“My roommate left for her duty station. Do you want to have a sleepover tomorrow? It’s the weekend, and the drills don’t come around for bed check.” She didn’t take a breath until she was finished.
In using the phrase “sleepover,” Rachel unknowingly turned anything sexually implied into something totally innocent for me. My brain converted all conversation thereafter into the mundane because she pushed her strong convictions of faith regardless of the bathroom incident and what I thought it meant. I’m sure the flame of hope was still burning dimly somewhere; I just chose not to see it anymore.
Midafternoon the next day we played a card game called Go Fish in her room. Fitting, it seemed, for the game she was playing with me. It had been a yo-yo of yes and no signals since the day we walked to the wood line to smoke after the lesbian fell to sleep. Her faux advances were entertaining and enjoyable until it was one time too many. The whole bathroom incident was bold and, frankly, it scared me. She had brainwashed me into a set of boundaries, and, when she crossed them to indulge herself in being an overt tease, I shut myself off from her.
How rude was it to dangle affections in front of my face and pull them away during my hesitant reach for them? My passions and secret desires for girls were in infancy stages then. My protection against women like her had not been built yet. She was playing games as a trained guard dog, far too advanced for me to ever catch up. I tucked my tail in submission as she barked her dominance. I already cowered and pissed myself in her presence. What more did she want?
This is what happened with our flirtatious, easygoing, nonsexual, sexual relationship. Rachel became the mean trophy-winning Doberman, while I remained a whelping puppy running back to its bitch. It was the teasing fetch game in a different dynamic and I fell for it…again.
She didn’t receive my “friend” signal to show that I’m not interested in “that way,” even though that afternoon was intentionally turned into childlike playtime. What a better way to be unsexy than to drink can after can of Coke and relish in small victories through burping contests? We played cards and listened to music, and I left as if everything was just peachy. However, returning later for the sleepover, my mouth was full of cotton, and my palms were coated with sweat.
I would have taken friendship over being a pawn in another game, but I wanted her as more than a friend. There was no way to hide it. When she answered the door, she took an immediate step into the hallway and pushed me into it. There was a preformed apology in her eyes. My nervous smile went limp, and my eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as I stepped backward to catch my balance.
She had already slipped into a t-shirt pajama top. I noticed her nipples poking at the material just before she crossed her arms and looked at me with extreme worry. “I’m sorry. After you left, I went to chow, and when I came back there was a girl sleeping in my bunk. I have a roommate now, so you can’t spend the night.” She subconsciously ran her fingers through her short hair to make sure each section was in its proper place.
“Why not, will she tell the drills?” I asked as I followed suit and crossed my arms.
Rachel shrugged in disappointment. “You can still stay with me if you want. I’m just sad because I thought we would get to be alone.” Again, she fidgeted with her hair as if she were primping without a mirror.
Ladies and gentlemen, to this day even when I write the words that came out of her mouth I hear, “Fetch and get the toy! Good girl.” But in the moment, it blew over my head as the word “straight” appeared like a pop-up label over the top of her head.
“It’s no big deal; we’re not doing anything bad.” My face crinkled with conviction as I uncrossed my arms and placed each hand over her shoulders. “I’m staying.” I opened her door and theatrically displayed the entrance to her room with my hands as if to say ladies first. She mumbled several phrases of disappointment before she accepted the situation and stepped inside.
The new girl was asleep in the top bunk when Rachel shook her awake to explain our arrangement. The poor girl grumbled and rolled over, mumbling something about getting caught by the drill sergeants. We ignored her and crawled into the bottom bunk. Rachel slid into the blankets next to me. We tried desperately to whisper so the new girl wouldn’t be able to make out one word. Conversation was nearly inaudible at times unless we aimed our words carefully.
I lay face up, constantly scooting closer to the wall. Each time I asked Rachel if she had enough room, she would shift to tell me yes and somehow gain a few inches to my dead pose. She was on her left side and had nuzzled her face to fit on my pillow. I remained composed even though her breath was tickling the hairs on my neck and the sound of each exhale was making me wet. She asked simple questions in my ears, making them ring in excitement. My head felt light, but my body was stiff as a board with arms protectively crossed over my stomach. In a lighthearted teasing moment, she deemed me a vampire and nervously giggled before a long silence.
When she again asked if I was settled, it was only her ploy to lead in subtly before a much deeper question. “Why don’t you scoot closer to me?” Her whisper made my skin jump.
Here’s your toy. (Squeak) Who wants their toy? (Squeak)
My dumb ass response: “No, I’m good, I always sleep like this.” Another long pause.
“Can I scoot closer to you?” The goosebumps pushed outward, and I began wiggling my big toe as a way to nervously release the tension.
Fetch, go get it, girl!
The only thing I could possibly say to turn this into something more innocent was, “Why? Do you not have enough room?” As we whispered our flirtations, I made desperate attempts to turn what she was saying into something legitimately unisexual, but she was pushing every button on my control panel.
She moved closer to me and exhaled.
“It’s okay. You can touch me if you want.” She held her breath, and, to be honest, I believe she was as stunned to say it as I was to hear it. Then we fell silent before the beat of my chest blasted through my body like a jackhammer.
I didn’t do a fucking thing. This was the fake throw for sure. Instead of running to retrieve vacant hope, I lay unflinching. It was the beginning of taking control and understanding the exchange that was happening between us. Have you ever seen a dog smile?
Rachel looked at me through the dark, waiting for anything to happen, for me to fetch the toy as she held up empty hands because she threw it and really meant it; no tricks.
But the boy who cried wolf too many times was eaten in the end because nobody came.
And that is exactly how I felt. Somehow, this thought gave me the rush of adrenaline I needed to confidently tell her that too many tricks on my people means nobody comes. In the most delicate yet stern manner, I leaned into her ear and cracked the syllables in each word. “Your roommate is right above us.”
My enunciation was perfect with an additional pop on the t when pronouncing “right.” This was very intentional to make it feel orgasmic.
Then I panicked.
My confidence diminished when she assured me the girl above us was sleeping. Fuck, I couldn’t win with her because again, she was dead serious. Was this a new game? As her chew toy for months, my first reaction was that she was crying wolf again, only in another language.
Then any doubts about her intentions clearly ended when she said, “I want you to touch me; it’s okay.” Yet I lay with her, unable to move. The torment of rushing chemistry burned my skin. She will never know how she reduced me to a pathetic mass of flesh stupefied by her forwardness. I remained motionless as she took each breath near my ear in anticipation. We fell to sleep in this position, waiting for the other to make the first move.