Leisl Ch. 04

Having coffee with Chris a week later was something I was looking forward to immensely. The previous time, the first time we met, had been heady and sexy and dizzying. I was worried, excited, not sure what to expect – is that all this connection would ever be? At that point, it didn't truly matter either way, I suppose, nothing really to lose. But I still found myself hoping it was more than that. I hoped Chris and I could have a friendship, a true connection, and also the sizzling chemistry we had already had in spades.

Don't get me wrong, here – I love some sizzling chemistry as much as anyone. You might have guessed that by now. But I also had this thing, that so many of my friends (Steve and Lily included) couldn't really relate to, they didn't understand. The thing was, I always wanted to be friends with the people I slept with. It didn't always work out like that, and I had fucked several people in the past who I never saw again – but I didn't like that so much. I liked to be able to chat, and laugh, and share secrets in the dark that weren't really secrets but felt forbidden, or unknown, or mysterious because there was no life context to place them into. I had no idea why I liked so much to be friends with those with whom I went to bed, but I jokingly referred to it as my "intimacy kink". I liked feeling like I wasn't quite as replaceable as your ordinary hookup piece-of-meat kind of friend. I liked to hang out, share music, go to the pub and shoot the breeze, meet their friends and go to parties. And also fuck their brains out. Call me greedy.

I met Chris on a Saturday afternoon at the Diner on King St, the cafe that I remembered as Cinque. I was wearing black leather flat sandals and my favourite emerald green dress - it stopped just above my knees, but it plunged in the front and had a waist tie in the back. He got there first, and I saw him sitting there alone for a moment before he looked around and spotted me. He was wearing a tight charcoal grey tee, v neck, and very dark blue jeans. His dark hair fell over his cheek in a way I thought was kind of adorable, and he absentmindedly tucked it back over his ear in a gesture that was strangely vulnerable. I felt a surge of affection for this man I barely knew, but had had inside me. Also a jolt of lust, when I remembered his whispering my name as he ejaculated. This would be a very interesting coffee.

We greeted and kissed on the cheek, in the usual Sydney way. I sat down and a waitress came over. Chris ordered a soy latte, I ordered my usual iced coffee. She left. Silence for a moment, as we both tried to think of where to start. We small talked for a few minutes, about work, what he was working on (a growing company's rebranding and refit), what I'd been studying (sociology). Silence again.

"So. You said you'd tell me how you met Justin?"

He laughed, and it was comfortable. He told me the funny story finally, about how he, Chris, had been dating a woman a few years ago called Jessica, how Jessica had met a man one night at a bar, a work function, that she had kissed him, and had felt such intense shame that she told Chris about it the same night. How Chris had been understanding, forgiving, loving. She eventually admitted she felt like she wanted to see him again, but "I won't! I promise I'll never see him again Chris!" How he had said maybe she could, he felt okay about that. He had told her she should ask him out. How confused she was, this naïve girl who at the time had no conception of openness, or polyamory, or anything besides run of the mill monogamy as taught to her by a straightlaced and prudish society, though she was by no means prudish herself.

Chris wanted to meet him, he said, to see who it was his girlfriend might be spending time with. She, still bewildered by this turn of events, invited her new crush out to drinks, with Chris, and they had had a surprisingly easy and even fun evening. Jessica went home with Chris that night, but saw her crush again the next night, went home with him, and never saw him again. She and Chris stayed together for another six months, then went their separate ways. Chris bumped into the man two months later, and they went for a drink. His name was Justin. That had been two years ago.

"Jessie and I still chat on Facebook occasionally. She thinks it's hilarious, thankfully," he chuckled. "And she's poly now, so I guess it all helped her find out some things about herself."

I told him could definitely see how confusing it might have been for Jessica at first. The whole thing about open relationships etc was something I was just getting my head around myself, and I prided myself on being pretty open-minded. But good on her for doing her own thing. Poly was a relationship style I could never really see myself being into, personally, but then again what did you call what Steve and I had with Lily? The world was a very different place to the one we'd grown up in, it seemed.

"So, Lily tells me you guys have been playing around too? How's that working for you, so far?"

I grinned inwardly. His seemingly offhanded question sort of sounded like in 90s rom-coms, when the girl would casually-but-obviously ask, "And what about your girlfriend, or wife?" I could tell it was Chris's way of feeling me out, of getting a level for how comfortable I might be playing with him.

"It's going okay so far. Lily's just happy slutting around, you know her. Steve's loving the fact that he no longer has to be a gay monk – you know what I mean."

"Oh, I definitely know what you mean. I felt the same, more or less, when I was with Jessie. The weird thing is ... well, I've always found it fascinating the different levels of people's sexuality, the variation. I mean, you know the Kinsey scale? 0 being totally straight, 6 being totally gay? That is so fascinating to me. But I always referred to it in percentages, though, I mean, for example I would say Justin is about 80, maybe 85% gay. He's only ever had relationships with men. He just sleeps with women, never dates them. Maybe Steve is similar, but in reverse?"

"Mmmm, yeah, I'd probably guess around that. He's never been interested in dating men, he just likes sex with them. Lily is much more flexible, she'd probably tell you she's 50/50, but from what she's said, maybe it goes back and forth, depending on what's going on at the time. You know, in her life. Who she's with."

Funny how we'd both broached the subject we wanted to discuss, by introducing our partners, not revealing ourselves just yet. I was dying to know how Chris defined himself, in terms of this so-called Kinsey scale, but I wanted to put off the moment when he would ask me. I tried to convince myself I didn't know, wasn't sure of the answer, I wanted to make some flippant comment about sexual fluidity, and destroying the mystery. The truth is, though, that I knew exactly what the answer would be, for me, at that point in time, and had been for at least the past few years. But there is a big difference between knowing something, and wanting to admit it to yourself. Saying it out loud would make it more real, somehow, and I wouldn't be able to take it back. Wouldn't be able to continue fooling myself.

We had fallen silent for a few moments, each knowing what the next question would be, inevitably, and wishing we could just change the subject, never speak of it, stop wondering. Of course that was impossible.

We looked at each other, in our mutual discomfort, and giggled.

"Alright fine, who's going first? Shall I flip a coin?" Chris offered.

"Ha, no, it's fine, I'll jump. Deep breath. Here goes. Jesus. Drumroll?"

"This is more exciting than Iron Chef!"

"Fuck off. I would say I'm ..." I sigh, no going back now, "90% straight. Maybe 95."

"Holy shit, Leisl. No, seriously, I was prepared to make some terrible joke, but no, I feel for you. I really do. What about Lily?"

"I know, I know. And I've never told anyone that before, so please, please don't tell them."

"Of course not."

"I just ... Well, when we first met her, it was so exciting, the novelty, you know? And sort of forbidden, you know, like taboo or something. I was totally into it! At the time. And obviously I love Lily, and when we sleep together, I go to that 5 or 10% place, and I love making her feel good, and ... What? You're smirking!"

"Am I? I'm sorry. Really. But I get you. I seriously do get you. Can I tell you something in return?"

"Anything."

"You think it's bad that you're only 5 or 10% gay, when you have a girlfriend, but you also have a boyfriend who can fulfill your other needs. But me, I'm monogamous, emotionally, with my boyfriend, and I'm only like, 20% gay."

"Wow. Um, okay, I would never ever judge you, but honestly, how does that work?"

"Oh, Juss knows about it. It has been a pretty major source of conflict between us for the past ... ever. But I love him. I genuinely and honestly love him. I would do anything for him, and that includes straight celibacy. But he wouldn't hear of it. Jesus, if Juss was gay, I don't even think we could be together, or at least not like now. I love being able to share the straight part of myself with my boyfriend, and he can share the straight part of himself with me."

"It is so sweet, I mean when Lil told me you guys 'share' women, well it sounds pretty kinky, a bit wild you know? But the way you tell it, it's actually really adorable, if it helps you guys have a better relationship."

"Absolutely. I am so thankful that if I was going to fall in love with a man, that he's bi too, even if it's different amounts."

"If you think about it, if he'd been gay, you would never even have met."

"That's true! Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I get it, I hear you. I am mostly straight, and in love with a man. That's life, you know, " he laughed, comfortable with his sexuality and who he was, with his situation in life. I wish I could be so easy about it. My secret, that I was actually almost entirely straight, had been weighing heavily on me for months now, ever since I had finally allowed the thought to coalesce in my mind into actual words. The heartrending guilt of the fact that I felt that I was lying to my partners, even if it was so that I didn't hurt them, was torturous to me.

"I guess I don't need to ask how you told him, if you were dating Jessica when you met. But how did you get together, if you both thought the other was straight?"

"Well, no, it wasn't that. When we bumped into each other in the street, we went for a drink, you know just to hang out. He told me he'd been seeing this guy for a while but it wasn't really anything serious. And then he said, 'Jessica was essentially an anomaly. I'm actually gay, most of the time.'"

I had to laugh, "'Most of the time'?"

"That's what he said! Apparently I looked surprised, because he laughed, and I said, 'Me too!' and then he thought I was coming onto him."

"Coming onto him?"

"Yeah, he thought I was just 'hopping on the bandwagon', you know, for a shot at the privilege, or the honour of sucking him off in the bathroom at the Courthouse Hotel."

"Oh, gross! That bathroom is rank!"

"Right?! Anyway I realised what I'd said, and I said, 'Well no, actually I'm straight, most of the time.' So he laughed at me and we forgot about it. And ... then we got drunk and pashed outside the Courty at one in the morning."

He made me laugh. Chris had this way of making even the most mundane details amusing and colourful. It was like the very air around him sparkled. Or at least, I felt like I somehow sparkled when I was around him. His effect on me was startling.

"Mmm, pashing drunk outside the pub at closing, very classy move," I giggled, nervous suddenly.

"Yeah, okay, okay, point taken," he laughed, "But it was fucking hot though. I remember thinking if I had had one more drink I totally would have sucked him off in the park across the road."

"Around the corner from the cop shop."

"It's the perfect crime!" God he had a gorgeous smile. "Oh, but you know that feeling when you meet someone just, fucking white hot, and you're pashing them like you just want to climb on top of them, inside of them, you just can't seem to get close enough? Oh fuck I remember that. I swear, I had never in my life wanted to a fuck a guy so much. It was like his cock was the only thing I ever wanted, I actually started to seriously question my previous sexuality, that's how hot it was."

"I felt the same! I mean about some of the chicks we fucked, before we met Lily. Just wanting soooo much to lick their pussy, and have them eat me, jesus. But to tell you the truth? I've always been more about boobs than pussy. Cunts don't interest me as much any more. I mean, I like Lily's, but I'm used to it. But new girls, nah, not really. I mean sometimes I think the only reason I don't think it's 100% for me is because of Lily ... oh god, and tits. Hers or anyone else's. Fuck, I love tits."

He laughed, loudly. "Yes! I'm a boob man myself. Good thing your girlfriend has a decent rack."

"She really does."

"So do you, now that I think of it."

There it was. The moment when our conversation turned away from partners, and towards each other, towards our own chemistry together, towards what we both - I hoped - were thinking. I was pulsing with anticipation, but I tried to brazen it out.

"Oh come on, like you haven't been thinking of it this whole time."

"This is true. But they are fucking gorgeous tits," he murmured, staring directly at my chest.

A jolt. A wave of warmth and cold flooded my veins. I liked him staring at my tits. I liked knowing he was thinking about them naked, imagining what he could do with them. I wish I knew what it was he was picturing. I did know that I enjoyed the fact that he was referring to my breasts as though they weren't attached to me, as though they were an entirely separate entity. I loved it.

"Well, thank you. I have to admit you are impressively well endowed yourself."

I said this more for something to say, to fill the silence, to cover my blush, than any desire to move the conversation along. He didn't respond, he just continued his cool appraisal of my chest. He licked his lips, and looked directly at me, didn't quite smile. This man was not shy. This man was lust personified.

He shook his head to one side, maybe to clear his head, dislodging the flick of hair from behind his ear. It fell over his eye, and he shook again to move it away. He swiped it back with his hand, a practised absentminded movement, and I could see his veined wrist, and long fingers. I was surprised; his forearm was more muscular than I had first thought. He had very little visible body fat. Naturally, I assumed he worked out. Naturally, I imagined him lifting me, carrying me, impaled on his cock, throwing me down ...

"Anyway. Chris. Before this gets too awkward, um, uncomfortable I suppose, are you actually free anytime soon? I just really don't want this to turn into one long tease that we have to wait weeks to consummate."

"I agree. Unfortunately I'm not going to be free for a whole night, at least until ..." He feigned thinking, "... until I get back from the bathroom. After that I have nothing planned for tonight. I'm wide open." He grinned, and winked at me.

The clunky but effective double entendre wasn't lost on me. I blushed, or at least I felt a wave of heat, all over, and I looked down as he left the table to hide the fact that I had absolutely no intelligible response to that. Unless just salivating is an acceptable comeback.

I took the liberty of paying for our coffees, and went to wait outside the cafe, on the footpath. I saw him return to the table, look around, look confused, then see me outside, and head towards me. I realised then what I had done. I just meant to keep him off balance slightly, by paying for both of us, and being generally more forward than he might expect. He just thought I'd ditched him.

Well, I suppose he was off balance. He looked so relieved.

"So where should we go?" I wasn't sure if he wanted to talk more, get to know each other better, or go straight back to his house. Suddenly I cared very much what he thought of me; I didn't want to suggest doing something he wasn't thinking of doing.

"Across the road. Come on." I had no idea where he was taking me. Dangerfield, clothes shopping? Happy Chef for lunch? The Commonwealth Bank? He took my hand, and clutching it tightly, he jaywalked across the slow-moving traffic, just like everyone does on King St. He didn't let go of my hand when we reached the other side, but instead entwined his fingers with mine, just like that night in the taxi. The memory momentarily made my heart pound all over again, so that I found I didn't really care where he was leading me.

He headed right into Max Black's entryway, and releasing my hand, bounded up the stairs. Brilliant! This was one of my favourite stores. The best sex shop in Sydney, if not for its prices, then at least for its sex positivity. If there was ever a place you could comfortably ask a salesperson which dildo texture was more realistic, or which submissive's collar would be easiest to unlock in an emergency, without a whisper of self consciousness, this was it.

Chris headed immediately to the back wall, to the pain implements, and began to browse the racks. I balked – we hadn't talked about pain. It wasn't so much that I disliked it – my relationship with sexual pain might be complex, but overall I wasn't averse – but it was more just that he hadn't asked. I just didn't want to imagine he was that type. He noticed my horrified reaction.

"Oh my god, Leisl, you look scandalised! It's not for you! Ha, no, I'm just getting a crop for a friend's hen party. I wasn't intending to hurt you without your permission! Although, I suppose, now that the words come out of my mouth, it doesn't sound like such a terrible idea ..." He winked at me and pinched my ass, and I poked out my tongue at him. He was teasing me. I could trust him. I think.

I browsed the titles on display on the book table. Vaginal fisting, human pony, anal safety. I picked up a Toybag Guide called Playing with Taboo. I happen to love taboo play myself, with several taboos – rape play, daddy/girl, and cuckquean – being my personal favourites. But the guide didn't really seem to offer much in the way of new information (at least for me), so I flicked it back on the pile. Chris was watching me.

I wasn't intending to buy anything, really, so I turned and just followed Chris around the store. He was looking at a number of items – nipple clamps, ponytail buttplugs, bondage tape. Occasionally he would pick up an item and look at me, smile suggestively, and put it back. I had no idea what he was thinking, but I could probably take a wild guess. He doubled back and sidled past me, closer than necessary. He trailed his fingers along the row of crops, floggers and paddles. He picked out a cane, and swung it through the air a few times, getting the feel for it. He put it back and picked up another, doing the same.

"I wonder ..." He said, and stopped. He lifted up my wrist, gently, and positioned my hand in the air, palm up. Before I realised what he intended to do, or I suppose, before I realised he was serious, he had swung the rod down onto my palm.

"Ow! Fuck!" I yelled. I looked around, and lowered my voice. "Fuck that hurt!"

"Yeah, it canes pretty bad, doesn't it?" I giggled at his apparently unintentional pun. It did cane, it stung like a fucking bluebottle at the beach in summer. No fucking way was I letting him buy one of those if he intended to use it on me. I decided to give him a hint, lest he be planning to buy a toy I would be very much not into. "I've always preferred a duller, thudding implement, myself."