Confused Heart

After that I suppose Buffy and I could be called lovers. More like sex partners. I never went to her room, but she came to my door a couple of times a week and I usually let her in. I wanted the sex and the feeling of a body against mine, but it was never about love. I was still grieving for Danny.

Buffy usually brought her dildo and I let her use it a few times, but I couldn't take it without a lot of foreplay and I usually didn't have the time. Plus, I never orgasmed with the big shaft inside me. There was too much pain mixed with the pleasure. She tried to get me to wear the dildo and use it on her, but I refused.

Buffy wasn't exactly faithful. I suspect she was fucking one of the other girls on the softball team, and she slipped away on occasional Friday nights to do something she was evasive about. Knowing Buffy, she was fucking somebody.

I was no better. Home for Christmas I lied to my parents, then cruised lesbian bars. I got lucky twice. One time was quite pleasant and I was home in bed by midnight, glowing from a couple of nice orgasms. When I went home with the other woman, she turned out to be older and kinkier than I wanted, so I just apologized and walked out.

One thing I hated about Buffy was she got stupid, mouthy and tactless when she got drunk. And she liked to drink. After a couple of disasters I quit going to parties with her. Even at gay parties you could count on her to offend someone before the night was over, usually one of the lesbian activists. That's how I found out the secret of her Friday disappearances.

The school year was winding down towards graduation and I was at a party -- theater and fine arts people, both straight and gay. There was a lot of drinking and some toking as there always is when people have most of their grades locked up. I heard Buffy's voice coming from the other side of the crowded room -- clearly drunk. There was a break in the buzz of conversation and you could hear her loud and clear.

"What do I have to do to get some DICK around here!" she cried. The leers and disgusted looks around me made me cringe and I slipped out. People knew Buffy and I were occasional sex partners, if not exactly soul mates. I didn't want to get dragged into another boozy shouting match.

Later that night I was awakened by a tapping on my door and Buffy's hoarse whisper. I let her in because I hadn't gotten laid in a week, and I had been wondering about her outburst at the party.

She didn't have her strap-on so we made out and petted awhile before getting into a 69 and bringing each other off. Afterwards she lay beside me, sleepily stroking my pussy while I fondled one of her big tits. I was always intrigued by their size and weight. She was still half-drunk, but I could handle her one-on-one.

"Was that you hollering for dick at the theater department party tonight," I asked, careful to keep my tone neutral.

"Yeah," she yawned. "I was looking for a stiffy to sit on, but every guy I tried was a faggot!"

"I didn't know you liked dick," I whispered calmly.

"Once in awhile I crave a fuck," she said sleepily. "I know a guy on the football team over at St. John's. He's hung like a stallion and his roommate is nearly as big. I get a double-header and they're cool about using condoms."

"So that's where you go those Friday nights?" I said.

"Friday is boy's night out," she said, dropping off, "but we stay in the jock dorm so we don't run into their girlfriends."

"SHIT!"I thought to myself, glaring at the ceiling. I'm sleeping with a girl who's sleeping with not one, but two football players. And who knows how many girls THEY were sleeping with! Or boys. I didn't have much faith in condoms, and I was suddenly a candidate for a whole list of diseases. That did it.

I jumped out of bed, shouting at Buffy to get up, and gathering her clothes. She awoke, befuddled.

"What is it, a fire drill?"

"Get your SLUT ass out of my bed and get your clothes on, Buffy!" I demanded.

"What? What's going on?"

"You are out of my room and out of my life as of 10 seconds from now," I bit out.

"What did I do?" she cried plaintively as I tossed her clothes in her face.

"What did you DO! You mean besides fucking the St. John's football team," I asked.

"Hey, that's just once in awhile for fun," Buffy said defensively. "It's not like a relationship or anything."

"Stupid BITCH!" I shouted. "Your FUN has got me exposed to everything from herpes to AIDS!"

"I TOLD you they use condoms!" she shouted back, getting angry "and it's not like I'm the only girl who likes an occasional fuck."

I pushed her, half-dressed, out the door while she shouted angrily. I slammed the door and put my back against it. Seconds later I was startled when she pounded the door with her fist. BANG!

"You're a stupid, naive CUNT!" she raged, alerting anybody on the floor who had missed the festivities so far.

"Go AWAY!" I screamed. Then BANG, she battered the door again.

"You think you're SOOOO fucking hot shit!" Buffy screamed. "Little miss 'Yuck, a dildo.' Little miss, 'Not tonight I have to study.' Little miss, 'Dannie and I are in LOOOO-OVE!' "

Exhausted and dispirited, I didn't answer and she continued her rant. And what she said next chilled me.

"Well guess WHAT! you little fucking CUNT! Your beeee-loved Dannie is in bed with a guy right NOW! That's right! LIVING with a guy! ... ENGAGED to a guy! ... MARRYING a fucking guy in September! And YOU are the only CUNT on this ENTIRE ... FUCKING ... CAMPUS who doesn't know! NOW what have you got to say!

I startled Buffy by yanking open the door.

"That's a LIE!" I screamed. "Take that back!"

"It's the TRUTH!" she retorted, her face red.

So without thinking I attacked her, starting the shortest girlfight on record. I was flat on my back three seconds later, having run straight into Buffy's outstretched hand. She didn't even have to make a fist to stop me. So much for my career in boxing.

Hoping to preserve an ounce of dignity, I got slowly to my feet. Then, ignoring the heads poking out of every door on the hall, I glared briefly at Buffy, entered my room and SLAMMED the door with all my strength. The hall was immediately filled with racket as some girls tried to find out what happened, and others tried to fill them in.

Dannie could NOT be marrying a guy, I thought. It just wasn't possible. So my brilliant strategy was to call her and demand the truth, trying not to start sobbing while the phone rang in Chicago.

"Hullo," Dannie muttered sleepily. I was hugely relieved the phone had not been answered by a guy.

"Dannie!" I cried, "it's Wendy."

"Oh, hi, Wendy," she said in the voice that told me she was smiling. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

"I'm so sorry, Dannie, but somebody told me an awful story about you and I was silly enough to just pick up the phone to ask you."

"What story," she asked cautiously.

"Well, Buffy and I just had this screaming fight in the hall and she said ... this will KILL you ... she said you were living with a guy and engaged and getting married! I could murder that stupid Buffy. She loves nothing better than starting trouble no matter who gets hurt. Now she's saying horrible things about you because she's mad at me, but by god I was mad at her first and for a very good reason ... "

Suddenly I realized I was doing all the talking.

"Dannie? Are you there?

"I'm here," she said, and there was a long pause.

"It's not true, is it?" I asked tentatively.

"It's true, Wendy, and I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I tried and tried to write you, but gave up. I was just sure one of the gossips at school ... " her voice trailed off.

I sat there stunned.

"Wendy, say something."

"Wendy?"

"But aren't you gay?" I finally managed.

"I guess not ... at least not exclusively," Dannie said. "I always dated guys in high school, but I was interested in girls, too. Then I started dating guys at college and it just wasn't working. You'll admit our alma mater is not known for its studly guys?"

I was silent, but of course I had to admit that. With some well-known exceptions, the guys at school tended to be pale, studious and short on testosterone. That was one of the things I actually liked about our campus. You could work late on a project in a guy's room, fall asleep and not wake up with your panties around your ankles.

"So one night a girl started kissing me at a party," Dannie said simply. "She was hot, so I thought I'd give it a try. And I found out I like girls."

I was still baffled.

"But now you're straight again?" I asked.

"Not 'again,' " she sighed. "I am what I am, and it doesn't matter to me if I fall for a guy or a girl. I met Jeff at work and it was like finding the last piece of a puzzle. We fit."

It was all too much for me. My head was spinning with confusion. The only thing I knew was that Dannie was a even farther out of my reach than I thought. I surrendered.

"Goodbye," I said softly, and hung up the phone. It started ringing a few seconds later, but I let it ring. It stopped after 20 or 30 rings, then started again. I unplugged the phone and silence descended.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the phone, too far gone for tears, until finally I got up and fell into bed and slept.

Okay, this story has gotten incredibly long so I won't bore you with any more details from college. In terms of sex and relationships, nothing happened anyway. I graduated with honors and spent the summer interviewing around the country before taking a job in a large Midwestern city (NOT Chicago!). My parents were disappointed not to have me in San Francisco, but they rewarded my hard work in school -- and my new job -- by buying me my first car! What a hoot! People couldn't believe I had never owned a car at age 21.

So ... new job, new car, new apartment, new city. Next, you're thinking, I'll throw in a new relationship. Nope. I buried myself in work and on my free days explored my new city and its surroundings. I took classes in karate and watercolors, and I kept my emotions in the freezer compartment of my head. I found a community center where they played a very intense brand of dogfight volleyball two nights a week. That was big fun after the structured and disciplined game I had played for years.

And I discovered live music! My new city majored in blues and jazz, with minors in zydeco, rockabilly, reggae, country, bluegrass and rock. I discovered this fact early on when I hunted out a tiny joint famed for its barbecue. The music coming from the back room was loud, upbeat and irresistable. My barbecue went cold in the carryout bag while I spent the whole evening tapping my toes and grinning like the Cheshire cat. After that I prowled the city most Friday and Saturday nights, finding the bars, cafes and joints where the most gifted players held court.

Boring, huh? But boring was what I wanted. It's better than painful. I had proven so inept at figuring people out, and myself, that I gave up trying.

I went out sometimes for drinks with co-workers. I enjoyed myself and was amused once or twice to find I was the object of advances from guys.

"Hah!" I thought. "If they only knew ... they're WAY off base."

Although I saw thinly veiled ads for lesbian bars downtown, for some reason I never checked them out. I told myself I wasn't ready for another relationship.

Of course, I had relationships with people in the office. I was even assigned a 'mentor' whose job was to help me adjust to working for the company and guide my career. What a joke!

My mentor was a haughty blonde junior executive a few years older than me. Every Monday morning she stuck her head in my cube and chirped, "How's everything going?" She waited long enough for me to say, "Fine," or "Okay," muttered, "Keep it up!" while looking at her watch, then trotted toward the elevators.

My REAL mentor was a guy named Ray who worked in a cube down the hall. Ray introduced himself during my first day at work and I immediately noticed the twinkle in his dark brown eyes. Although 10 years older than me, he made me think of an impish little boy. That impression was often reinforced.

Ray introduced me to a buddy in the security department who winked and provided me with a pass for the parking structure right beside our building, instead of the distant lot where I had been assigned. Ray also taught me how to snag one of the few good spaces that weren't reserved for executives.

Ray took me to a funky little coffee bar on a nearby side street where he was a regular. The owner -- a struggling artist -- ground his own spices, made heavenly flavored lattes and the baristas adopted me as a girlfriend despite my lack of piercings and tattoos.

Once I had big assignment due, delayed by a baffling problem with my computer. When I called our tech shop a bored voice suggested they might look at it next week ... if I filled out a request form. I told Ray about my problem and he made a phone call. Ten minutes later a shy, pimply guy appeared, solved my problem and blushed like a 12-year-old when I praised his skill.

Ray seemed to view our corporation as a very large, very complex game created for his amusement. He was actually a member of another department who, for reasons unknown, was permanently attached to ours. If he answered to a boss, I never learned who it was. He had contacts all over the company, including distant field offices, who seemed pleased to drop what they were doing and provide information, services or fresh jokes whenever Ray called.

Ray had no secretary, business cards or title, and his cube was only one size larger than mine. He claimed he never did any work, but his phone rang constantly and people dropped by all day to talk with him, sometimes for hours. I was startled once when I walked by Ray's cube and saw him talking with the president of our division, their heads together over some document.

Intrigued, I finally asked Ray what he did for the company.

"I'm the grease, darlin'," he grinned. "I'm the guy you call if you want to get a message to another division without notifying any managers. I'm the guy who knows Boise has a forklift they don't need, and Jersey City needs a forklift and has an extra 1,000-watt generator. I never break a law, but I've broken every accounting and inventory and human resources rule they ever made."

"They pay you for that?" I asked, incredulous.

"They actually pay me to be a systems analyst, but I haven't analyzed a system in six or seven years now," he said. "This is more fun."

Ray soon noticed I wasn't dating anyone and turned down all offers. He remarked on it once and all I had to say was, "On the rebound ..." and he never mentioned it again.

Physically Ray was not imposing ... an inch taller than me, with a medium frame. He wasn't thin like a runner -- but compact like a boxer. He had short, curly hair that he "combed" occasionally by running his fingers back and forth through it like a rake. I cracked up every time I saw him do it. He would look up, puzzled and say, "What, WHAT!" then start laughing with me.

Ray was such a great storyteller that it took me awhile to realize his real strength was listening. I had his complete attention any time I told him about a situation or problem, and he often asked me questions that showed he understood the situation very well. And creative? He somehow found solutions to problems that provided something for everyone involved.

In case you're wondering, Ray never ogled or hit on me. Although once when someone came looking for me, I overheard him say, "She's the beautiful Chinese girl in the last cube on your right." And although bullshit was one of his tools, Ray was typically honest to the point of bluntness.

Judging by the photos in his cube, Ray spent his off hours playing baseball, bicycling, camping and hiking with his family -- a pretty blonde wife and two little boys.

So I was surprised one Friday afternoon when I walked into my favorite club and spotted Ray at the bar. He was smiling blissfully and swaying to the music, still in his suit with his tie pulled loose.

"RAY!" I shouted with delight. "What are you doing here!"

"Wendy, darlin'!" he grinned. "Linda took the boys to her mother's for the weekend. But I had to stay home 'cuz they're tearing out our driveway tomorrow. So I came downtown for some reggae. What are YOU doing here!"

So I explained my newfound fascination with live music. I found out Ray was also crazy about music and, predictably, very knowledgable. So we stood together listening the the band, sipping our drinks, and talking animatedly during breaks. The man knew the words to every Bob Marley song ever recorded, and he could SING! I laughed and sang until my face hurt. Then I asked Ray to dance and found he could dance, too, in his own wild style. We had FUN!

I don't know where the idea came from. Suddenly it was just there in my head. I wanted Ray.

Actually it was more specific than that. I wanted kind, smart, fun, vital Ray. In my bed. In me. That night. And I had a plan to make it happen.

So you're thinking, 'What a slut!' and I admit I gave no thought to morals or ethics, Ray's marriage or even what he wanted. I forgot all about Dannie. It was just me and my sudden, strong need for one specific thing. I had never had a man, never really wanted one, but I wanted this one ... now.

I was certainly flying, but far from drunk. No, if anything was moving me I can only describe it as the tide of life. I felt swept along by impulse, moving inexorably in one direction.

I started acting drunker than I was, sometimes holding Ray's arm or leaning on him. I stood and moved and danced closer. I widened my eyes, or turned to smile at him over my shoulder. I used all the half-conscious wiles I could summon -- but I could not tell if they were working! Ray was the same -- witty, talkative and charming -- but not touchy or openly interested. It was getting late, and time to roll the dice. I stumbled and put my hand to my face.

"Ray, I need to go home. But I don't think I can drive. Could you get me home? Please? Please?" I begged.

He did exactly what I hoped he would, looked concerned and took me home. Luckily he walked me to my door, so I didn't have to do anything obvious to get him there.

I fumbled my keys out of my purse, handed them to him and collapsed against the wall. He struggled to get my door unlocked while supporting me with one arm. Inside I went limp and he had to put both arms around me as the door swung shut. My heart was thudding with excitement and fear. Success or humiliation lay in the next moments.

"Bedroom," I murmured, waving an arm in the general direction.

Ray half-carried me to my bed, made dimly visible by a night light. As he lowered me to the comforter I put my arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. For long seconds there was no reaction. Then he pulled his face away.

"Wendy, sweetie, we can't do this," he murmured gently, a regretful half-smile on his face. He probably expected me to let him go and quietly pass out on the bed. But I wasn't done.

Luckily I was wearing a light summer top. I kept one hand on the back of his neck and with the other yanked at a strap until it broke. Then I pulled my top down, exposing my breasts in a lacy, white bra.

"Don't leave!" I begged. "Please, please make love to me!"

I pulled his face to mine for another kiss and this time he didn't pull back from my hungry lips. For a moment he even kissed me back. Then he was holding me and whispering urgently.

"No, Wendy, this is not good for you. I can't give you what you need."

"This IS what I need!" I insisted. Then my hand stole to his crotch where I found his penis rock-hard. "Hmm," I thought briefly, "my first penis." I squeezed it through his pants. "Give me this!"