The Unexpected Friend
This tale comes to us courtesy of a hilarious real-life moment I brought upon myself. Very much like Rayne from the story, I hung a private object in a shared space, and the obvious conclusion came about.
Despite being based loosely on a true story, all events herein are heavily fictionalised.
One of my favourite stories to share from my relationship with Rayne is the first time I ever went home with her at the end of a date. It was a perfectly delightful day with a hike in my favourite spot, supper at a new place for both of us, a special showing of a mutually favourite movie, and dessert at a custard shop. To say it was anything less than magical would be unfair to both Rayne and me. So it was no wonder that I was a bit enthralled when she asked at the end of it.
“You wanna come back to my place? No pressure of course.”
I know logically that she meant it. She really meant to extend the offer without the slightest bit of social pressure. And under perfectly ordinary circumstances, I would have felt no pressure to comply. But her face shined with mischief and something mysterious I couldn't identify. And I was utterly overwhelmed with the energy she was putting off that night. Flustered didn't come anywhere close to my mental state in that moment. So of course I said.
“I mean, well ... I don't know if ... that is to say ... well you know ... I just ... yes?”
That mischief on her face intensified as she attempted to stifle a giggle that evolved into a chuckle, and the force of holding it back caused it to morph into full on laughter at my awkwardness. It wasn't a cruel laughter. She was just so taken with how shy I had always been about even the possibility of spending time at her house. It was her space, and that made it foreign and scary. Not “I'm in danger” scary so much as “I can't trust myself with her” scary.
That wasn't true. That wasn't even remotely true. I mean, she came to my place all the time, so why would her place be any different?
Because I could run away from her place. Because if I got too nervous, I could just leave. And I knew that I'd hate myself for that. She didn't deserve that kind of blow to her ego, especially because I was really into her. I mean, super into her. So much so that I even stutter in my own thoughts when I think of all the things I want to do with her. The things I want her to do to me. That amazing body and the way I shiver when I catch even a tiny glimpse of what she keeps covered with her clothes.
I melt.
* * * * *
I suppose a bit of context might help to shed light on why this felt like such a huge deal. And I suppose that also requires me to say that we had been dating for almost six months by the time of this particular story. I know it's lame to be so nervous after so many months together, but I had my reasons to take it slow, not the least of which was my past experiences with people who didn't seem to care how they hurt me.
I say “people” as though they hadn't all been men. As though it didn't take me 32 years to finally break the habit of dating men in general. As though she wasn't the first woman I had allowed myself to admit turned me on. No. That's not the right way to put it. She drew me in like we were two quarks inside the tunnelling radius. From the first look I caught of her wry smirk, I knew I was done with any other possible romances. This was it. This was the one. My life as a single woman had come to an end.
Did it matter that she was engaged? Yes. A little. So I didn't pursue her until I found her perched atop a bar stool at my favourite dive and heard her say, “It's over. She's been seeing someone else.” Okay, that's not fully accurate. I still didn't pursue her after that. I let her get her wild rebounds out of the way and waited until she was ready.
How did I know she was ready? She told me. I was content to just be her weird little faithful friend, watching her, living vicariously through all the bad decisions she was making. I had almost forgotten that I was free to tell her how I felt when she finally spoke up. It was the same bar but a different night, almost a year later. The more things change, et c.
“Alice,” she said through the worst whisky breath I'd ever had the displeasure of experiencing, “why do you put up with me? Why don't you ever just say what you want?”
“I'm not sure I follow you,” I stared dumbly at my friend who clearly needed some measure of kindness.
“Come on. I know you can see it. I know you know how I feel.” Her words came with a crystal clarity I hadn't expected after getting a contact intoxication from her breath. “And I know how you feel too. So why won't you say something about it.”
“I, guess,” I stuttered around my response in the way that would eventually become the trademark of my romantic pursuit of Rayne, the last person I would ever love, “I mean ... I suppose if you ... that is to say ... I thought –”
“Did you? Did you think? You know I would've stopped it all if you'd just said something sooner. You could've had all of this,” she gestured grandiosely to her own body and almost fell to the floor, recovering brilliantly before she finished the thought, “if only you told me that you were –”
“That I was attracted to my best friend?” I wasn't ready for her to say those things. I hit the defensive like I was trained in it. “That I thought you'd be the perfect cuddle buddy? That every time you smiled that weird little half smile of yours I melted?”
“So it's true.” She wasn't smiling. She looked miserable. Like I had ruined her evening. “Why didn't you say anything? Did you want to just live in the friend zone like some awkward incel?”
“Of course not. But I didn't think you were ready. I thought –” I paused when I saw her signal the bartender for another drink and reach for the one in front of her. I didn't think as my hand shot out and took the glass. I didn't think as I poured it into my mouth and swallowed. I couldn't do anything but think as I started coughing around the intense liquor I had just stolen from her.
Rayne was polite enough to give me time to recover. Or perhaps it was more about being overwhelmed with her own laughter at my ridiculous mistake. I couldn't help it! I wasn't a whisky girl!
“Goddess, how do you drink that liquid death? It's like if fire had a baby with old wood and someone liquified the results! It's like someone took gasoline and somehow removed the poison from it, then said it was fit for consumption.”
“It's not that bad.”
“Not that bad? I almost died!” That resulted in an even more uproarious laughter from that beautiful woman. As I waited for her to stop, I managed to calm myself down enough to finally fully answer. “It's true. It's been true since we met. But I was happy to just see you happy. Which I guess I knew you weren't, but I wasn't ready to take that chance. You're way out of my league.”
She snorted and answered in a whisper, “Mutual.”
My jaw dropped. I managed to reel it in, but I was still somewhat in shock and didn't realise I'd picked up the new glass in front of her, which she thankfully prevented me from drinking by sliding it out of my hand and putting it to the other side of her.
“Nope. You're getting water. At most, you can have wine or a nice gentle mixed drink. But no more of this. Can't have you coughing your lungs out on the bar right when I was going to ask you out.”
* * * * *
It's always weird going from friends to friends who flirt to other than friends who other than flirt. Or at least, that's what I hear from others who have been through it. My sample size of 1 certainly lined up with that observation, so I feel comfortable stating it authoritatively.
Dating someone who has previously been your friend for any extended period is always awkward.
But Rayne and I made it work. We had a conversation around the fact that I wanted to take it slow. She spent most of that conversation poking fun at me, accusing “Slow like pining after me for two years before I force you to confront it?” And despite her teasing, we got to the end of the conversation with an agreement that we would date for a few months before we advanced to “deeper intimacy”, which was how I had to refer to it so I could avoid blushing like a fool.
A few months turned into six really quickly. It wasn't that I didn't want to sleep with her. I really wanted Rayne to do all sorts of things to me. But I was nervous. As I said, I'd never been with a woman before Rayne. Hells, kissing was a hurdle unto itself. That took me almost a full month to do without nearly fainting. What could I say? Rayne took my breath away.
The first time I welcomed her back to my place was almost two months in, and we got to heavy petting, but only with our clothes on. I was worried she might have to take me to the hospital, as excited as I got. Honestly, I was a mess at every turn, so it's no wonder I was so very entirely hesitant when it came to “going all the way”, to borrow an older bit of slang.
So the day finally came for the perfect date six months on. And she asked me back to her place, no pressure. And I finally couldn't help myself. I had to say yes.
She drove us back to her place. On the drive, she made it abundantly clear that I was under no obligation to do anything I wasn't comfortable with. I was free to simply enjoy her company. “Besides,” she chuckled, “I know how new experiences affect you.”
We arrived at her apartment, and she rushed around the car to open my door. She led me upstairs and unlocked the door. The light revealed an apartment decorated like a bachelor pad from a b-rate movie from the 1980s. You could almost smell the aqua velva oozing out of the place, even though the scent that actually came forth was that of a spicy earthy perfume I recognised all too well after hours of holding her close with my face buried in her neck. The space matched its occupant extraordinarily well.
She indicated that I should take a seat on the garish loveseat that sat opposite the television as she headed to the kitchen. “Whisky?” she joked playfully, knowing my response before she asked.
“Of course. It's all I drink!” Around a playful giggle, I continued, “water's fine, hon.”
After she brought the drinks over to me, we just sat chatting comfortably like always. I'd finish my water, and she'd get up and refill my glass. Eventually I asked for a cup of tea, and she brought my favourite without needing to ask. I returned to water once I hit empty. The whole atmosphere of the place was so comfortable that I barely noticed the time going by.
Of course, there's no way around the call of nature.
“Hon. I hate to move, since it's so nice next to you, but I uh ... have to go.” Why was I so nervous? Everybody has to use the washroom. It's not like it should be embarrassing.
“Through the bedroom. Make sure and turn on the light first. It's the door on the right.”
I was up and across to the bedroom door in a second. When I flicked the light switch, I noticed that the space was much tidier than I had expected, but I didn't think much of it as I stepped into the washroom. As I closed the door, I heard Rayne call from the other room.
“Wait! I need to –”
But it was too late. The light in the washroom was one of those automatic ones, and it clicked on as I closed the door and found myself face to face with the first free-standing penis I'd ever seen. No, that's not right. It was a strap-on. Hers. And it was hanging on the washroom door from the towel hook.
It's not surprising that I awoke on the floor, Rayne leaning over me concerned, her face the deepest beet red I'd ever seen on anyone, let alone her. She carried me to the bed, and ran to get water for me before stuttering out the worst apology ever.
“I'm sorry I ... I mean, well ... I didn't expect ... that is to say ... well you know ... I just ... it needed cleaning just in case and ... are you okay?”
For once, she was the flustered one, and I couldn't help laughing hysterically at the state she was in before finally offering an olive branch.
“You know ... it'd be okay if you wanted to come cuddle with me. But bring that over before you do. Just in case.”