of them viewed homosexuality as pathological, so their views on menage fantasies are incredibly phallocentric and heteronormative. Freud and his followers saw them as expressions of some sort of inverted, un-introjected Oedipus complex, wanting to have sex with Mommy and Daddy, I guess. Adler argued that it was all about the desire either to dominate or be dominated; I don’t get the feeling he cared much about the genders of the other fantasy participants. And Jung’s camp argued that it was some sort of defect in the Animus or Anima, the inability to develop a clear subconscious view of the Other.”
“Sounds like quite a lot to talk about to me,” the professor answered wryly.
“Well, yeah, I guess, but it’s all stupid.“
She raised her eyebrows. “Stupid?”
“Okay, fine, I know that Kinsey didn’t come along until later. But because they started with the idea that wanting someone of your own gender was sick, something to be cured, that seems to have limited their whole take on threesome fantasies.”
“That’s a fair critique, from a twenty-first-century point of view. Don’t you think that’s worth discussing?”
I huffed. “Not really. It’s like saying that Freud was obsessed with sex. Well, duh.”
“All right. You want more of a challenge.” Professor Green’s expression remained neutral but her voice was getting bouncier. “What are your views on these sorts of fantasies, Allison?”
The truthful response came unbidden to my mind: That I’d like to lick both my lovers while they fucked until they screamed. “Um. Well. From a Kinseyan point of view. Um. Innate bisexuality…” I scowled, trying to fight down the blush that was threatening to light me up like a beacon.
“Ah-hah. Well, perhaps a foursome for you then.” When I goggled at the professor, she smiled. “That is, showing how Kinsey and other later models have answered each of those three early-twentieth-century schools’ views on ménage and harem fantasies.”
I did my best to smile back. “It would ruin my title.”
“You’re a clever girl. I’m sure you’ll come up with something fitting.”
“Thank you, Professor.” I gathered up my laptop and books.
“By the way, Allison,” said Professor Green, face and voice bland again, “I find it interesting that you seem to be so focused on bisexual threesomes. As I’m sure you’re aware, most people…”
Well, damn. “Most people visualize themselves with members of the opposite sex.”
“Mmm.” After shooting me a quick smile, she turned away to her desk. “Have a nice evening, Allison.”
“Um. Thank you, Professor.”