Bike Trip

She smiled. "Ya, me too. I hope."

"This is going to be hard work, you know."

That smile again. "What, working out our fetishes?"

"The trip."

She threw herself back in the booth. "Sure, but it's going to be a blast, too, the whole fucking thing."

I still felt I had to push her a little so I asked the next question to shock her. "Do you masturbate now?"

She didn't miss a beat. "Ya, Nancy showed me how. Lisbeth and Janet were no better at it than me ... which is to say terrible. Nancy though, she wrote the book on it," she laughed, "a book that she can't get Janet to read. She has these little masturbation parties. A few girls just doing it together for the fun of it. I learned a lot from them. It took a little guts at first but I don't have any problems with masturbation any more. At least I don't think I do. Why? Do you think I will?"

"Are you trying to shock me?"

"No," she smirked, "your sister is. She told me to come out with every sexual peccadillo I could think of. 'The more grist, the more active his mill' was the way she put it."

This seemed weird to me; it felt like she was investing way too much of herself in me, a virtual unknown. "What do you want, Harriet? What do you want to get out of this trip?"

"Fun. I haven't had any fun since I was about 5, not any real, sustained fun anyway. And adventure. By that I mean new experiences, experiences that will test me, help me to find out who I am. And I plan to read a lot; histories of where we are — all I've been reading and thinking about for the past eight years is nurse-stuff. And I want to try to learn to express myself. Up 'til now I've been a kind of emotional cut-out; a stick figure."

She was leaning forward with her intensity. I couldn't help myself. "Stick figures can't press their breasts into the edge of a table like that."

She smiled and sat back. "And romance." She looked at me challengingly. "I know there is a chance of that with you or you wouldn't have let me come. Do you admit it? Are you open to it?"

"You have this annoying habit of turning things around and putting me on the defensive. Wasn't it me who lectured you on this very subject."

"The lecture, as I recall, was that I have to put out. You said nothing about you giving in."

"You aren't a piece of meat to me, Harriet. I don't work that way."

"I know." She leaned forward again, this time deliberately pressing her breasts hard (and effectively) against the table edge. "I'm just trying to get you to accept something I've been perfectly up front about. If I have my way this will be a full-on romance.'

I took a long and deliberate look at her erotically crushed breasts. "Speaking of up front."

She smiled, not moving. "I'm trying to express myself, Jim. It's one of my big ambitions. I want to get centred with you then I want to learn how to express myself in every way, including sexually." She pulled back again, allowing the server to put the plates down in front of us. "What about you?" she asked when the serve left. "What do you expect to get out of this trip?"

This I had thought about. "It may sound kind of odd but I want to get a different sense of time. I've been living to a clock all my life; I'd like to try to learn to live by rhythms or something — don't know if it's possible. And I want to get away from my North American isolationist attitude and become more a citizen of the world. That, I think is doable."

She pushed at her food. She didn't appear any more hungry than I was. "Not very romantic."

"I'm 29, Harriet. I've never been particularly good at living the care-free life of the rake; I don't think I'm selfish enough for it. Of course I want a romance. So ya, I'm open to it but ..." I shook my shoulders.

"So make it happen." There was a touch of very un-romantic scorn in her voice. "Decide you want to sweep me off my feet and do it. It won't be hard. I've already told you I want to be swept."

"It isn't that simple and you know it."

"Ya, sure it is." The scorn had turned to disdain. "We have two choices. We can wait and see if it might happen or we can tell each other that we want it then work like hell to make it happen. I vote for the second option. You?"

"You don't really think it will be that easy, do you?"

"We may fail but we'll have tried our damnedest. That should be our plan. OK?"

I didn't have to think it through, it's naturally me; it's the way it would work out anyway. "Ya, sure."

"OK." She stuck out her hand for another shaking — these all seemed honour-bound business deals to her. She pushed her barely touched food away. "Let's go and seal the deal."

I signalled for the check then pointed when she picked up her bag. "What's in there?"

"Cycling stuff. Once we're finished, we'll go get our new bikes, take a long ride then head to my place to celebrate."

"You've got this pretty well planned out." Loss of control was making me feel a little wimpish.

"No, this was your sister's plan. She was right, wasn't she?" She eyed me mischievously, as if there was a hidden meaning behind her words. "She knows you pretty well." That made me squirm a bit.

After I paid, I took her bag and followed her out the door. "It's going to be a long three weeks," I thought out loud.

"Not for me," she added quickly. "It's going to be a blur. I've got to work just about every day, 12 hour shifts alternating between days and nights, starting tomorrow. We're short staffed and my leaving isn't going to help."

"So what are we celebrating?" I asked, alluding to our post ride get together at her place.

She elbowed me hard in the ribs. "Are you serious?"

I wasn't. But I was in a hurry. And so was she. We walked to my place as if we were late for an appointment, which, in effect, we were: in a lot of ways we were long over-due.

Keen anticipation can make you focussed, quiet and thoughtful. It occurred to me as we rushed along the street that this emerging relationship had to go through a cerebral stage before it could get physical: it had to be talked through before it could be put into action. Even so, I still didn't know what to expect, whether at my first misstep she would turn into a raging fishwife.

We were both nervous when we got to the apartment. It's all very well to decide to have a romance, but is there any chemistry to make us bind together? I think she was as worried about that as I was because she quickly appeared tentative, even wary; gone was all the bravado force-fed by my sister. Harriet was a school girl again; I felt like a grade 10er.

As soon as we got inside we naturally gravitated to the couch. She looked at me expectantly.

Obviously, despite all her faux self-assurance, the lead was going to be mine. "We talk a good game, don't we?"

She almost looked scared. "I feel like there isn't any room for mistakes."

"Maybe we should just do it and get it over with."

"No." She shook her head. "I've done that. This is the first day of the rest of the life I want to live." Then she got even more serious. "I don't mean to be too retro here but would you teach me to be the girl you want?"

"Is that my sister again?"

She giggled. "It sounded good at the time."

"Jesus, how long did you two talk?"

"Hours." She stuck out her hand for me to shake for the umpteenth time in the past hour. "Ready?"

I took it and pulled her into me half-expecting resistance. There wasn't any. She moved willingly, her heavy chest pressing insistently against mine, her lips open and seeking. For just a second I was intellectually conscious of the woman I had decided to love. Then I fully gave in to the thought of her. I kissed back with a passion I didn't know I had; my moans were at least as loud as hers; I felt like I wanted to pull her inside me and it felt like she wanted to come.

The fingers that had been pressing hard into her back, edged against her bra strap. That did it. I was a clasp away. My hand quickly went under her shirt. Her back was hot and smooth to my fingers, the strap taut and tight. I pinched hard on the clips and the moment the strap flew open I was on her shirt. And she was too. It was off in a second and as my hands went to her waistband she fell back and helped and seconds later her pants were off with her underwear and there she was, entirely naked but for the white bra still caught above her breasts.

I sat stunned. Her heavy breasts flopped wantonly; her wonderfully seductive thighs were open and waiting; her rounded hips seemed perfect parenthesis for the thick tangle of black hair, and her meaty mound was split exquisitely by a glistening pink slit.

I couldn't help it. I have my sister's sense of humour. I started to laugh. Uncontrollably: it was a laugh inspired by the ridiculous, sure, but by joy and astonishment, too. Harriet was lying there like a soft, robust temptress, all breasts and hair and pussy, the most erotic sight I have ever seen. And she was waiting there for me, she wanted to be taken, to be loved ... by me. It didn't make any sense. I was in awe. "God, Harriet, you're spectacular. What in the fuck is your problem?"

She reached up for me. "Come on. You can laugh at me later."

I jumped to my feet, quickly stripped off my clothes then knelt between her open legs and put myself in the pink, moist lips amidst her wonderfully black thicket. I looked into her eyes as I slowly eased my prick into her and when I did I felt a profound joy. It was a joy at the thought of her: her complexities; her vulnerabilities; her beauty. And I was enjoining with her in the most intimate of unions, I was binding myself to her bodily but emotionally, too. I put my hands behind her head and held her to me. I didn't move; she didn't move. The thought of being in her; the feeling of her surrender to me; the sense that we were honestly trying to give ourselves to each other, it was so exquisitely erotic, so lovely that the orgasm began to build immediately. We still didn't move, we just held on as our friction-free lust grew all by itself until, near the end, we thrust wildly at each other, demanding more from our bodies, wanting to give more to the other.

I collapsed on her, knowing my weight would be a burden but I couldn't help it, not for a few minutes until I regained my strength. Finally, I slid off her and sat up. "God, you were fantastic," I said, scanning her body then adding, "are fantastic." But there was something wrong. When my eyes met hers there was a fire in them, a fire that might have been rage. I was about to reach for her hand, to console her, reassure her when she quickly sat up, flopped around and took my prick in her mouth.

I was shocked, stunned. It was so quick, so animalistic — a lust I had never experienced before. I pulled at her hair but she wouldn't move away, she kept sucking, frantically until I pushed at her shoulders, hard. She sat up. But she wasn't pleased. "Now who's freaking out," she said, clearly pissed off.

"I wasn't ready for it." I hated feeling defensive, which I always seemed to be around her.

"OK," she said, pushing at me. "Then get ready." She was penetrating me with her eyes.

I felt a little like a sacrificial lamb as I slouched back. The extent of her sexual intensity was just beginning to occur to me. Her orgasm sounded as intense as my own but she was anything but sated. It wasn't a turn off, but it was worrisome.

I wasn't where she wanted me; she coached me into sitting back against the arm of the couch then she lay belly down and took me in her mouth. She wasn't in a hurry now. She was gentle, sucking and nibbling and inspecting. She looked up at me for a brief moment and smiled, "And to think its mine." Then she put me back in her mouth.

At first I felt weird with this kind of vulnerability: lying back with her head bobbing between my legs. It had never happened to me before, not like this. But pleasure quickly trumped concern. "Can you really think of it that way?" I said as I gently thrust.

She held me up and kissed and licked me. "Why? You don't?"

"Do you expect me to think that way? That your body is mine?"

"Of course I do. And not just my body. Me."

I tried to make light of it with a laugh, but it came out with no humour. "I'm getting a much better deal than you are."

"No. Uh un. This is all one big deal, Jim; we both get it. It's us."

There wasn't any room on the couch but I thought I'd try anyway. I quickly dove past her to lie wedge between her and the back of the couch. I was curled awkwardly around her head with my face pressed into the side of her ass, not where I had planned to be.

She rolled off the couch, stood up, reached for my hand and pulled me to my feet and led me to the bedroom. When we got on the bed she pushed me down and quickly positioned her pussy near my face then gave a little hop pressing herself further into me before lying down with a wonderfully pleased sound that reminded me of the one dogs make when they lay down after a long walk. I got the impression this wasn't sex to her so much as some form of surrender. The woman was quickly reeling me in: I felt I was entering a level of intimacy I had never experienced.

I saw Harriet only three times over the next 19 days, each time for only a couple of hours when we did a little planning before I edged her into sleep and left. Continuous twelve-hour shifts are a killer.

And I wasn't having an easy time of it, either. As it turned out I had a lot more work tidying up my projects than expected, and I had to deal with all the irritating things necessary to be away for two years. It was all very time-consuming so I was looking forward to the going-away party Lisbeth was arranging the night before the take-off ... at my place, away from the mayhem of 36 Hawkins.

In fact, it was more a get-together then a full-on send-off. It was just going to be the four of us: Harriet and I, Lisbeth and Janet.

Soon after they all arrived I was sipping wine on the couch with Janet watching Lisbeth and Harriet in the kitchen. They were talking while putting cheese on crackers — there would be no dinner. I was about to answer Janet's question when Lisbeth, quite casually, wiped her fingers on the shirt covering Harriet's left breast and kept wiping. Harriet was clearly surprised, but just for an instant, then she laughed and did the same back. Lisbeth had set the tone for the night, as she always does.

Janet had been watching, too. She turned to me. "Does it bother you?" She flicked her fingers in their direction. "Jealous? Them flirting like that?"

The question caught me off guard, I had to search myself for an answer. "She told me she liked to be with girls. I guess she's just confirming it." I was just getting to know Harriet; she wasn't mine in any sense, other than we had agreed to take a stab at romance, so it wasn't as if my girlfriend was fooling around. But it did feel a little weird that the girl I'm supposed to be with was playing with another. Would it have made a difference if she was playing not with a woman but with a man? Ya, absolutely.

Janet was all tucked together, her legs under her, her elbows leaning on her thigh and her hands bunched into her chest. Her fingers were holding a glass of wine. Her glance at me held suspicion. "And maybe she's challenging you, too?"

This was Janet's biggest flaw: she always had to find conflict where none existed. "Do you think?" I said, dismissively.

She looked over at the two then back at me. "Ya, I do think ... well, at the very least she's sending you a message."

I didn't think so and I didn't want to appear too interested in what the two girls were doing together in the kitchen so I concentrated on Janet. "And you? Have you got a message to send me or is this party just for them?" Janet needed to be challenged; she seldom did anything spontaneously, or even willingly.

She reached over for my hand. "I'm going to miss you, Jim, I know you aren't going to believe that, but I am."

I squeezed her fingers. "We never quite connected, did we?" God knows I tried. From day one I liked her looks, liked her aggressiveness, liked her smarts, her lawyer's mind. And I liked her body, though it surprised me I did. She looks like the apple-eating feminist she is: slim, tight and somewhat flat, kind of sexless in a very female way. In fact, I came to learn that her body is a perfect personification of her sexuality. Sexually, there wasn't a lot of there, there but if you want a sharp opinion or a passionate argument this was your girl.

She smiled, wanly. "We tried."

"No," I challenged, "I tried. You never did, and I'll bet you aren't trying very hard with Allan, either." Allan was her erstwhile boyfriend whom I had met twice.

She glowered and turned away. "Why are you're always banging on about that?"

"Because it's true." I pressed. "You've never figured out that you actually have to give to get."

"Come on, Jim, jeez, give it a rest. I'm not going to see you for years. Don't leave me with another one of your fucking lectures."

"You're going to lose the guy, Janet. You're going to lose him through neglect because you just aren't trying. That's stupid. You've got way too much to offer."

Lisbeth put plates of crackers and cheese beside us on the coffee table, Harriet put a beer beside my half-full one. When they sat down on the carpet on the other side of the table Janet sat up, pushed me onto my back and lay on me, pressing her head against my shoulder. Her voice wasn't far off a whisper. "Well, as a matter of fact, I have been listening to you; I've been thinking of exactly that: I've been trying. I know I should have tried harder with you but not everyone is as naturally giving as Mr. Perfect here." She kissed me perfunctorily on the lips. "But I am trying with Allan, honest. Can I try harder? Ya, sure, it's just that it isn't as easy for me as it is for you."

I could see from the corner of my eye that the girls were lying on the floor now but the coffee table blocked most of my view. When I rubbed my fingers into Janet's shoulder she snuggled closer into me. "Do you want the guy?" I asked. I didn't really know; didn't know if she would rather be snuggling up to Nancy at 36 Hawkins. Actually, I didn't know if she could really be with anyone, of either gender. Some people are just too pre-possessed to share themselves. I've never been able to read her, which is probably why she interests me so much.

She thought for a bit then said, "Do I want him? Ya, I think I do."

She didn't sound very convincing. The only reason I asked the next question was because I thought her answer would be revealing. "Is the sex any good?"

She didn't have to ponder this. "No," then she quickly added, "I know, I know, it's me, it's always me, but it isn't just me this time, not entirely. It's him too. Maybe we suit each other that way." She pulled back and looked across the coffee table. "Maybe you can remind me of how it's supposed to be."

All her vulnerabilities were coming back and the memories: there's nothing quite so disarming as a super-confident ball-busting feminist showing doubt, showing chinks in her armour. "Come on, Jan, it's not 'suppose to be' any way. You're supposed to both want to express yourselves to each other and hope that it's enough to bring you closer together."

She glared down at me, typically anxious for an argument. "But according to you, I don't express myself."

No, she doesn't, she just selfishly takes, she always has. "Do you think you do?"

She looked over the table again. "Well, I'll never be a Lisbeth."

I probed further. "But will you ever be the Janet you want to be?"

She flopped down on me and squeezed my neck. "Oh, fuck, Jim, are you ever going to just leave me alone?"

I persisted: she really had to understand what I thought was her greatest failing. "Do you want him, Jan?"