The Three Loves

All characters engaging in sex acts are 18 or older.

—

There was a knock on the door. I couldn't remember the last time I had someone at the door. The ancient house my apartment was in had once been a grand, fancy place. Over time it had been subdivided into tiny pieces. You had to go up an outside staircase around the back of the house to get to my tiny piece of attic. The front door wasn't even visible from the street.

I don't know what I had expected. But the woman, or girl really, who stood before was not it. She wore a plaid flannel shirt over a band t-shirt, one I had never heard of. She wore baggy jeans and a studded leather bracelet on her left wrist. There was the hint of a tattoo sneaking out around the neckline of her t-shirt. She had a studded choker matching her bracelet. I could see that she was thin, and her breasts were lost under the baggy t-shirt and flannel shirt she wore. She was about my height.

But her face was what really surprised me. I remember thinking her face would have been pretty if it weren't for... well everything she had done to it. She had a pierced nose and eyebrow. Her eyes were dark like mine, and her hair, or at least the roots of it, were the same color as mine. She had buzzed her hair around the sides and left it long on top, which was dyed blue. She wore fashionably ugly horn-rimmed glasses. There was something naggingly familiar about her, but I had never met someone with anything approaching her... fashion sense.

She bore a nervous smile, and unconsciously kneaded her hands in front of her. Her face went from nervous to shocked. "It is you, James!" She leapt at me, and I don't know what I would have done in desperate defense if I hadn't been so gobsmacked by this "alternative girl" or whatever you could call her at my door. She flung her arms around me, and let out a contented groan. "Oh my God, I found you! I found you!" My arms stuck out awkwardly from my sides, but I was able to bring them in to pat her on the back. I'm not a hugger. At all. And I chafed at her invasion of my personal space. Her body did feel good against mine, but I was neurotically nervous around girls at that age.

She stepped back, leaving a hand on my arm. "James? It's me." Then it clicked for me. Those dark eyes like mine, the hair my same color, and the glasses.

"Charlotte?" Could it be my cousin after all these years?

She put both her hands to her mouth. Her eyes got a glassy look and her brow furrowed. "James, it really is you!"

I struggled to speak. She had been as close as I had ever had to a best friend. "How long has it been?"

"Ten years. That's when... well you know. And our sides of the family stopped seeing each other. That was the last time."

It took a second for the fog to clear from my brain. I remembered all the times I had begged my parents to get together with my aunt and uncle so I could see Charlotte. My dad was wrathful every time I suggested it, and I learned to ask my mom instead. The answer didn't change. I wrote her a few letters and she wrote back, but we moved onto other things soon.

But the answer to my wish I had forgotten about was here now, right in front of me. If I looked carefully I could see the nervous girl, all elbows, hair, and glasses in front of me where this unconventional woman stood. "Charlotte, holy shit. I've missed you." This time I came in to hug her. It was a true hug, and I squeezed her hard. She felt nice against me just like before and I caught a whiff of her natural scent.

When I backed away tears were streaming down her face, but she was beaming. "Do you want to come in?"

—

As it was for many kids my age, my grandma's house was a treat. It was always the same when I came in. Something smelling nice and sweet from the kitchen. And grandma would open the door, her face filled with a thousand mirthful wrinkles. I remember thinking she must have been the oldest woman in the world. She was so skinny she looked like she would blow over in a breeze and her knuckles were knobby and spotted. "There he is! There's my sugar!" Though I blushed, I loved it every time she called me that.

"Happy birthday, Grandma!" I said through an almost painful grin.

Then grandpa would put his paper down and come to greet us. His back bent and he shuffled, but his grin was just as wide as grandma's. His hair was stark white, but as full as mine. No doubt plenty of men his age envied it. He wasn't much for words, but all the same I loved the contented hums he made when he hugged me. "Hi grandpa!" You had to shout to get him to hear you.

They would talk with mom and dad about boring grown-up things. Another great thing about being at grandma and grandpa's house was that my parents would be on their best behavior. Dad would control his drinking and mouth. Mom would leave him alone and spend time with grandma. I didn't have to worry like I usually did when they were together.

It was just like Grandma, cooking on her own birthday. She was like that, and people took advantage.

Aunt Sarah and Uncle Johnny and Charlotte and James Jacob weren't there yet. James was grandpa's name, and my dad (also James) would always fume about Uncle Johnny "stealing" the name that was rightfully his. James Jacob was a few years older than me and always mean. He got to see grandma and grandpa much more often than I did, as they lived just around the corner and we were all the way in Portland, hours away. He was a jealous boy, and got in trouble with grandpa for the way he treated me.

On the other hand, I was always excited to see Charlotte. We were born only a month apart and people used to joke about us being twins as similar as we were. We looked alike and we even had similar interests. We used to make up all kinds of games and fantasies in grandma's backyard and I was always sad when I had to leave.

The grown-ups hugged and said their hellos. Mom went into the kitchen with grandma to see what smelled so good and dad awkwardly shouted at grandpa about sports. But the screen door slammed behind me and I dashed into the vast wonderland that was grandma and grandpa's back yard. I was a little too old for the swingset, though Charlotte and I had loved it when we were little. There was a small garden with tomatoes and zucchini, a shed, and a big bird feeder.

What really got me excited was the treehouse that grandpa had built last year. As old as they were, they certainly kept busy. I climbed up the horizontal boards nailed to the big old oak tree and there was a tiny space just big enough for two kids (usually me and Charlotte) to sit down.

I ran around the yard, pretending I was Luke Skywalker or Superman or a t-rex. My body burst with excitement and I frantically described to myself whatever magical thing I was doing at the time.

"James!" Someone shouted from the house, but I didn't have to turn to see who. When I did turn Charlotte was charging at me, her ponytail swinging back and forth behind her head.

"Charlotte!" We smashed into each other's embrace and almost fell. She looked different. I don't think I had ever seen her wear a dress before.

Her face was split in half by her smile, but so was mine. Then I realized what else was different. She had makeup on. She looked at me expectantly. "Well?"

"Hey," I mumbled, feeling suddenly awkward. I was only eleven and I had not a speck of interest in girls yet. Some of my friends at school had already started talking about girls, and I felt embarrassed and confused at what they said.

Her smile faltered, "Don't I look pretty?" I guess she did but it never occurred to me. I nodded dumbly.

"Come on," I shouted, running toward the tree house. "I'm Superman and you're Wonder Woman!"

She chased after me, "No, I'm Batman! Wait up!"

—

I poured the coffee for Charlotte and brought it to her on the couch. She had taken off her outer flannel shirt, revealing a sleeve tattoo on her left arm. It was decorated with waves and sailors and monsters. We stared at each other as she took the coffee from me. I couldn't help but try to get a look at her boobs, now that the flannel was off. She was thin, and her boobs small. I wish I could see a bit more of her. I still couldn't quite believe it was her. Her eyes were still a bit red, but she had regained her composure.

I felt extraordinarily awkward. Why had she come here? I mean I knew that she came to see me. At least I thought that's why she came. But why now? There were a million questions I wanted to ask her. Where are you living now? What are your plans? Are we still friends? What's with... your look? Where have you been all these years?

"So..." she began, taking a cautious sip of coffee. "I'm sure you want to know why I'm here." I nodded and she went on, "Mom and dad, in their words, have tolerated a lot from me over the years. The tattoos, the hair, 'turning my back on God.' I've been living with them, or at least I was until a week ago."

"They've always been like that. I remember the things uncle Johnny used to say to Dad." From Uncle Johnny's perspective the two of them were like Cain and Abel.

"So you know the kind of things they said to me. And you know Dad is never shy about insults. I was 'Satanic' for the tattoos. It's just the Odyssey. I was 'unladylike' for my hair. If I'm honest I did do a lot of it to fuck with them, but at the end of the day I like the result." She laughed, "I know, James. I saw the look on your face when you saw me. I know I don't look like me. Or at least what you remember. I can't say you've changed all that much though."

"It's a lot to take in," I replied. I didn't really understand why people would make themselves look like she did. That look wasn't attractive to guys. I had enough sense not to say so. "And yeah, I guess I haven't changed much."

She reached over and squeezed my shoulder. "It's the same me, James. You don't know how happy I am to see you." I was happy too, but she left me speechless and I just nodded and smiled.

"Anyway. There's always a last straw." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a battered wallet. She produced a picture from it. It was a girl, smiling and happy, close to our age. She was dark skinned and had long black hair. She looked Asian, but I couldn't quite tell. And right next to her, one hand around her shoulder and a cigarette in the other, was Charlotte. Charlotte's lips were planted firmly on the side of the girl's pretty face. "Yeah. Exactly what it looks like. I don't know if they were more pissed that I turned out to be a dyke, or that Shannon was Vietnamese. But like I said, the last straw." Her eyes were getting teary again. "We aren't even together anymore. Her parents were just as pissed as mine and shut her away.

"I packed my bags. It felt like all the anger I had at them just burst out of me, all twenty-one years of it. I had never screamed at anyone like that before. I called them all kinds of nasty things. I guess the difference this time was that before they had rejected the things I did. And like I said, I knew how mad they would be and I reveled in it. But this was nothing like that. I had never met anyone like Shannon before. I tried desperately to hide our relationship from them. This wasn't something about style and expression, this was me. 'No homo is living under my roof!' Dad said. They told me again that I was wicked and Satanic, and Dad pulled my hair and told me..." Her voice started to crack and her tears came in earnest. "To get right with God." She let out a hard sob, and then more, and soon she was dripping and wordless.

I quickly scooted over and put my arms around her shoulder. I was always so scared to touch people and for them to touch me. I just assumed that I was gross and unattractive. But this seemed natural, easy almost. I took her other shoulder in my other hand and pulled her into me. "Hey, I'm here. Charlotte. It's me." She was bawling now, and her tears soaked my shirt. Her hands dug into mine, and her body shook with her mighty paroxysms of grief. It felt good to be comforting her, to have her body close to mine. I could even smell her scent. She was admittedly a little ripe. But something inside me liked her natural smell. I didn't know what to make of it. "Shh. It's ok. Just let it out."

And let it out she did. And after it seemed like there wasn't a drop of water left in her, she looked up at me. Her face was puffy, her eyes were red, and her face was twisted into a mask of anguish. She let out a heavy sigh. "So I stuffed everything I could into my car and left. I knew I had to get out of town. I knew I had to get out of White City, Medford even. I slept in my car a couple of nights. It got so cold. I didn't know what I was doing, and I stayed with a friend, and then a hostel in Portland. It was ok at first but then..." She broke eye contact, "There were a couple of guys. Creeps. I was so scared.

"And then I was out again and had no idea where to go. I was cold, dirty and hungry. I had never done anything like this before." She brought her hands up and wiped away tears with her wrists. "It took some legwork, but I found you. And I hoped," she looked back up at me, "I knew you would help me."

If it were anyone else, I would think she was trying to manipulate me. But she was right. Of course she was. I would do anything she needed. She was a dream from my childhood, one that I had forgotten about, but once it came back it came back strong. "You need a place to stay."

She just nodded her head, and her face started to twist with her tears again, but she held on. I was the scared boy again, hoping that Charlotte's fear and mine might somehow combine together to make a scrap of courage. When our families argued, it never felt like her side against mine. It was me and her against the madness of the people we were ashamed to call family. "Charlotte..." I felt the grief rising in me now. All the lost years. "I would love it if you stayed here with me."

Her mouth curved in a trembling smile. "James I'm sorry... thank you... I knew you would. Anyway, just thank you. Seeing you now I feel a little hope."

I placed my hand on her head, and tentatively stroked her blue hair. "You're safe here. Stay as long as you need to. I'll do anything you need." She leaned back on the couch, and just smiled at me, wordlessly staring. She looked so tired.

"Let me get you something to eat. There's nothing really nice here. I can heat you up a burrito if you want." She nodded, and when I rose to get up, she took my hand.

"James," she gave my hand a squeeze, "Thank you, I'll never forget this."

—

Charlotte brought some of her stuff inside and stowed it in the living room. I took her into my room for a nap and within a few minutes she was out cold. I looked at her laying there and for just a second I saw my old friend as she had been. She looked sweet and peaceful as she slept. Now that I had a chance to get a good look at her face, it was obvious. Under all the weirdness it was really her.

There was some physics homework I needed to get done and I sat down at the kitchen table. There was so much reading and so much math at this level. They assumed you were intimately familiar with calculus, which I was, but even with four years of it, I struggled. It was mostly that I couldn't get Charlotte out of my head. I had often wondered what she was doing. We had so much to catch up on.

I got up, and took soft steps toward my room. I told myself that I was just checking on her. My door only creaked a little. My room had the slanting ceiling of the attic. There were posters on the wall. I was embarrassed for her to see Evil Dead, Final Fantasy, and Star Trek: the Next Generation, but she didn't seem to have noticed them. She lay on her side on my double bed. Seeing her there with her eyes closed, quiet and peaceful reminded me so much of the girl I had known, and left, that I felt a lump in my throat.

It was still a little hard to believe. I had wished to see her for so many years and I had finally given up, trying to be content with just a memory.

I couldn't concentrate on my homework, so I fired up my game console and dove into the numbness it would always bring. The pain went away a little.

Soon I heard my door creak open and soft footsteps coming close. Charlotte stood there and smiled at me. Her face looked so much more at peace. "I remember you bringing your old Atari to grandma's house. I never could get into it."

"And James Jacob would try to push me out so he could play with it himself. I don't know how you lived with him all those years."

"He mostly ignored me. You know he was jealous. We had grandma all to ourselves most of the time. You were an intruder." She nodded to my game, "What's that? Looks like anime."

"It's called Chrono Trigger." My face turned red. Dad was always keen to mock my hobbies. "It's pretty new. It's a roleplaying game. Watch for a bit."

She did. I looked back several times at her while I played. She didn't seem to be following it much, but I was happy to have her here. "Funny coincidence." She laughed.

"What?"

"The blond girl. She's named Charlotte."

I hadn't even thought of it. But then this is what it always was. "It's not a coincidence. They let you name the characters. In fact..." I was embarrassed to say this, but wanted her to know so bad. "I always do it if they let you. I just..." How to put it? I miss you. I think about you so often. I never realized what I had until you were gone.

She let out a single, bashful laugh. "You really put me in every game?"

"Well they don't all let you." I felt my ears warming. Then her hands were on my shoulders and I felt my temperature rising. There was a stirring below my waist. Was I getting hard for my cousin?

"Jesus, James. I've thought about you a lot too." There were a few seconds of silence as she rubbed my shoulders. "Hey, I want to do something for you. Let me cook you dinner tonight. I'll go down to the store and get everything I need."

"Charlotte, you don't owe me for this."

"Like hell I don't." I paused the game and stared back at her. Now she was standing, arms akimbo. "I don't have to tell you how much this means to me. It would be crap if I didn't do something for you."

"We have food. You don't have to." But my protests felt hollow in my own ears.

"I want to anyway. I want to show you that I'm not some damsel in distress. I can do things." I could see that there was no stopping her.

"At least let me do something for you. I can wash your clothes."

She made a face and looked as if she were about to protest. "I guess. I don't have anything clean. You don't want a whiff of what I have on." We negotiated and we agreed that I would pay half for the food and do her laundry while she was out and then help her cook. I don't know how I could. My cooking was abysmal.

She headed for the door and gave me one last smile. In her baggy clothes it was hard to tell, but I thought I could see a round ass in those jeans. I became more and more curious about what she looked like under those clothes. Though I hadn't planned it, I started to feel a little excited to wash her clothes. I would see everything.

I brought in a single bag and dumped them into a basket. She had band t-shirts, sweatshirt, jeans, and undershirts. Panites and bras of course. She had agreed to let me do her clothes. It wasn't wrong to enjoy it, right?

I picked up a pair of jeans and dropped them in the machine. There was a little bit of smell to them. She might have been embarrassed. Under the jeans was an undershirt. It had no sleeves and looked as if it fit her snugly. I had no idea how any of this worked. Would she wear a bra under this? Would she sleep in it? The pits were a little moist.