Bike Trip

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tarkatony
tarkatony
252 Followers

She lived with me for four months a couple of months after Lisbeth left. She was trying me on just like Lisbeth did, with about the same result only the process was a lot more serious. I have some good memories living with Janet. Conversations mostly, but mostly it was a bust. Emotionally she didn't care about me; sexually she was uninterested and, as a roommate, she was unobliging: she simply didn't understand the concepts of sharing and co-operation.

But she liked to talk and she did last night. About Harriet. She must have heard part of my plea to Lisbeth because when Lisbeth left she came over and gave me an ear-full. Which I didn't need to hear. I knew how dead in the water I was and I knew what a shit I was by trying to get out of the dreaded trip. Fine. I tuned her out, a skill I learned from our time together, until she started talking about the Harriet I didn't know.

Turns out it was Janet who first met Harriet at a coffee shop. Janet subsequently invited Harriet out to a Friday night pub session with the girls, then back to the house. There, I was now learning, Janet found out how 'injured' Harriet really was. No details at first, just the usual spiteful allusions to the debilitating impact from thoughtless men. I only half listened to this but as I was watching two women across the room undress each other I perked up when she got into specifics. She must have been loaded because she doesn't talk much about sex, or have much of it, with men certainly and, if you believe her on-again-off-again partner Nancy, with women, either.

She told me that for the first time ever she seduced a woman that night. "She was so sad, so vulnerable, so broken, so lonely, so much in need. I knew she wasn't gay but I also knew she was too weak to resist." If I got my facts straight, Harriet came back for more at least four times, once, apparently, she stayed with Lisbeth when Janet was at her new boyfriend's place.

Interesting. Harriet's debilitating fear of rejection apparently didn't extend to women.

So the next morning, when Lisbeth came over and handed me a coffee, I couldn't resist. "So you've slept with Harriet. You didn't tell me that."

"Ya, and I didn't tell her that I've slept with you."

"And?" Usually, Lisbeth isn't a tell-all but it was worth a try.

"And what?" She turned and walked away. I thought it was over but she came back in a minute with a coffee and sat down in her yellow panties on a pillow beside me shamelessly crossing her legs.

I took a quick peek at her crotch while she sipped. "She's got a viscous body on her but you know that," she said.

"What about her marriage, her husband?" What was causing her paranoia, if that's what it was?

"Haven't a clue. We never talked about that. We never talked much about anything. We just had sex. Twice, no three times."

"And?" I prodded.

"Was she any good?" She smiled, well, it was more of a smirk. "Ya, she was really good. The woman has a whole lot of passion stored up behind those amazing tits. You're nuts not to want her in your tent."

I ignored this and even though I knew Lisbeth as the second most uncaring, insensitive woman on the planet, next to Salander, I tried for more insight. "So what's her problem? Janet says she's really injured and she isn't gay."

"How should I know!" She was obviously irritated. "Ask her!" Then she changed the subject. "Have we got a deal? I'll get you out of your trip if you take care of Cindy ... for a year."

Just then the woman I now knew as Lisbeth's Cindy came out of a bedroom (there were four bedrooms, each, as far as I've been able to interpret, unassigned). She looked ridiculous in one of Lisbeth's t-shirts, stretched to near translucence. I couldn't imagine living with her. "I have to think about that."

"Why?" she shot back. "You want out. You've got lots of room ..."

"I never win when I make deals with you."

Lisbeth gets mad easily. She got up. "I have to find a place for her soon. Your time is running out."

She was right about that. I watched Cindy for awhile. I dreaded the thought of waking up to her every morning, even if she was sleeping in another room. She just looked so dull and unappealing and slovenly. I was wondering what Lisbeth could possibly see in her when Lisbeth slipped a hand under Cindy's t-shirt which caused Cindy to nearly melt. When Cindy leaned back against the table Lisbeth could have taken her there and then. She looked like one very horny broad who only had eyes for one

I still hadn't decided four days later, just 23 days from our proposed departure date. Cindy? For a year? Get real. I didn't think I could do it. But that isn't what caused my dithering. My growing fascination with Harriet was. Who was she? That question was really starting to intrigue me. She sure wasn't the shy, passive, glum woman of our first encounter. Nor did I think she was the horny heterosexual hell-bent to please. No, I believe there's a lot more to her than meets my just-turning critical eye. But what? And do I really care? Maybe all she really is to me is an irreparably damaged woman with a fabulous body. I didn't know. But, increasingly I wanted to.

It had been more than 2 weeks since we'd agreed on our final list. And, as agreed, we would shop together because we had a vested interest in what the other bought: too much and the wrong stuff and the other would suffer with a bigger, more complex bike load. So we met at MEC on Tuesday at 5:30. I had hoped to have aborted the mission by now, but a few hundred bucks for a bunch of outdoor gear I didn't plan to use (at least on a two-year bike tour) didn't much matter.

Add another item to her list of impressive competencies: she is organized. And it helped me a lot because I hadn't even looked at my list since I made it. Socks, underwear, pants, shirts, jackets: when she bought hers I bought mine. Simple. And when we finished with clothes, it was an easy matter, with the help of expert advice, to purchase all the camping gear we would need. In all it took us just 2 hours to get fully outfitted for 2 years on the road. And we didn't once argue.

When it was over we had so much stuff we had to hail a cab to get it all to her place. It surprised me when she invited me up so I didn't have an excuse ready. I went.

I drank beer and cut off clothes tags while she made a quick supper, which, frankly, went so smoothly and quickly it had to be planned (like the cold dozen in the fridge).

Then, it just happened.

I don't know what she was thinking but my thoughts were entirely practical. I had just cut one of those plastic tags from a pair of her black, sports-type underwear when it occurred to me. I held them up and studied them wondering what was so different between these and a bikini bottom — why couldn't she swim in these and a sports bra rather than having to take up extra space with a swim suit? Myself, I had already decided to make do with a pair of sports-type boxer shorts.

That's what I saw. What she saw was a perv holding up her panties, speculating ... on what? I didn't know. And I didn't wait to find out. She freaked. She took the few step over to me and snatched the underwear from my startled hands and shrieked something that made me feel like a depraved sicko. I fled.

Out on the street I dealt with my panic quickly. I knew if I went home I'd brood so I called a married friend who I knew would appreciate an excuse to get out of the house. I met him at a pub a half hour later where I had a few, fast. Then it just came to me: a kind of eureka moment. My life was screwed up; I vitally needed a jump-shift. I spoke without thinking, at least consciously: I told him that I was going to quit my job tomorrow and go on a two year bike trip!

He was shocked, of course, but only for a moment. Then he was envious. "You lucky fucking bastard. I'd give my left nut to be doing that. Who are you going with?"

"No one," I said with utter conviction. "I'm going alone."

I was pretty loaded when I got home. If there was a phone message there I didn't look for it. I flopped into bed a pretty happy guy. And I woke up that way. Funny. When I first said I wanted to go on a bike trip, I didn't know it but I had meant it. It was all the complications I was running into that pissed me off. Now, I didn't have any.

As soon as I got to work I walked into my boss's office and quit. He wasn't happy; asked me to take a leave of absence, but, flattered though I was, I knew I wanted a clean break. I was going to make the May 1 deadline. Nothing could stop me. For the first time in years I felt truly stoked.

It was a planned get-together. My father was going away for a few months and this was to be a send-off. Good on him. He deserved a great and prolonged holiday. He's a hell of a good guy. What I hadn't banked on when I showed up on Friday night, just 3 weeks before my own exit date, was that my dad had spread the word that I was going on a prolonged trip, too. So I, not him, became the centre of attention.

There was a lot of family there, a lot of hugging and back-slapping and oddly, very little second guessing. My family knows how to party and a few frantic hours had flown by when the front bell rang. And there she was. I sat stunned. My jaw must have been resting on my lap. She was the last person I expected to see tonight ... or again, for that matter.

I got up and awkwardly introduced her around without attempting to define who she was. Another competency: she was great at meeting new people: relaxed, smiling, effusive. I left her with the last person in line and quickly found myself yet another beer.

"So what's up?" My sister joined me at the bar with her smirky grin.

"Just a friend," I said, as casually and obliquely as I could.

She eyed me mischievously, she's a master of that look. "A friend you're terrified of?"

I shrugged. "I was surprised. I didn't know she knew where I was."

"Bullshit. What's the story?"

I hesitated, not because I wasn't going to tell her, I just didn't know which story to tell. So I asked. "Do you want the condensed version or the whole sorry mess?"

The mischievous smile that reappeared told me she wanted it all. And I wanted her to hear it all.

Annie and I have been the best of friends my entire life. She's two years older than me, two years younger than Catherine, our older sister, but she always seemed to relate best to me. I knew I was going to have this conversation with her at some time. Now, during the full swing of the party, seemed particularly appropriate: this is a story best told and heard with lots of booze.

I was only just into the saga when she started laughing; she's got a fabulous laugh, loud and contagious. I ignored her, anxious to get all the details out. And I did, in the precise sequence they happened. And I didn't leave anything out. Anything. She laughed through every step of my self-inflicted dilemma. At one stage she said, "God, you nice guys really do find the most amazing ways to screw yourselves, don't you?" That was the only pause in her steadily increasing laughter that somehow encouraged me to roll out the story, one deranged detail after another until I got to the punch line. Up to this point I had let the facts of the story speak for themselves but at the end I couldn't resist it: I pretended to be holding up her black sports panties, my baby fingers delicately raised like I was drinking tea in England — she was shrieking with laughter at the very moment I glanced up and saw Harriet looking at me from across the room.

In fact, she has a wonderful face, more handsome than beautiful, a perfect complement to her aura of competence. Her head was slightly cocked to the side as if she was straining to concentrate. And then her slightly crooked smile flickered, redolent in mystery: warm and welcoming; fun-filled; loaded with curiosity; somewhat teasing and appealingly self-effacing. To me, the brief glance before I looked away was saying, "Ya, weird, wasn't it, but what do you do?"

Annie had tears streaming down her cheeks as I turned away from Harriet and recounted my rapid descent down her stairs. I expected sympathy when I explained that Harriet was now out of the picture. I was going it alone. But no. For some reason that put her over the top and into an hysteria that actually had her doubled over. Fighting for breath. That pissed me off. I left her.

I was on the couch when I awoke the next morning. I quickly got out of there.

I was at home licking my wounds when my sister called at about 10 the next morning. I was still a little pissed and pissed off at her. I didn't mind her laughing at my story, even my predicament, I expected that. What I didn't like was her laughing at my conclusion. THAT I expected to be taken seriously, and respected.

"Why would I respect that? It would be the dumbest mistake you've ever made and you've made some doozies. I drove her home last night. We talked for a few hours. The girl's fabulous. Are you nuts? You're going without her?"

It never occurred to me she would drive Harriet home, but it didn't surprise me. "You saw her at her best last night. The girl can be a wacko."

"I hate to tell you this, Jimmy-boy, but we all can be wackos. With this, you're a fucking case in point."

"She's a project, Annie. I'm through with projects. Becky and Janet did me in."

"So who are you looking for? Someone like ... me?" When she snickered I did too.

"Point taken."

There was some seriousness in her voice now. "I've got the whole story. Do you want it?"

"It scared the hell out of me when she showed up last night. I felt like I was being stalked. I can't even figure out how she knew where I was."

"You told her. You were supposed to pick up your new bikes last night. You said you couldn't, you were going to a family party. She got our names from Janet. She tried the older sister first and got it right. The girl's resourceful, among other things."

I let that sink in. This wasn't getting any easier.

"So, do you want the story or not?"

"What story," I said, stupidly, I was hung-over; I didn't want to think of Harriet.

"Her story for fuck's sake!"

I got it. Small farm town. Big breasts early. Lots of sexual tensions. Big pressure to marry childhood sweetheart. Big mistake. Instant misery. Husband big man in town, big bully at home. Philanderer, abuser, sexually immature. She runs after two years. Goes into nursing. Studies relentlessly; works constantly. Avoids men. Tries girls ...

"She told you that?"

"She told me everything because she knew I was going to tell you." Heard a lot about this really nice guy. Wanted a change; wants to find out who she is: jumps at the chance to go on tour with him. Told him she was sexually immature. Wanted understanding. Thought she had it from nice guy who nurtured two friends through rough times. White Knight runs from first blip. Showed up at party to apologize. Knight wouldn't talk, got drunk, passed out — takes phone call from sister.

"It was weird," was all I could think to say.

"Ya, she knows that," she snapped. Told you she'd occasionally freak out. Felt lousy two minutes after she did. Felt even worse when told that my husband Pete spends as much time in my panty drawer as I do. She laughed. The girl likes to laugh. And she's determined. She's going with you. She just doesn't know how to convince you. Told her not to worry. You're going to meet her for lunch at 1 PM at the Denny's on Fourth. You're going to make one promise: whenever she fucks up again, White Knight will sit with her holding her hand to talk her through it. 98% of the time you've got the perfect woman. Problems rest of the time. Deal with it. Call tonight. "My work's here is done." She hung up.

I was there a little early. I sat at the very back so I could watch her walk in. I wanted to try to read her before she confused me with her words.

I noticed the body first. She had dressed to impress. Her clothes were much tighter than usual; her top was cut lower. The enigmatic grin was there. She had a bag in her hand and she walked with confidence. Good. I wasn't going to take any bullshit from her.

She stopped at the table. The grin was gone, she was all business. "Look, you can't just run every time I'm an idiot. That's ridiculous." She stuck out her hand. "Agreed?" I could feel my sister behind these words, she had already said as much to me.

I didn't shake. "So this is all about me, right? It's not what you do, it's all about how I react to what you do."

"Ya, ya," she said enthusiastically, smiling now. "That's about it."

"That's bullshit and you know it. That's not fair to me."

She still didn't move to sit down. "Oh, poor you," her words were filled with distain. "Sure, it isn't fair to you but you're a whole lot stronger than I am in the ways I need you, and," she shrugged, "I may be a whole lot stronger than you in ways you may need me. It's a quid pro quo kind of thing; that's what a travelling partnership is all about. 'A good traveller has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.'"

"What's that supposed mean?"

"What it says."

I didn't react. I wasn't going to let her push me around again.

"Oh, for God sake," she climbed into the bench across from me, "we're leaving in less than 3 weeks. Can't we both just grow up and start looking forward to it. We're going to have the time of our lives."

"You started it," I mumbled, admittedly childishly.

"Fine," she reached out for my hand. "Then I can end it. It's over." She tried to shake my limp hand but I didn't let her. "Oh, for pity sake, the next time something stupid happens we could be in Poland, for God sake, or Thailand. Let's start dealing with issues together; not run from them. It's called maturity. Can we at least shake on that?"

I did, reluctantly but before I let go of her hand I asked something that occurred to be after talking to my sister. "Will it just be sex that creates your weird behaviour?"

She nodded and smiled. "Ya, probably."

I looked her in the eyes. I wanted to try to understand her. "My sister told me about your past."

She didn't flinch. "Ya, she said she was going to."

The waitress came, took our orders and left.

She squared up and took me on. "Look, I like sex, at least I like sex with women. But I'm no lesbian. I'm going to love sex with you ... I'm just going to run into problems sometimes; we're going to run into problems. If I knew what they were I'd head them off. But I don't. Like that panty thing. It just got to me; I have no idea why, I mean, Jeez, even I get off on panties. I love watching Lisbeth with that spectacular ass walking around in the things. I even bought a pair two years ago when I was at my all-time low, sexy things that I hoped would make me get in touch with whatever sexuality was hiding in me ... I couldn't even masturbate then, nothing. I never did put them on. It just felt too weird; too pointless. But I put them on this morning. OK? What else do you want to know?"

"How bad was it with your husband?"

"I was a piece of meat to him, me and half the women in town. It wasn't that he was particularly abusive, he just took away all my self-respect. No, that's not true. He didn't take it away. I let him; it was my decision. I lost my self-respect with him and I haven't got it back. Not yet. But I'm close. That panty thing didn't really bother me. I knew it was stupid right after it happened. What bothered me is that you didn't stick around to find out what went wrong." She stood up and pulled the red lacy top of her bright yellow underwear from above her jeans. "You can look at my underwear all you want."

"Good," I said, as she sat back own, "because I have a panty fetish."

She smiled and sipped her water. "That's not going to scare me off."

"And a few others," I added.

tarkatony
tarkatony
252 Followers