[...hiding in the cursive of the cigarette smoke...]
I'm melancholy and procrastinatory, so here's another installment of the Maria verse that I started like last August. NC17, and stuff. So yeah.
Maria knew it wasn’t going to work when Frankie and Lisa started making out with each other. So then, she and Doug started making out with each other, and suddenly it wasn’t group sex anymore, it was just two couples making out on the same bed. As for any actual act of fucking, prospects looked grim. Too much first-time awkwardness, too much of Frankie wanting Lisa, Lisa wanting Frankie, of the boys avoiding each other, of Frankie avoiding Maria (though he finally consented to a kiss)...
Contrary to the terms of an orgy, the kiss hadn't been just a kiss, and the touches hadn't been just touches. And when something is not what it claims to be, that’s always when problems start. "It’s just sex," they had all agreed, but once the clothes came off and the festivities got under way, it became very obvious that "it’s just sex" was going to be overpowered by good old-fashioned hang-ups.
The kiss was a statement, Maria knew, but a statement of what, she wasn’t sure. There were many kisses, many statements; several conversations slipping through their teeth, bruising skin. They slithered through fingers and tongues like messages on a telegraph wire, and that was exactly what the problem was: that they were messages at all. All the strings were still attached.
Frankie to Maria: "Alright, fine, I’ll kiss you."
Maria to Doug: "Does it seem like me and Frankie have kissed like this before, and how does that make you feel?"
Frankie cupped Maria’s cheek with his hand because that was how he liked to kiss: in control, his hands guiding their angles toward the perfect silhouette.
Maria to Frankie: "Remember that night we bought cigarettes and we were smoking them in your car-"
Frankie to Doug: "I may be kissing your girlfriend but my hand is between Lisa’s legs, so it’s cool, right."
Maria to Frankie: "-and everything we weren’t saying was hiding in the cursive of the cigarette smoke, and you looked at me-"
Frankie to Maria: "I think…"
Maria to Frankie: "-and we didn’t say anything then and it’s too late to say anything now but in another universe-"
Frankie to Maria: "I think I may have done you wrong."
Maria to Frankie: "In another universe, I would have said I loved you back."
Frankie broke the kiss and moved to meld with the writhing mass of bodies on the other side of the bed. Maria, on her back, stared at the ceiling and idly thought: is that sound of the ice water rushing through her veins? Doug crawled over to her, sweet beautiful Doug, all soft eyes and pliant lips, warm arms enfolding. He kissed her neck and bit it, and Maria couldn’t help but be reminded of a predator with fresh prey.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Frankie and Lisa curled around each other and it fascinated her, to say the least. Maria took in everything with her eyes in the way that cuckolded lovers demand to know every detail of the crime: was it a passionate kiss or a gentle kiss and does she kiss better than me, what color was her dress and is it prettier than mine, what did she cook for dinner and what wine did you have and is she a better cook, what color roses did you get and where do I stand?
Tell me. Something.
Frankie kissed Lisa with one hand cupping her cheek, one arm around her back pulling her closer to him. He turned away from Maria and his back was all curves and shadows etched by muscle and bone, all pliable waves as human bodies essentially are. Maria sees Frankie’s hand slide down between Lisa’s legs and Lisa arches her neck back and gasps.
So that’s how he looked, thought Maria, when he made love to me.
+
Fifteen minutes later, it was almost 6 AM and Maria was walking down a sandy lane contemplating the nature of love. Doug marched beside her, agitatedly smoking a cigarette. Frankie and Lisa were back at the house, abandoned in the bedroom to simmer in their own exclusive lust.
What happened was, two minutes ago Doug said, "Okay, fuck it, this isn’t working."
And he was, for all intents and purposes, right. Tonight had been everyone’s idea whether they’d admit it or not, but if everyone was going to ignore the "it’s just sex" rule, if no one was going to be pro-active, then fuck it, indeed.
"If you guys want to have regular two-person sex," he said to Frankie and Lisa as he dressed, "feel free, but as far as this group sex thing goes--" He blew a raspberry.
"It’s because we’re a couple," said Doug between drags. "No one wants to touch us because we’re each other’s."
"Yeah," said Maria, "but it was also you and Frankie refusing to touch each other's penises."
"That too.”
"Yeah, I’m disappointed. Me and Lisa's was the only gay third base. What have you and Frankie got to say for yourselves?"
"Awesome."
Maria laughed.
This early in the morning, people were inspired towards stillness and you'd be able to hear the sea from any spot on the island. It was a small island, and between the bars of birdsong and the crunch of footsteps on sandy roads, Maria heard the waves crash. She felt in the sounds of the sea a special flavor of catharsis that her music collection couldn’t provide. The sea didn’t sing about heartbreak or loss or drugs or life or anything else that Maria was trying to escape. It sang about the promise of immersion in something bigger than her. To someone who didn’t believe in god, it was the perfect thing to hear at 6 AM down the cape when her heart was cracking for reasons she preferred not to acknowledge.
Doug tugged her hand. "Come on."
"What?"
He started running, yanking her along.
"What are you doing?" Maria exclaimed. "I’m still smoking a cigarette! Let me go!"
"Fuck the cigarette, fuck the cigarette!"
Maria tried to take a drag anyway and almost tripped. The cigarette fell out of her hand; Doug had already thrown his away.
"What are you doing?!" she demanded.
"Just keep on running!"
They took their usual shortcut through an alley between two souvenir shops and emerged onto wide open beach. Gold on the horizon squeezed itself out between two shades of blue. Maria stumbled as her feet hit inconsistent sand and Doug let go of her hand and charged ahead, still yelling frantically: "Keep running!"
Which he did enthusiastically. He also proceeded to yank off his shirt, undo his belt, and as he hopped towards the shore he managed to tug his pants off. The boxers came off with them. He looked over his shoulder at Maria, who was laughing as loudly, was shirtless and fumbling with her bra strap.
"You fucking slow down!" she shouted.
"You fucking hurry up!"
She was naked and delirious when her feet hit the water. Under any other circumstances the cold would have made her turn around and straight back for her beach towel, but there was no beach towel this time, and it was about so much more than just the cold, because Doug was already ahead of her and calling her names, calling her onwards. The next wave that rolled in was a big one, all white horses and self-important susurrations, and Doug dove into it and disappeared from view.
A part of Maria wanted to be back on land somewhere meditating on Frankie, wondering about when he’d next kiss her, or whether he still would, but right now Doug was flailing around in the water like an idiot, and she got that feeling in her stomach again. It was a very specific feeling, brought about by independent flashes of memory, all of which would seem insignificant in the telling, all of which were just embellishments for the ‘I love him’ slowly unfolding inside. Because she truly did. She really loved Doug, unless it was really an ‘I'm sorry.’ Maria heard that people confuse the two a lot.
In all actuality, right now she was just too cold, too confused, too often led astray by poetry and symbols and an empathy for broken things, too young for this shit. Still, there was something about mornings and summers and the ocean, about being young and fallible and rejected and in love.
Several feet ahead of her, Doug was a very light shade of cyan, just another blue of the sea, and you couldn’t tell his hair from seaweed. They half-swam half-waded their way to each other, and threw their arms around each other, clinging like limpets to a rock.
"You are a lovely creature," said Doug, and Maria shook her head in disagreement, or maybe it was to get her wet hair out of her face, and he just laughed and held her tighter. Maria held him tighter and willed nothing else to matter.
Maria knew it wasn’t going to work when Frankie and Lisa started making out with each other. So then, she and Doug started making out with each other, and suddenly it wasn’t group sex anymore, it was just two couples making out on the same bed. As for any actual act of fucking, prospects looked grim. Too much first-time awkwardness, too much of Frankie wanting Lisa, Lisa wanting Frankie, of the boys avoiding each other, of Frankie avoiding Maria (though he finally consented to a kiss)...
Contrary to the terms of an orgy, the kiss hadn't been just a kiss, and the touches hadn't been just touches. And when something is not what it claims to be, that’s always when problems start. "It’s just sex," they had all agreed, but once the clothes came off and the festivities got under way, it became very obvious that "it’s just sex" was going to be overpowered by good old-fashioned hang-ups.
The kiss was a statement, Maria knew, but a statement of what, she wasn’t sure. There were many kisses, many statements; several conversations slipping through their teeth, bruising skin. They slithered through fingers and tongues like messages on a telegraph wire, and that was exactly what the problem was: that they were messages at all. All the strings were still attached.
Frankie to Maria: "Alright, fine, I’ll kiss you."
Maria to Doug: "Does it seem like me and Frankie have kissed like this before, and how does that make you feel?"
Frankie cupped Maria’s cheek with his hand because that was how he liked to kiss: in control, his hands guiding their angles toward the perfect silhouette.
Maria to Frankie: "Remember that night we bought cigarettes and we were smoking them in your car-"
Frankie to Doug: "I may be kissing your girlfriend but my hand is between Lisa’s legs, so it’s cool, right."
Maria to Frankie: "-and everything we weren’t saying was hiding in the cursive of the cigarette smoke, and you looked at me-"
Frankie to Maria: "I think…"
Maria to Frankie: "-and we didn’t say anything then and it’s too late to say anything now but in another universe-"
Frankie to Maria: "I think I may have done you wrong."
Maria to Frankie: "In another universe, I would have said I loved you back."
Frankie broke the kiss and moved to meld with the writhing mass of bodies on the other side of the bed. Maria, on her back, stared at the ceiling and idly thought: is that sound of the ice water rushing through her veins? Doug crawled over to her, sweet beautiful Doug, all soft eyes and pliant lips, warm arms enfolding. He kissed her neck and bit it, and Maria couldn’t help but be reminded of a predator with fresh prey.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Frankie and Lisa curled around each other and it fascinated her, to say the least. Maria took in everything with her eyes in the way that cuckolded lovers demand to know every detail of the crime: was it a passionate kiss or a gentle kiss and does she kiss better than me, what color was her dress and is it prettier than mine, what did she cook for dinner and what wine did you have and is she a better cook, what color roses did you get and where do I stand?
Tell me. Something.
Frankie kissed Lisa with one hand cupping her cheek, one arm around her back pulling her closer to him. He turned away from Maria and his back was all curves and shadows etched by muscle and bone, all pliable waves as human bodies essentially are. Maria sees Frankie’s hand slide down between Lisa’s legs and Lisa arches her neck back and gasps.
So that’s how he looked, thought Maria, when he made love to me.
+
Fifteen minutes later, it was almost 6 AM and Maria was walking down a sandy lane contemplating the nature of love. Doug marched beside her, agitatedly smoking a cigarette. Frankie and Lisa were back at the house, abandoned in the bedroom to simmer in their own exclusive lust.
What happened was, two minutes ago Doug said, "Okay, fuck it, this isn’t working."
And he was, for all intents and purposes, right. Tonight had been everyone’s idea whether they’d admit it or not, but if everyone was going to ignore the "it’s just sex" rule, if no one was going to be pro-active, then fuck it, indeed.
"If you guys want to have regular two-person sex," he said to Frankie and Lisa as he dressed, "feel free, but as far as this group sex thing goes--" He blew a raspberry.
"It’s because we’re a couple," said Doug between drags. "No one wants to touch us because we’re each other’s."
"Yeah," said Maria, "but it was also you and Frankie refusing to touch each other's penises."
"That too.”
"Yeah, I’m disappointed. Me and Lisa's was the only gay third base. What have you and Frankie got to say for yourselves?"
"Awesome."
Maria laughed.
This early in the morning, people were inspired towards stillness and you'd be able to hear the sea from any spot on the island. It was a small island, and between the bars of birdsong and the crunch of footsteps on sandy roads, Maria heard the waves crash. She felt in the sounds of the sea a special flavor of catharsis that her music collection couldn’t provide. The sea didn’t sing about heartbreak or loss or drugs or life or anything else that Maria was trying to escape. It sang about the promise of immersion in something bigger than her. To someone who didn’t believe in god, it was the perfect thing to hear at 6 AM down the cape when her heart was cracking for reasons she preferred not to acknowledge.
Doug tugged her hand. "Come on."
"What?"
He started running, yanking her along.
"What are you doing?" Maria exclaimed. "I’m still smoking a cigarette! Let me go!"
"Fuck the cigarette, fuck the cigarette!"
Maria tried to take a drag anyway and almost tripped. The cigarette fell out of her hand; Doug had already thrown his away.
"What are you doing?!" she demanded.
"Just keep on running!"
They took their usual shortcut through an alley between two souvenir shops and emerged onto wide open beach. Gold on the horizon squeezed itself out between two shades of blue. Maria stumbled as her feet hit inconsistent sand and Doug let go of her hand and charged ahead, still yelling frantically: "Keep running!"
Which he did enthusiastically. He also proceeded to yank off his shirt, undo his belt, and as he hopped towards the shore he managed to tug his pants off. The boxers came off with them. He looked over his shoulder at Maria, who was laughing as loudly, was shirtless and fumbling with her bra strap.
"You fucking slow down!" she shouted.
"You fucking hurry up!"
She was naked and delirious when her feet hit the water. Under any other circumstances the cold would have made her turn around and straight back for her beach towel, but there was no beach towel this time, and it was about so much more than just the cold, because Doug was already ahead of her and calling her names, calling her onwards. The next wave that rolled in was a big one, all white horses and self-important susurrations, and Doug dove into it and disappeared from view.
A part of Maria wanted to be back on land somewhere meditating on Frankie, wondering about when he’d next kiss her, or whether he still would, but right now Doug was flailing around in the water like an idiot, and she got that feeling in her stomach again. It was a very specific feeling, brought about by independent flashes of memory, all of which would seem insignificant in the telling, all of which were just embellishments for the ‘I love him’ slowly unfolding inside. Because she truly did. She really loved Doug, unless it was really an ‘I'm sorry.’ Maria heard that people confuse the two a lot.
In all actuality, right now she was just too cold, too confused, too often led astray by poetry and symbols and an empathy for broken things, too young for this shit. Still, there was something about mornings and summers and the ocean, about being young and fallible and rejected and in love.
Several feet ahead of her, Doug was a very light shade of cyan, just another blue of the sea, and you couldn’t tell his hair from seaweed. They half-swam half-waded their way to each other, and threw their arms around each other, clinging like limpets to a rock.
"You are a lovely creature," said Doug, and Maria shook her head in disagreement, or maybe it was to get her wet hair out of her face, and he just laughed and held her tighter. Maria held him tighter and willed nothing else to matter.