Subclasses Ch. 13

Chapter Thirteen

I rouse from our nap first. The warmth from the two bodies sandwiching me is luxurious to say the least. I revel in it, attempting a bit of mindfulness: simply being in the moment and feeling every square inch of my naked skin pressed against theirs. The closeness of us, and the intimate trust it signifies, is a thing of true beauty, pure shalom.

Middle spoon is best spoon.

A question occurred to me last year, and since then I've been asking various people their opinions when it seems appropriate. What's more intimate: sex or cuddling? I was surprised to find out that I'm in the majority: about three fourths of the people in my informal survey said that cuddling is more intimate in most cases. I suspect older generations—Gen X and older, from whom I have little-to-no data—would have a majority that say is sex the more intimate act, but that's just a hunch.

Why do I find cuddling more intimate than sex? I wonder for the dozenth time. It's strange. The number of people I would feel comfortable cuddling with is larger than the number I'd sleep with. Maybe it's the play aspect of sex; because sex is more fun, more physically engaging, there's less focus on what you're doing than there is on simply doing it. You have less time to think about the person and what they mean to you, how much you trust—and in what way you care for—them and they you.

Which is what I'm doing right now. I love Beatrix—no questions there. But how do I feel about Gabi?

I trust her, obviously. She enhances the feeling of Home that Beatrix provides; she completes it somehow. Gabi's drop dead gorgeous, and I have always been physically attracted to her, but I always held that attraction at arm's length; it felt—feels—right to. She's fun to be around, and being with her is as rejuvenating to this introverted soul as being alone. The big question I need to figure out is: do I have romantic feelings for her?

Right now? At this moment? I don't think that I do. That could change, but our relationship is just too shallow for romantic attachment. That's not to say I don't feel a connection with her, don't feel connected to her. I most definitely do. If I didn't, I realize, I wouldn't have been comfortable sleeping with her. Casual sex, it seems, isn't for me, but it appears I'm okay with sex with people I have that kind of connection with, even without a romantic connection or commitment. Until today, I had assumed I was monogamous: God designed marriage to be between one woman and another woman, I think with a sarcastic smirk. However, maybe I'm not monogamous. Maybe I'm demisexual and polyamorous. But no, I think, I could be happy in a monogamous relationship. I have been before and I certainly would not be opposed to Bea and me having a closed relationship. But I'm also not jealous. Not anymore, at least: not since coming out. So is there a label that means the interpersonal equivalent of bi- or pansexual? There must be, but comfortable as I am squished between two hot hotties, I'm in no position to poll the interwebs.

Babs wakes up, and I place my introspection back in its spot on the shelf. She shifts in front of me, not an altogether unwelcome experience. "Hey, cutie," I whisper, careful not to wake Beatrix.

"Hi," she whispers back. I can hear her coy smile. I can't see her face, but she sounds shyer than I'm used to. It makes sense. My naked tits are pressed to her back, and my thumb, I notice, has been absently roaming her midriff. Gabi, ever so carefully, rolls over to face me. Amazingly, Bea's soft snoring continues unabated.

Gabi moves to kiss me, but stops herself almost immediately. We lock eyes. Do you want this? she asks in my head. I nod slowly, she smiles, and we move in for a short, soft kiss. Which turns into a long, soft kiss. And then a long, soft French kiss.

When we part, our eye contact has shifted in color. I'm unsure of my earlier assertion that I have no romantic attachment to Gabi. "I like your lips," I whisper before realizing how much better that sounded in my head than aloud. Or, umm, 'aquiet'?

Babs smiles impishly and somehow curtsies with her face. "Why thank you, kindly," she whispers back, thickening her Georgian accent, evocative of a hoedown. "Yours make good dance partners. I'm glad I finally got the chance to find that out for sure."

"So you've had a crush on me for a while, huh?" I'm still bewildered by that.

"Yes, I think I have. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but yes.

"I know what you said before, that you've always only seen me as a friend. Is that still the case?"

She's exposing her heart, and it's all I can do not to say what I know she wants to hear. "Honestly, right now, yes, I still see you as a good, cuddly friend," I whisper. She looks disappointed by my reply, but not hurt. "That doesn't mean it can't change. That kiss, for instance, was a hearty nudge in that direction." She smiles, though whether at the memory of the kiss, at the idea of 'nudging' things a little further in her favor, or at my sporadically archaic word choice, I cannot say.

"Right now," I continue, "this is all so new. Beatrix, the domme/sub aspect of our relationship as well as the romantic one. Finding out that you're bisexual, then finding out you have a crush on me, then a surprise threesome. Trying to determine if I'm monogamous or polygamous or something in between. Determining if I'm demisexual. It's all a lot to process in ten days, and more than half of it's occurred in the last"—I glance at the wall clock over Gabi's shoulder: a hand between III and IV and another at VIII—"three hours.

"I don't know what we are to each other anymore, but I want to find out, and I want to do so carefully. It would kill me for our relationship to become awkward. I was truthful with what I said before; I can't imagine a better roomie for me, not even Beatrix, and I thank my lucky stars for that."

Gabi gives me a warm smile, some of the disappointment melting away. "I'd like to find out, too," she whispers with a private quality to her voice. A secret despite the likelihood that everyone we know will find out shortly. A secret for right now.

Beatrix's throat catches and her soft snoring is interrupted by a loud, nasally snort. Gabi and I suppress a fit of giggles. She reaches to pull my hand from the small of her back, sliding her fingers down my forearm to intertwine them with my own. "I like you, Sarah Delphino," she whispers, testing the sound of the statement.

Everything in me yearns to return the sentiment; I want to like her that way. I hope I will soon. Maybe I should say that? I think. What would that add, though? At best, it would be a teaser; at worst, I'd set up a harsher letdown. I give her my most grateful smile. "I am most flattered, Gabrielle Ramirez," I whisper, matching her experimental, affectionate tone.

Her softened expression indicates that she's satisfied with that for now. "I'm glad," she whispers back. Then she looks uncomfortable. "I have to pee."

I chuckle. "There's a bathroom through that archway." I gesture over my shoulder with my head as best I can without waking my girlfriend. "I have no idea if anyone else is home, but I haven't heard anyone. Bea brought me here last night, and I think she would have told me if she thought anyone else would be home."

She nods and rolls away from me off her edge of the bed, then scampers nakedly into the bathroom.

I hear a distant exterior door open and close. Uh oh. Swift feet shuffle down the hall past Beatrix's room, and I hear the toilet flush. Seconds later, a door I now recall being on the far side of the bathroom creaks open, followed swiftly by shrill screams of two distinct dialects.

Bea bolts upright behind me, frantically shoving me over for the requisite leverage.

"Who are you and why are you naked in my bathroom?!" shouts a voice I conclude must be Claire's. Well, shit.

I can't make out a response beyond stunned mumbling.

Beatrix, also naked, rushes to the door. "Claire! What are you doing here?" she says, asking the stupid, most obvious question.

"I live here!" Claire says, giving the stupid, most obvious answer. "What is she doing here? Who is she?!"

I clamber out of bed, nab the nearest shirt from the floor—Gabi's—and throw it on. When I'm in my feminine body, Gabi is an inch taller than me, so the shirt, designed with curves in mind, mostly covers the important bits. I yank the duvet and sheet off Bea's bed. Running to the bathroom, I marvel that Beatrix had the presence of mind to portal our clothes with us when she Spoke us to the bigger bed.

"And who is she?!" Claire shouts, pointing a quaking finger at me as I enter.

I hastily hand each of my naked companions—both of whom are trying, ineffectually, to hide their nudity with their arms and hands—some bedding to cover themselves, which they take gratefully.

"Gabi, Sarah," Bea points to us each in turn, "meet my baby sister, Claire."

Not knowing what else to do, I reach out to shake Claire's hand. "Hi Claire, I'm Beatrix's girlfriend, Sarah." Stunned, she leaves me hanging. To reduce the discomfort of the unrequited handshake, I gesture to Gabi. "And this is my roommate, Gabi. We both attend Western with Beatrix."

"Your naked roommate?" Claire asks, half confused, half scandalized.

"Er, that's new," I say, lamely.

"Okay-? And?" She punctuates each word with a staccatoed, unimpressed shake of her head.

Before I can stammer another irrelevant response, Beatrix butts in. "Claire, give us a few moments to dress. I'll make us some tea and then we can converse like proper Englishwomen." She turns to walk back to her room without giving Claire a chance to respond. Gabi follows her. I gift Claire a weak shrug then join them.

* * *

Each of us dressed in our own clothes with cups of tea cooling on the living room coffee table before us, Beatrix addresses Claire. "I'm sorry we freaked you out, and that ... you saw us naked. I didn't expect you to be home today since Mum and Dad are out of town."

"I just came home to grab some things," Claire mumbles. "And it's not like I've never seen naked girls before. I have gym class." She delivers the last sentence with the concentrated snark only a fifteen-year-old girl can marshal. I'm impressed.

"Yeah, I should have considered you might come home. At any rate, Sarah," she says, subtly gesturing to me, "and I have been dating for about a week and a half."

"And you're nekked already?"

Bea shrugs confidently. "Sometimes you know.

"Gabi's~~"—she draws out the sound as she stretches for the right word—"participation in our relationship was a bit of a surprise. To all three of us, I think. It just sort of happened. Like, three-hours-ago sort of happened. We haven't discussed what it all means yet. We haven't really had the chance." This shrug is less confident.

"It's true!" Gabi says with an awkward and bubbly tonal mixture. "This morning I didn't even know I was into girls!"

A pregnant pause. "So why are you here instead of Bellingham?" Claire asks.

"That's a good question!" Bea says, clearly scrambling for a reasonable answer. She comes up short and resorts to the truth. "The bed wasn't big enough."

"So, in the middle of ..."—Claire gestures inarticulately—"all that, you put on clothes and drove ninety minutes south so you could snog in a bigger bed? And you did that without parking a car in the driveway?"

I've never been so grateful not to be in the hot seat. "Yeah, that story doesn't hold up, does it?" Claire arches an eyebrow and shakes her head with pursed lips. "It is the truth. Just not the whole truth."

Bea struggles for words. I know she's trying to decide whether or not to let her sister in on this secret, trying to come up with any plausible explanation that could obfuscate it. Bea was right: three is fast becoming four. At last, she sighs. "There's really no way around this," she says, regretful and resigned. "I'll tell you, but, please, you must promise to keep it secret."

Claire looks taken aback but eventually nods. "Okay. I promise." She pauses, then squints dubiously. "Within reason."

Bea sighs again. What else can she do? "I have this strange ability," she starts, cautiously. "I can Speak and it makes things true." She winces at the inadequate explanation.

Claire's eyes go wide. "You too?"

* * *

Our minds return from the commercial break as Claire's words sink in.

The moment of speechlessness passes. "Umm. Yes, me, too," Beatrix says, nervously. "I think. Just to make sure we're talking about the same thing...." She trails off.

"That pillow is flying at your head," Claire Speaks. A throw pillow launches unaided from the side of the couch and smacks Beatrix square in the face, knocking her glasses crooked.

"Sarah spilled your tea!" I'm displaced into a lunging position, reaching with a teacup I had not been holding a second ago tipped in my hand, its contents pouring directly onto Claire's shirt.

"Hey! Leave me out of this!" I say, trying to smother my amusement. Gabi holds the thrown throw pillow to her face to hide her grin.

"...and right onto the nearest slut!" The liquid shoots from Claire's shirt to Beatrix's sternum, where it drips unceremoniously down her cleavage.

"Oh, that is it!" Beatrix yells with affectionate fury.

"Ladies!" I shout, pressing my finger to Bea's lips, forestalling further tea-shed. "Put the tea back in the cup," I command.

Immediately, both girls Speak, "The tea is back in the cup."

Stunned silence. All four of us.

Slowly, six eyes turn toward me. Bea's turn angry. "You could Speak this whole time?!"

"What?" I ask, alarmed. "No, of course I couldn't. I don't even know how I did it this time!" I'm as shocked as Bea is, probably more so. Beatrix's face contorts in appraisal, judging my sincerity. "I promise, Beatrix! You know I can't lie, and I especially would never lie about something like this. This is the first time I've ever Spoken like you do."

Bea sits there as we hold our collective breaths. Then her expression slackens. "I know," she admits. "I didn't notice it at first, but my battery drained when you Spoke. It's my ability. You just used it somehow."

More silence.

"bEaTrIx AnD sArAh ArE kIsSiNg Me." We turn to Gabi, who shrugs. "What? A girl's gotta try."

A second of flabbergasted silence later, the tension in the room erupts from our mouths as we laugh at Gabi's terrible imitation; the heat of the moment dissipates in an instant.

I catch my breath first. "Well," I say with mock formality, "this has been a most productive meeting." Renewed giggling.

"Indeed," Bea says, recovering. "Though," she continues in her usual voice, "it raises more questions. Can you still Speak, Sarah?"

I try, "I am in Bea's lap," then pause. "I guess not."

"I have a hunch," Bea continues, "why you could control me without my consent, but how did you affect Claire?"

"I- I have no idea," I say finally. "Maybe consent isn't the rule. Maybe it's something else and consent is usually the result of that rule, but not always. Like you told me last week, there's an unseen cosmic scale out there that balances people's free will, and we don't understand it yet.

"At least it gives us some more avenues to experiment with."

Beatrix nods. "That it does," she says, returning to her British formality.

Claire looks at us, confused. "Consent? What's that have to do with it?" We both turn sharply to Claire. "I mean, is that the rule? Is that why I can do some things and not others? I only discovered I could do this thing like six months ago. I haven't figured much of it out yet."

Bea and I deflate, relieved. For a second, I had feared that Claire's ability didn't have the same restrictions. If hers didn't, then perhaps other people's don't either, and that could lead us all to a world of hurt. Thankfully, that does not appear to be the case. Global crisis averted.

Or so you think, Sarah Prime says unhelpfully.

You had better not be foreshadowing, Bitch! I think back at her. I know she's just voicing my own—likely unfounded—concerns, but I do enjoy the internal repartie.

"How did you find out you have this ability?" Gabi asks, looking at Claire.

"I was working on a paper for class, writing down notes on three-by-five cards. My pencil broke for the third time, so I yelled at it, 'Stay sharp, dang you!' and suddenly it was; it didn't break again. In fact, it didn't even get dull."

"Did using the pencil after that drain something from you?" Bea asks, channeling Socrates.

Claire looks lost in thought as she says, "Yeah, it did. I don't know how to describe it. It didn't make me tired or anything—no hackneyed psychic nosebleed—but somehow I knew I could only keep the pencil sharp for so long."

"The best way I've been able to describe it," Bea says, "is like a rechargeable battery."

"Oh! That's a good way to put it! I wish it would recharge faster though." Bea, Gabi, and I share a look. "What?" Claire asks, correctly sensing hidden meaning in our expressions.

"Here's where things get awkward," Bea says.

* * *

"So then that makes Sarah...?" Claire lets the question hang.

"My sub," Bea confirms. I blush, but I'm getting used to that. Bea speaks over-confidently to mask the inherent uncomfortable vulnerability, like using clinical terms for genitalia in health class.

"I need to get one of those!" Claire's eyes flash greedily, but innocently so. She wants to explore her ability, but I have the strong suspicion she doesn't fully understand what a sub is. It's not even clear to me that she has the same kind of dominant personality that Bea has. What does she do, then, if she isn't naturally domineering? "Do I just need to find someone who will wear a collar?" She points at mine, and I perform a mental facepalm.

"It's a bit more involved than that," I say. I try to think of how to explain it in PG-13 terms. "Beatrix doesn't control me, not really. I actually hold most of the power in our relationship dynamic. She can do what she wants with me only so long as I agree to it on some level—only as long as some deep part of me wants to do what she tells me to. And she can only even do that much because I have already given her my explicit permission to try whatever she wants. Both of these together are what we mean by consent.

"I wouldn't consent to just anyone toying with me, either. It requires a deep level of trust on both sides. I trust Bea to keep me safe, even while she 'tortures' me; she trusts me to be honest and tell her what I like and what I don't. Honestly, the fact that Bea and I trust each other so strongly after only a week and a half—and really, only after the first couple days—is nothing short of extraordinary. I'm a generally trusting girl by nature, but the trust I hold for Bea is orders of magnitude stronger than I trust, well, you for instance. No offense."

"'Bea'?" she asks, apparently missing the point I was making. "I thought you hated that nickname."

"I do, but Sarah is special, and I like it from her." Bea gives me a contented smile.

"Oh, should I not call you that, then?" Gabi asks.

"I don't know. Try it out."

"I shall call you Bea, and you shall be mine. You shall be my Bea." I snort.

"Yeah, you should stick to Beatrix, please."

"Yes, Mistress," Gabi mocks.

"Oh, is that how you want to play it?" Bea asks, a feline hint of desire in her eyes.