The Messenger (A Lesbian Romance) (4 page)

I began to think of Rabbit. I hungered for her in the way that an animal might hunger for a mate. Where before I might have tried to derail that train of thought, now I simply let it happen. My mind, seemingly grateful for the permission to show me exactly what it was that I wanted, went to thoughts of Rabbit's long, coltish body. She seemed to simultaneously be composed of muscles and curves, and the few places where her skin, the color of perfectly creamed coffee, was exposed, she seemed to glow. I thought of the hint of collarbone that poked out from her t-shirt, and the soft, delicate line of her jaw. My stomach did a flip flop.
 

I stopped running entirely, realizing that I was still out of breath not because of the treadmill, but because of the gnawing desire I had for Rabbit. I headed for the shower. I wanted her hands on my hips the way she'd put them on the girl in the park. If I'm being truly honest, I ached right then just to have her look at me one more time. Had anyone ever looked at me like that, like I was all at once an adversary and an object of desire? I'm sure there had been several men throughout my life who had, but there always seemed to be something of a territorial thing to it, like I would be just another conquest when all was said and done.
 

The way Rabbit looked at me, on the other hand, was a stare of excitement. The fact that there might be something exciting about me to a young woman who didn't seem to give much of a shit about anything set my heart racing all over again. I got to the bathroom and peeled off my clothes, emboldened by the feeling of blood rushing through my muscles.
 

As I waited for the shower to warm up, I dared a glance at my naked self in the mirror. Not going to lie, I was almost pleased with what I saw. For a woman of my age, which is none of your business, but which I can tell you is on the wrong side of forty, that's no small feat. My skin looked looser than I'd have liked in some places, but my frame looked strong, my biceps and hips, diminutive as they were, moved gracefully under my skin. In a word, I looked healthy. I realized that for as long as I could remember, I was as obsessed with my looks as any other woman, but had never actually considered what it meant for my body. How long had I ignored myself in this way? All my beauty products and treatments and cosmetics were simply to keep my looks from getting in the way of the success I was determined to earn. I was silently in awe of the fact that it took only a few subtly interested looks from a young punk to get me to think differently.
 

Soon, the steam began to fog up the edges of the mirror, clouding the image of myself as though I was looking at an old photograph. I turned and stepped into the shower; all at once, the hot water stung my skin in the best way possible. It took my breath away and for a moment, cleared out every thought in my head. It was nice to have some quiet. Slowly, only one thought crept back in, as though I’d left every other concern on the other side of the curtain, along with all my sweaty clothes.
 

Rabbit. She filled my thoughts. I wondered what her real name was, wondered how it would feel on my lips if I were to whisper it to her. I saw her in profile, with that stogie clamped confidently between her teeth. I thought of her confident gait, replaying her entrance into the office over and over again. As I scrubbed my increasingly sensitive skin, I imagined that she didn’t stop at Margaret’s desk, instead striding confidently into my office and fixing that gaze on me, stripping away my barriers with little more than a knowing look. She would set down her bag and I would take in the full sight of her, her straight shoulders and narrow waist, and the slight flare of her hips, that, when I saw them fully in my mind, framed in her worn jeans, sent a flutter of heat up from between my legs.
 

I wanted Rabbit like nothing else then. I’d never been with a woman, but suddenly I knew what it was like to want one so desperately that my knees began to tremble. Daring myself to see how aroused I’d become, I put one trembling hand on my thatch. There was no mistaking it; I was dripping with something much different than shower water.
 

One touch sent an electric trill throughout my body. It felt too good to stop. I hadn’t diddled myself in ages, but I went at it like a horny teenager then. I imagined that Rabbit came around to my side of my desk and sat on the edge, placing one foot on the arm of my chair. The very thought made me hungry. I imagined I could smell her captivating musk, and put my face right up against her, settling on my knees and clawing at her jeans while she ran her hands through my hair.
 

I was getting close. Even if I’d wanted to, even if Mitchell himself suddenly pulled back the curtain with the entire board behind him, I wouldn’t have stopped. Before I knew it, I was coming; I leaned against the wall of the shower and held my breath. It was like riding a roller coaster and finally dropping into that first big dip that carries you through the rest of the ride. By the time I’d been able to catch my breath, the hot water was running out. Hastily, I slapped the water off and, although trembling from head to toe now, stepped out. I didn’t even bother to change into pajamas after drying off, simply slipping into bed and sleeping with deep, restorative sleep of the sexually sated, for probably the first time in my life.
     

Chapter Seven

When I woke up the next morning, my poor, neglected honeypot still tingled with pleasure. Not even remembering the obligation that Mitchell had blackmailed me into could spoil the mood. I rolled over onto my back in my big empty bed and lightly ran my fingers over my naked body. I imagined that the lump in my comforter was Rabbit, and that she would emerge from the blanket to gently kiss me awake and begin exploring my body anew with her expert fingers. It was a nice thought, but realizing that the only person in the world who was expecting to hear from me was Mitchell brought me back down to earth.
 

As I dressed, it vaguely occurred to me to get back into touch with my old college friends. I wondered about them with genuine interest. And when I stopped into my regular coffee place, I actually had a conversation with the young woman behind the counter. She mentioned something about her mother, which prompted me to call my own mother, just to say hello. The surprised joy in her voice lifted my spirits immeasurably. What I am trying to say here is that I didn't know what the hell was happening to me, but whatever it was, it was slowly urging me out of myself. I felt like I was heading toward something with a kind of inevitability.
 

By the time I walked into the office, I knew I had a little smirk on my face, which went unnoticed by everyone but Margaret. When she saw me walk in, she raised an eyebrow. I did my best smooth operator impression and winked in response. She nearly spat out her coffee, which amused me all over again. As the day got underway, I could sense the usual gray somber mood settle over the office. I knew right away that I had to hide whatever it was that was glowing inside my chest.
 

In an environment where everyone crossed their fingers when they spoke to one another, being outwardly happy for some indiscriminate reason was like Superman showing up for work at a kryptonite mine. It was fine to announce good news, like a birth or marriage or victory in the office fantasy football league, but having a smile on your face for no good reason would garner curiosity. Based on the kind of week I was having, attention was exactly what I did not want.
 

So, I retreated to my office. I told Margaret I was going to spend the day doing research, which wasn't entirely a lie. Sure, I intended to work on my projects, but soon I found myself doing image searches for words like "lesbian", or "cute lesbian", terms searched for by teenage boys, or people who had ignorant ideas about lesbians, like me.
 

To my surprise, lesbians sure weren't like the ones I knew in my college days, some twenty years ago. Back then, lesbians who were out of the closet were of the softball playing variety; big, strong girls who were brave enough to be themselves and not give one single fuck about what anyone thought about them. I always admired their bravery, even if I could never have imagined lusting after another woman the way I'd been transfixed by Rabbit. To say nothing of how much of a shock it was that I was trolling image searches for pictures of beautiful women.

Whenever someone knocked on my door, I reacted like a teenage boy being caught jerking off in the bathroom, quickly closing all my browser windows and acting like I’d been working extremely hard. Preposterous. I was almost glad when it came time to head out to take care of Mitchell’s dirty job. At least there, it would not only be easy to put on some kind of face and hide what I was truly thinking, it would be my job.
 

As I packed up, it occurred to me that I hadn’t actually seen Mitchell all day. It wasn’t a bad thing, just unusual, seeing as how he’d been hovering over me like a smog all week. I was about to chalk it up to a stroke of good luck, when he suddenly appeared in my doorway like a vampire.
 

“
You haven’t left yet?”
He sounded scandalized.

I explained that it was still a solid hour before the appointed time, and that I would be waiting for his soon to be ex-clients. I even told him what route I was taking, so that he could mentally calculate exactly when I would arrive. I thought that that would satisfy him, but he followed me all the way out to the street, like a tiny, annoying dog. If I’d had a dollar for every time he asked me if I was sure about what I was going to say, I could have probably afforded to skip the whole affair to go have a nice steak dinner. Thankfully, at some point he’d decided he’d met some invisible boundary and stopped following me. I looked back into his tense, artificially tanned face and gave a little salute as I walked away.
 

Although I was more or less on autopilot on the way to the hotel, something stopped me from entering once I got there. My hand hovered over the ornate handle on the elaborate door for a moment, as though something was waiting for me inside, something that I didn’t want to encounter. It wasn’t anything malicious, and it didn’t feel harmful. It was more like I felt like I was heading for the wrong exit on the freeway. My gut was trying to tell me something, it seemed, but I couldn’t figure what just yet. I stepped away from the door and looked into the windows at the bar inside.
 

The place looked sleepy. Mitchell’s soon to be disappointed clients were already there, looking down at their phones as though they were already searching for new business ventures. It would have probably made my job easier, but I still didn’t want to go inside. It wasn’t until I looked at the adjacent building that I learned what was keeping me out.
 

The building right next to the hotel housed a dive bar. Just outside its door, a battered and familiar bike was locked to the rack. Rabbit’s bike. I couldn’t be sure that she was in there, but the rollicking yet soulful music floating out of the propped door seemed to fit her, almost like a theme song that she probably carried with her.
 

If Rabbit wasn't in there, similar girls definitely would be, I told myself. Nothing wrong with seeing the real thing after an afternoon of image searching. Try as I might, I couldn't even look back at the hotel bar. I was pulled toward the sultry dive as though by magnetic field. It was like I didn't really have a choice.
 

Chapter Eight

Somewhere in the back of my head, I'm sure I wondered what was going to happen as Mitchell's clients slowly realized that they'd been stood up, but none of that mattered as I walked into the bar. I pushed through the filthy, ancient velvet curtain. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the low light, that world of clients and multi-million dollar contracts and people like Mitchell slowly melted away. It was replaced by the somehow comforting smell that well-loved dive bars seem to have, and with the sense that the people here were all in some way known to one another. It was like walking into the house of an old friend, although maybe that’s because it reminded me very much of Moe’s Tavern from the Simpsons.
 

The bar itself was situated along one wall in the small room. Small groups of young people of indeterminate gender congregated in the booths along the opposite wall. Everyone seemed to be pawing at one another, either out of playfulness or intimacy. It was interesting, these gentle gestures coming from people who wore chains around their waists.
 

The bartender raised a gray fuzzy caterpillar of an eyebrow as I claimed a barstool and sat. He seemed to look at me with surprise, but truthfully, I could've looked at him in the same manner. He looked like more of a teamster, or maybe a grizzled ex-cop, than a bartender in a place like this. I expected him to shuffle by and take my drink order, but instead he turned away and attended to a young woman with a Mohawk and facial piercings. I'm not going to lie, it was surprising; I was too used to getting preferential treatment wherever I went. Instead of dwelling on it I took a moment to look around. No Rabbit. Plenty of girls I could imagine as her contemporaries, but not her.
 

As Mohawk waited for her drink, she eyed me with equal measures of suspicion and curiosity. I wasn't used to standing out like this, but truthfully, I was enjoying it. I felt like a visitor to different, fascinating planet. Mohawk got her drink and rejoined her friends. The bartender seemed to think about it for a moment, then finally came over to take my drink order. I was about to request my standby, a gin and tonic, when a familiar voice barked out a different order mere inches from me.
 

It was Rabbit, who had somehow materialized as though out of ether. She ordered a beer on tap. Because I was so pleasantly shocked to see her, I didn’t get a chance to place my order before the bartender shuffled away.
 

“He’ll get you in a minute”, she said with the confidence of a regular.