We asked if there was anything she wanted before turning out the light. She never said a word. The lesbian walked to her bed, sat for a second, walked to the other bed, and lay in the scent of her lover’s empty sheets. We shut the door on her torment and exhaled in relief.
“This is too intense for me. I need a smoke,” I said as I tucked my hair behind my ears and turned to walk away.
To my surprise, Rachel followed me to the doorway of my room down the hall. She was excited to accompany me on a forbidden smoke break in the wood line, where someone had cleared an area and created seating out of fallen trees. After we grabbed our coats, we walked to it in the dark, stopping at the edge where a street lamp burned bright to light our cigarettes before pushing on into the trees where the glow didn’t reach. We walked onward to the strategically placed clearing as we talked about simple things like how she loved smoking in the dark because she enjoyed seeing the fire burn brighter when she inhaled. Her black contrasting hair over pale white skin captivated me as we discussed the lesbian’s issues and my bisexuality. She listened intently with widespread brown eyes as I explained my first love’s and Angel’s rejection.
It was awkward to recognize my growing attraction to Rachel, but she was comfortable with flirtation. Before my finished cigarette became the reason to end our conversation, another one miraculously appeared between my lips while her head was turned. I patted every pocket, searching for the lighter that must have fallen out through a hole.
Rather than hand me her lighter, Rachel held it to my smoke with the flame ready. She lit my cigarette in the dim getaway while possessing me with her sparkling chocolate eyes. The night chill took over our bodies. We joked how each drag of the cigarette temporarily stopped our shivering. We giggled and shook as the air grew colder.
Because I became comfortable, I was compelled to tell Rachel of my interest in her. She listened to my compliments without flinching or disgust. She was patient and nonjudgmental as I expressed my admiration. Her smile simply broadened before she clarified her preference for men with a coy head turn to the side that was somewhat contradicting.
I didn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed or even rejected. I felt accomplishment for my first real expression of interested in someone of the same sex. Then I became a little cocky. “Well, that’s a shame. You are too pretty and sexy to reserve yourself for a man,” I said, assuming that would be the end of it. I wanted to leave her something to think about later.
But she threw me for a loop and stared me down with conviction. “I’ve wondered.” She inhaled a long drag from her smoke as she peered into my eyes. The crickets and mosquitos were few as the temperatures began to drop with seasonal changes. The bitter wind rushed through what was left of the leaves that seemed to hush the moment into an unexplainable stillness. Returning her glare the best I could through the darkness, sparks of hope burst in my heart and crotch. I leaned into her next words as the wind pushed my hair into my face. “But I try to lead a Christian life and just wouldn’t do something like that.” I pulled my upper body away from hers as the smoke billowed from her mouth with each word. It shut my excitement down like a switch.
She cocked her lips sideways and blew out the last bit from her lungs before inhaling fresh, crisp air again. What a vixen.
Each move she made reminded me of the legendary pinup, Betty Paige, a woman taboo for her time because of her attitude on sex. Not only did Rachel look like her, but she also shared a similar faith in Jesus Christ our Savior. Not many people know about Betty’s strong foundation in the church because of her overshadowing modeling career. To be honest, most don’t even know that she began as a legitimate fashion model.
Average Americans know Betty Paige from kinky leather-clad photo shoots where she was depicted spanking other girls with catlike prowess. Her perceived sexuality came from within as she smiled and had fun with her portrayal of a dominatrix. Her swimsuit modeling career was dominated by the risky photos she posed for in the days when men could get arrested for buying filth like that. The taboo photo opportunities were short-lived, but no one seems to remember the beginning of her career or how she tried to go back to acceptable modeling after it.
Betty actually ended her modeling career to be a preacher of the word of God. She claimed the photos simulating sadomasochistic acts were lighthearted and never understood why it was wrong if she was covered with clothing. After all, Adam and Eve were nude in the Garden of Eden, and no one had damned and judged them but God himself.
Everything about Rachel reminded me of Miss Betty in those old pinup calendars. Rachel had the same bubbly smile and a whimsical sense of humor with an undeniable sexuality, just like Betty Paige. She was a vixen with a cross around her neck, a twisted beautiful mess of good versus evil. It made her more alluring, yet more unobtainable at the same time. After Rachel explained how she was set in her religious beliefs and wouldn’t be with a woman, she reached out to gently touch my face. The smell of her peach hand lotion hit me, and I was surprised I hadn’t smelled it before then. Her touch was soft as she stroked my cheek with the back of her bent fingers. It seemed as if she was lingering in contemplation. “Thanks anyway. You are beautiful.” She dismissed me verbally but added a wink.
It was the teasing nature of Betty Paige’s pictures that made her famous, but that was also the crap Rachel used to manipulate me with. It was like man versus dog. She was the owner teasing me, the dog, with a toy until there was a pool of drool at my paws. She squeaked the toy excitedly and gave it a long throw, commanding me to fetch, at which I obediently ran, sniffed, and twirled around the area. Meanwhile, there was Rachel, coaxing me to find the toy when it was still in her hand behind her back. She laughed at how cute it was to watch me sniffing for a toy she never let go. The wink and the compliment was Rachel teasing and laughing at her lovable, dumb dog for falling into such an obvious trick.
Rachel puffed on her smoke with a glorious smile and a strange, confident ease after complimenting me. Her black hair fluttered across her white moonlit cheek. That wonderful moment will always be captured in my mind.
She seemed so unfazed by my attraction to her yet welcomed my advances with what felt like advances of her own. It felt right to shoot her a smooth, silent head shake and the most perfect wink and smile combination. James Dean himself couldn’t have done it better. The actor would have been proud of my single-handed flick of the cigarette into the darkness. Shit, all I needed was a leather jacket, another cigarette in my mouth, a tree to lean against with one leg up, and she would have been at my feet, begging me to change her mind. It was legendary.
Replacing being gay with confident assurance in bisexuality worked for me around the time of Rachel and the lesbian. They didn’t want me, and I didn’t fit their established roles. I was attracted to guys, the boyish ones with hairless faces and big eyes. I liked the flirtation and ran with it, becoming promiscuous. It was fun to have so much power as a woman in a man’s world. Girls were attractive but not as sexy as Rachel, straight or otherwise. Every opportunity to make her blush was taken, then retracted, only when it seemed to make her uncomfortable. After awhile it became expected of me to flirt. We both understood it was genuine yet subdued out of respect.
It started during our smoke breaks, and eventually smoking became our tradition, our common ground and excuse to bat eyes at each other. While I endlessly patted my pockets down for a lighter that always seemed to be missing, we spent the time talking about various things.