Between Lovers by Eric Jerome Dickey

all of this tension. We’ll all walk away enlightened.”
    â€œEducated.”
    â€œYep, edified to a new level of love and appreciation.”
    â€œEdified,” I repeat. I swallow to push my heart from my throat. “Is that what you and her were talking about all evening?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œAnd she’s down with your extended educational program?”
    â€œDon’t worry about Ayanna. Just tell me what you think about it.”
    â€œSounds interesting.”
    â€œSo, if it’s cool with her, then you’re down with it?”
    She tries to hide the enthusiasm in her voice, but it’s too late, it’s rising like ocean waves during a full moon. I want to understand Nicole without reservation. I’m curious. Very curious, I can’t deny that. Curious about who Nicole is, what mask she puts on, or what mask she takes off, when she’s with the other, about what my reaction will be when I see them side by side, or in a passionate embrace. Curious about what makes her friend so damn special.
    Maybe I need to see that. Maybe that will rupture me to the point of freedom.
    I nod. “Let’s think about it. The consequences. How would you feel, morally?”
    â€œAfter all I’ve done with you”—she chuckles—“I know you’re not preaching morals.”
    â€œWell, this is different.”
    â€œEverything I did for you was different.”
    I pause. “How would something like this work out?”
    â€œI’ll make the rules.”
    I say, “Sounds like it’ll be like Simon Says.”
    â€œYep. The adult version. With a little Twister added.”
    â€œAnd who gets to be Simon?”
    â€œI do, of course. I’ve been reading about situations like this that worked, ones that didn’t. Their boundaries weren’t clear. We’ll have rules. That way nothing can go wrong.”
    She sounds eager, has changed in ways I can’t comprehend. I walk over to the window, stare out toward the bay, become as still as the hard, gray statue of Jack London that stands near the waters.
    Nicole says, “Sweetie?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œDon’t stand in the window naked. They might think you’re a pervert.”
    I come back to her. Sit on the bed.
    I tell her, “You didn’t answer my question. You eat her out or what?”
    â€œWell, this way you can find out.”
    I say, “You used to think that was disgusting. Whenever you saw Heather Hunter munching carpet, you turned your head.”
    â€œTo tell the truth, I turned my head because I didn’t want you to see what it did to me.”
    â€œSo now you’re telling me that you didn’t think it was a turn-off?”
    â€œI used to think a lot of things were disgusting. You changed that.”
    â€œSell that guilt trip to the airlines. The seed was already in you. I didn’t plant it.”
    â€œIf there was a seed inside me, it was living in a desert. Didn’t grow until you watered it. With all of your erotic videos, making me watch women with women, with your fantasies, you made it grow.”
    â€œYou were so ...uh... well, you were—”
    â€œAn inexperienced, body-shy, and frigid country girl from Elvisland. Your exact words.”
    â€œI never said no shit like that.”
    â€œYou did. No biggie because I was, was I ever, and—”
    â€œDidn’t say all that. I was trying to get you to not be inhibited.”
    â€œYou did a good job. Now I’m not.” Then she sings, “Seems like you are, though.”
    Her pager hums. We look at each other.
    I say, “Turn it off. You’re on my dime.”
    She does just that.
    This is what I know about Ayanna: nothing. Never wanted to know her name, because I might hear it and go insane. Never wanted to see a picture of her, because I might hunt her down and skin her alive. Never wanted any information about the five senses