[interesting]

"Do you want to fuck her?" I asked Jim on the phone.
"What?"
"Well... do you?"

Obviously, the question left him pondering for a moment. He came up with this answer.

"uh... well.. maybe, uh. I don't... I haven't thought about it."

I knew he was lying. How could he not think about this, given everything that had transpired recently?

"Well," I added, "I want you to do it. If she wants, of course."
"Ok..."
"And don't tell her about me."
"...ok. Why?"
"Because. Not everyone would understand."
"All right."

I hung up after that. We didn't say goodbye. We didn't say I love you. I put the phone away.

"Who was that?" my partner asked.
"That was my boyfriend. Jim."
"From Seattle?"
"Yeah... he wanted to go fuck one of his exes."
"So?"
"So I gave him the go-ahead. I figure if I have the right to do it, so does he."
"And vice versa," she said, caressing my exposed breast.

Many years ago, I fell in love. My first time having sex, my first real love. Her name was Jody, and we had sex the first night we met (a foursome, actually). She was in a relationship with my then boyfriend's brother at the time. I was dating Mick. She was dating Rick. After that first time, I left Mick to his own devices (and she pretty much did the same to Rick) because we started hanging out together, daring each other, pushing the envelope. I was mad for her, but she never meant to stay. In fact, she left for years, going to do volunteer work in Africa. We never once kept in touch. I just wanted to forget her (even though I couldn't, not with the memories we had built together). She pre-dated my attraction to Jennifer, my daring days with the other girls (and few boys). She was my first. She was my one.

Three weeks ago, Jim brought Miranda to our home and we had a threesome. We'd had threesomes (and larger numbers of partners) before, but that encounter left me queasy. I did my best to ignore the feelings of disgust piling deep in my gut, but it always brought me back to last summer, the swinging party, and that blasted male... I can't even recall. He was inside me for less than five seconds, but it was the worst sensation in the world. For the first time in my life, I was with someone I had no interest in. Being fully honest, I've had sex with strangers I never cared about (not often, but it's happened). This man... was different. He was repulsive, not ugly, just a complete turn-off. I wanted nothing to do with him.

Now, thinking back on Miranda, I realize I wanted nothing to do with her either. And she was gorgeous, a body to die for, athletic, sensual, passionate. I had fun and pleasure to boot, but I didn't want it.

And then, she happened. Jody. The weekend after our date with Miranda, I was out strolling the grocery outlet alone, trying to think of anything but sex. I was in the fruit aisle, near the entrance, ready to get underway, when my eyes spotted a familiar movement on my right, only a few meters away. The scene unfolded in slow motion. I turned my head and stared at the back of a woman's head, dark hair, cut short, an exposed neck line. There seemed to be a lingering smell, something I couldn't quite perceive. I stared blankly for a moment, until the head titled sideways, and the features of the profile came into view. That mouth. That chin. That nose.

"..."

Air sifted through my teeth but no sound came out. The head kept turning to face me, not three metres away across the fruit stands. Her eyes, deep as any abyss. She looked past me at first, then at me, and the glow in her face ignited.

"Sarah?"
"Jody!"

I bumped into the stall trying to go through, then started going around left while she darted also left, sending us in opposite directions around the structure. I veered right and she did the same, and I burst out laughing, stopping on the spot. She came around and stopped a few inches from my face, locking her stare with mine.

"Oh my God, Sarah!... you've grown!"
"Six years..." I mumbled.

I was fourteen at the time. She was mature, eighteen or nineteen, I forget. Back then, it was a big deal. Now I'm twenty, so twenty-five or twenty-six doesn't challenge me anymore - not when I consider that Jim is twenty-nine now.

"That much... you look amazing."

I did, but she looked better. She wore a tight form-fitting top, and her chest seemed bigger than I remembered. Her hips were also wider, or perhaps it was my memory that was faulty. Her face was still perfection to me, and I was a teenager again, madly in love with her.

"You look... you look..."

I leaned in gently and kissed her lips, a chaste exchange, nothing intrusive. As I pulled away, smiling shyly, hoping to have done right, I saw her smile.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.
"Don't. It's nice."

Our hands touched and we held them together.

Of course, keeping her return secret from Jim took all of my effort, especially when we went and had that lovely foursome with Barry and Bonnie, but I was adamant that Jody was not someone I was going to share with anyone. In any event, at that time, nothing had happened much, other than hugs and kisses. That day, we did our grocery shopping together, catching up on a few things, but we didn't really talk about her trip to Africa or my daring adventures (of which she knew nothing) after she had left. I did tell her about Jim although, to be candid, I told her things weren't going so great, which was how I felt at the time. When we left the store, we traded numbers. She took mine down in her cell phone but I memorized hers. There was no way Jim was going to ask who Jody was if he ever picked up my cell phone and I had accidentally left it open.

Jim eventually told me about his trip to Seattle. He claimed he didn't want to go, but I felt like he just wanted to get away from me for a while. I encouraged him to go. I had my own plan forming in the back of my mind.

Is it possible to love and hate someone at the same time? I believe so. I have lived it so many times. The first time with Jody, way back when, then with my former boyfriend Brad, then with Jennifer, and now with Jim. I have loved every single one of them, and I still do, but there seems to come a point where love isn't sufficient anymore, where the best sex doesn't cut it.

That Friday in the morning, Jim left for work with a small suitcase. He wasn't coming back until late Sunday evening. I gave him a wonderful blowjob, as a parting gift. I still waited for him to be on his way into the sky before calling Jody up and asking her to come to our apartment. No. His apartment. We had talked about it earlier, so it was already planned. She arrived a little before supper. We were in bed, making love before five. And I came. Lord! I came! So hard! So much! Fingers. Hands. Toys. Tongue. Lips. Rubbing. Tribbing. To me, love is mainly expressed through sex.

Now, I need to be honest here. It wasn't all about sex. In fact, it was mostly about the conversations we had between bouts of intercourse, over the course of that evening. So that morning, when the phone rang, when Jim called, when the unexpected happened, I already knew what to say to him. I already had my way out. Jody simply smiled quietly throughout the conversation, knowing full well what was happening, not interfering, exactly like a friend would.

After that, we made love again.