Hesitant Heat

Fumine and James burst out laughing simultaneously.

"What?"

Fumine was sitting on the bed, dressed in James's pjs, stroking James's hair. James, for her part, was leaning with her forehead on the bed, the skin of her shoulders and face a deep red. The sky outside was blue. Birds were twittering. My dick hurt.

"Honey," Fumine said, smile a frighteningly attractive mix of disdain and tenderness, "you just pounded her for the better part of an hour."

I watched my semen pooling at the brim of James's pussy, gravity pulling it from her. She slowly pushed up, straightening her back, and looked over her shoulder at me. The first drop hit her floor. Fumine was looking at me, too, her smile receding into an unreadable expression. I was breathing heavily, my limbs weak. I toppled backward, ended up leaning against James's bed.

"You okay?"

It was James's turn to ask me that question. She was sitting up on her knees now, pussy out of sight, back twisted. Her upper body was stained in a deep sex flush, reaching almost to her nipples.

"Am I?" I asked, glancing at my wife.

"Is he?" she asked James.

An uneven smile foiled James's attempt at a frown. She nodded despite herself, moving her hands to her thighs. "I don't really want to wrap this up neatly, and I especially don't want to unpack any of it." She stood, shakily, cupped her pussy with her right hand. My cock twitched. "Maybe I can have a few minutes alone in the shower, and then we can go get breakfast together?"

I felt the sleepless night catching up to me as I nodded mutely, eyelids heavy. Fumine assented verbally, and James left the room wrapped in a towel.

Fumine stood, crossed the room, and sat down on James's bed, her calf against my shoulder. She put a hand on my head, patted me.

"You seem overwhelmed."

I let my head loll back, looked up at my wife.

"I think I am."

"A lot to process."

I nodded.

"We'll see her again," Fumine said, her tone soothing, reassuring.

I wasn't sure why she said that, in that manner, so I asked.

"I'm not sure either," she laughed. "I think I'm also a little overwhelmed."

"I love you so much," I said, allowing my eyes to close.

"I know," Fumine said. "And I love you, too, so much. But when we get home, we're going to need to do that unpacking she's resisting. Oh. That's why." She giggled. "I think I said we'll see her again because I want to."

"She's so—"

"Shhh." Fumine held my head with both hands.

When we get home.

I must have dozed off again, because James's return startled me and I sat forward, coughing.

"I'm going to be honest," James said, dressed in a sweater and jeans, drying her hair with a towel, "I'm not sure it was wise to let you fuck me."

The words humbled me. Of course she'd have regrets. I got swept up in the moment, in Fumine's weird fantasy, in my own issues. The last one naked, I scrambled for my clothes, mumbling an apology as I went.

James shook her head as I pulled my jeans on. "Someday, I hope you stop overanalyzing the things I say. Your naive sorries are your worst point."

I was diminished by the burn. Slouching, I turned my shirt right side out and prepared to don it.

"She's saying she's not one and done," Fumine said, translating James's original utterance for me. "She's not sure it was wise, because now she wants to fuck again. But it's complicated."

"How do you do this?" James asked my wife.

"Do what?"

"Get through to him."

Fumine smiled sadly. "It's easy when there's no mystery. When we started dating, we did so on a promise of absolute honesty and an intention to communicate everything. It's worked pretty well, though I think we both ended up being wrong about ourselves in pretty fundamental ways."

James kept drying her hair as she puzzled over the response. "But you made it this far. You'll be fine if you stick to that intention."

"Probably."

She let the towel drop to the floor, stared into space. "Why couldn't we be honest with each other."

"I think I'm probably too proud to give you my guess." Fumine had tears in her eyes.

My heart shivered, and I moved to hug my wife.

She put up an arm to impede my approach, blinked hard, then smiled. "That's enough of that. Let's get some food in us."

"I'm stupid," I offered the room. I'd been chewing on the exchange between the two women, on James's request to not unpack or wrap up the night. "I'm sure none of this means as much as we're inclined to believe. We're three adults who consented to something weird. I like both of you a lot, and I'm pretty sure you like each other, and probably me. We have one day together. Let's enjoy it."

They both nodded, and we moved as a unit for the door.

Fumine was first out. I stepped into the threshold ahead of James.

"One more thing," I said, turning back to my friend. "You have to admit, at some point, that you're a fucking smart ass. Unwise to let me fuck you. You do not shoot straight."

"You love it," James and Fumine said in unison.

I threw my hands up. "Fine! But don't come for me when I take your words at face value and get a little concerned."

"You love that, too." My wife took my hand.

I rolled my eyes. "You seem like you found your answer."

"My answer?" she asked.

I opened my mouth to remind her—who I really am—but saw the impish glint in her eyes, the slight duckface she used as a tell for jokes, and I knew she'd caught my meaning. I just shook my head. I hoped she knew, on some level, that I didn't need her to troll me to compete with James, that I loved who she was, that I was flying home with her tomorrow not because I was bound to her but because she was the person I'd chosen to be bound to.

But I didn't say anything, because we'd have a lifetime to unpack this trip, and right now we all needed some coffee and eggs.

James followed us back to Rose's place, helped us pack, and saw us off to the airport.

Before passing through security, I hugged her. It was a decision I made, the first hug I'd ever initiated with her, and she seemed glad for it. She maintained her habit of startling me by drawing back just far enough to reach up and kiss me, a full, long, wet kiss. I tried to give as good as I got, wrestling her tongue back into her mouth.

"Things will keep getting worse before they get better," I said, choosing a perhaps inopportune moment to whip out my revolutionary pessimism.

"What the fuck?" she asked.

"History," I said simply. "But your sister's going to be okay."

"Oh."

"Write the books you want to write," I offered. "And L, send me chapters."

She smiled, nodded, then shrugged out of my arms and gave Fumine the same kiss treatment she'd given me. A couple passersby stared, but none seemed bothered. This was the City of Writers, after all.

The year was 2021. Sanders was President, and everyone to his left politically was "gay." In the twilight of the internet age, labels floundered, died. The right had its arsenal of insults, coded and otherwise, but the battle lines had been drawn, and clearly. With the death of the center, with the death of liberal identity politics, we were blending together in an unprecedented sexual unity.

When we boarded our plane and took our seats, I turned to Fumine. An uneasy smile quivered on her lips as she met my gaze.

"Let's get another cat," I said.

She nodded, and I knew we were going to be okay.