Glass Rod of the Heat Pt. 01
So… she said when we were out of earshot, Katya and I hooked up last night. I gazed out at the river lolling greasily on its slick stone bed in the shaking heat. I think my half smile was a study in detached amusement, which still managed to avoid any affected coldness. Behind us, off the other side of the bridge, you could hear the indifferent roar of the old dam. Defunct, a place for kids to swim. We’d come there in the heat of the morning, the whole hot, hungry pack of us, to hang lazily off the rusted girders and drop ourselves into the green abyss, into that anonymous roar. The heavy, glassy water seemed to strip a feverish electricity off our skins. In the late afternoon, when the air cooled slightly, we’d mount our fleet of bicycles and go back to work.
We were canvassing for an NGO all over the state. We’d been out in the sticks for three weeks. Tanya and I had hardly known each other before.
When it was dark, past nine, and the pouplace grew suspicious of knockers, we’d knock off, fill out the day’s paperwork in the smoky, buzzing light of the campground, and crawl exhausted or elated into tents, to sleep or seduce each other, as the heat dragged on into the night.
Tanya was gay for the most part, Katya was not, but I wasn’t surprised at the news of her liaison with my queer friend: she was undisputedly the beauty of the group. For my part I’d found myself thrown together with Tanya by tuzla escort a confluence of politics (we were both left-wing and saw the NGO, more or less, as a lesser-evil day job) and an odd, nostalgic affinity I had for her flower-child persona, which didin’t seem affected or ironic. Tanya was a lot like the kids I’d grown up with in middle school: scrappy, quick-tongued, knobby-kneed, always wearing tiedye or batiked wraps, and so doggedly shoeless she could be seen scrubbing her pads down every night before slipping between her tent flaps.
I’d hardly allowed myself to desire Katya, but had counted myself fortunate to have caught Tanya’s eye the week before. I’d caught more than her eye, in fact: in the nylon-sheathed dark I’d caught her fingertips first, then her earlobe, lower lip, nipples, hipbones, inner-thigh tendons, toes, labia and clit between my lips and teeth; my tongue had traveled over the hot, dusty sites of her body: along the delicate blue veins in her neck, her collarbones, her vertebrae, the strong, high arches of her feet, the smooth, salty and electric inches from her sex toward her anus. When I hesitated she’d raised her splayed legs, hugged her knees up to her breasts, and pushed my head down in no uncertain terms, so I let my tongue slide all the way down to lap at the cinched pink ring. She’d made little gasps of pleasure, and moaned when I’d eased first a pinkie, then an index finger, then two and tuzla escort bayan three fingers into her tightest entrance, which slowly opened onto its velvety, muscled tunnel.
I wondered if she’d opened her ass to Katya like that, if they’d licked each other, if Katya’d slipped her tongue as I had between each of Tanya’s slim, nimble toes.
The nail of one of those toes ran gingerly up my ankle. I glanced down at the planks of the bridge’s footpath, grey from wear and weather. Tanya’s feet were tanned, bare as they nearly always were shen she wasn’t swinging a hammer at camp, or working doors.
That’s cool? she said, almost not a question. You don’t have to ask me, I said. I know; I just thought I should tell you. You two are hott, she giggled under her breath. Some of the younger canvassers, barely into undergrad, had lounged into our vicinity and were threading themselves lankily through the iron webwork of the bridge. They hung from the outside a moment, daring and ribbing each other, then jumped, with a whoop that the huge green yawn of the falls swallowed.
Gee thanks, I said. We’d both paused to watch the kids jump. The delay made my formulaic response somehow funny. She’s a looker all right, I added, then tacked on, Well played! All wingman congratulations. I didn’t want to broach the topic of a threesome, even jokingly, as Tanya’d just yesterday been complaining about the thinly-veiled and escort tuzla unappealing propositions of a coworker in that direction.
I didn’t press the subject any further, but she seemed to want to keep talking about it.
Yeah, she said, as if she’d left a sentence unfinished, so it was intense. She’s, like, kissed girls but never really done things with them before. So I kept being like, is this cool, you sure you want to go this far… and she just kept being like, yes, yes, keep going. We… um, so like, we ate each other… she giggled again. I kept up the amused half-grin, all cool. And I was trying to, you know, figure out if she wanted me to, like, lick her asshole.
Sounds familiar, I said, deadpan. She chuckled; I was surprised at the warmth in the sound.
Mmm-hm, she purred, Only Miss Katya was not giving such clear signals as you got, my friend. I’m not sure she even knew what the fuck my tongue was asking her, you know? So I held off, and then later she just sort of ended up on her hands and knees, and, so… she giggled again, with what I thought was probably insincere shame. So I kind of really wanted to go there, you know, so I started just kissing down her back, and I found out she likes that, but…
At this point Tanya’s lurid story was interrupted by a larger and more boisterous group of compatriots, which included Katya. She was in the thick of the pointless uproar and convivial guffawing, but now she seemed to me set apart, not just by her beauty but by the truncated picture I’d just glimpsed of her hidden desires.
However, I didn’t hear any more about it until the next weekend.