Follow You Down (Farfalla Book 1) Page 5

  “Okay, but if this develops, I have to meet this David!” She slid off my desk, and started to the door.

  “It’s a deal…now go!”

  Tiffany had left me with a smile. I had stopped thinking of Darnell, and was now thinking about David. My life was indeed looking up. I was anticipating his call, and looking forward to our next date. I was still a bit sore from the night before, but it was a sore I was enjoying. Every time I moved in my chair, I could feel that wonderful ache, and I thought of him.

  I looked out the window. My life was different now. I saw a happy, more satisfied life ahead of me. And in my purse I had the card of one of the most respected literary agents in New York. I couldn’t wait for David’s next call. He was all I could think of.

  6

  Three days later, I had not heard from him. And I was furious. When he had dropped me off the morning after our night together, his last words had been, “I’ll call you tonight.”

  But he hadn’t. I had stayed in that night and watched the phone. Waiting for it to ring. After the harsh words from Darnell, I really wanted to hear his voice. I knew he had my number, and if he’d lost it, all he had to do was call Dr. Frank. Why wasn’t he calling?

  But by the next night the absence of his call was something I couldn’t ignore. He hadn’t called for the second night in a row. Was I the only one who felt something? Was it just me who felt something amazing between us? Was this just a one-night-stand for him? Was I just another notch on his bedpost? Did he get everything he wanted and now wanted nothing more? Did I disappoint him sexually?

  By the third night, I felt very used. Like a piece of meat. And I was angry. And hurt. So many emotions hit me all at once. Looking back, it seems silly, doesn’t it? This was a gorgeous man with an amazingly interesting career. He was a hot commodity. What woman wouldn’t want him? I had given it away on our first date, before we had a chance to develop love. What did I expect?

  But I wanted him. Badly. And I wasn’t going to let myself turn into someone’s “piece.” He was going to hear about it, at the very least.

  I did something I could have never imagined before. This just wasn’t done in my day.

  I took a taxi to his Upper East Side apartment. I took the elevator up. I saw the corner where we had kissed passionately. I went to his door. What if he’s in there with somebody else? Well, if he was, then I was going to at least know. That’s the worst part of being in a situation like that…not knowing. If he had called me and told me he was married, at least I would have known. If he had opened the door that night and had a girl with him, at least I would have known. I’d have probably egged his apartment, and then been done with it.

  But not knowing? That was the worst. It was maddening.

  I knocked. Movement inside. I could feel him move to the door, and I knew he was peering through the peephole. Then the door opened.

  As soon as I saw his face, I was ready to forgive him. There he stood. Dark t-shirt, pajama pants, gorgeous black eyes, beautiful smile. I hate to admit it, but I was so smitten with him…face, body, soul…that even if he had been in there with somebody, I would’ve forgiven him had he asked. His face, though, showed surprise and a hint of sadness.

  “Hi, Rachel. You didn’t call…you okay?”

  “Hi, David. You didn’t call. You said you’d call me three nights ago.”

  “Come in, come in…” he said nervously. I entered with my body tense, trying to put on a tough veneer…but probably failing miserably. I have to admit I had barely looked at his apartment the last time I was there. We had gone straight to the bedroom, and then rushed out the next morning. This time, I looked around. On his wall were some of the most amazing photos. My eyes were drawn to them. Instead of sitting, I walked to the wall near his sofa and looked at the pictures that were there. I remember clearly the black-and-white photo of a dark, old-world church with the sun setting behind it.

  “Do you like that picture?”

  “Yes, where is it?”

  “That’s Saint Vitus Cathedral in Prague. I was writing an article on the Astronomical Clock in the city square, but felt so drawn to this old church. It…spoke to me, I guess.”

  He had walked up behind me. I turned and faced him. He smiled, but when he saw the look on my face, the smile faded.

  “What’s wrong, Rachel?”

  “You know what’s wrong.”

  “Because I didn’t call you?”

  “Well…yeah…of course. I’m not a one-night-stand. I trusted you, David.” My voice was harsh…scolding. I was channeling Darnell.

  “I didn’t say you were…”

  “Then why didn’t you call me? You said you would.”

  “It’s…hard to explain…sit down.”

  I didn’t though. I stood there with my arms folded and glared at him. My mother had a hot temper, and I felt the way she must’ve felt when she scolded me.

  “Please…Rachel…sit down. I’ll explain.”

  I glared for a second more, and then sat down on his overstuffed sofa. I noted that his apartment was fastidiously clean. Maybe there was someone else.

  “There is something I have to tell you.”

  Oh no, here it comes. Wife. Fiancée. Gay.

  “It’s not easy to talk about. I wanted to talk to you, but I lost my nerve.”

  “Are you okay?” How quickly I switched from anger to concern. That was the power David had over me.

  “No, this is very hard.”

  “Are you married? Fiancée?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  Oh, thank God! “Then what?” He was standing in front of me. I could see his face twisting. He was wrestling with something. “It’s okay, David. I’m a big girl. I can take it.” That was probably a lie. Definitely a lie.

  “It’s a bit embarrassing…hard to talk about it.”

  “David, I’ve heard a lot,” I lied again. “Just tell me.”

  “There’s something in me that’s hard to talk about. I want to tell you, but it’s hard to discuss…you need to prepare yourself.”

  “David, come on…just tell me.” I was impatient now. I was mostly worried he was married, and since it wasn’t that, I figured I was ready for whatever he could tell me.

  I wasn’t, though.

  “I feel such a strong connection to you already, Rachel. You’re beautiful, smart, and interesting. I felt our lovemaking was so incredible.”

  Oh thank goodness…so he felt it too! “Then what? What can’t you tell me?”

  “Oh, this is tough…”

  “Just tell me, David, Jesus Christ.”

  “I have…”

  The Clap? Syphilis? “What?”

  “I have…exotic tastes.” He was looking away. “Exotic.”

  “Exotic tastes. Food?”

  “No, no…exotic…sexual tastes.”

  I sat there for a second, looking at him blankly. Exotic sexual tastes? What the hell could he possibly mean?

  “David, I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

  “Sexually. I enjoyed our lovemaking so much. You were incredible. You felt so right to me, Rachel, but regular sex isn’t enough for me.”

  “Regular sex is not enough? David, what on earth do you mean?” Was I not enough for him? What does that mean? Why won’t he just come out with it?

  “Regular sex…I need more than regular sex…I like sex in different ways.”

  “Well, I’m willing to try things. We did a few positions last time…we can try anything you like. Why didn’t you just ask me?” This seemed like an immensely stupid conversation at this point. I had no idea what he was referring to. I was so young and naïve.

  “No, Rachel…you don’t understand. This is so hard…”

  “Then just say it, David! Fuck! C’mon!” I rarely swore in those days but I was really frustrated at this point.

  “I like what people consider ‘kinky.’ I like things most consider weird. I like things most people don’t like. I want to do t
hings sexually a good girl like you would never do. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to scare you away. I didn’t tell you because I fell for you already.”

  He fell for me?

  “But regular sex gets boring to me, and I have to do other things. I’m sorry, but I’ve tried…these desires don’t go away…” He was looking away, avoiding eye contact. He looked like one of my students who was caught cheating.

  “Like what? What things sexually do you do that someone like me wouldn’t do?” I was not prepared for what he was about to tell me. At this point in my life, I hardly even knew about regular sex. I was about to receive the shock of my life.

  “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Yes…of course!”

  “Okay, don’t get mad. I warned you. I enjoy things most people consider perverted. Some things are still illegal in some states. For example, I like sex with multiple people. I like sex in groups and in public places. Exhibitionism. Threesomes. Swapping. I like all things sexual. Anything between consenting adults excites me. And I feel compelled to do them.”

  “What do you mean? You want to have sex with other people?” Tears were already falling out of my eyes. Hot ones.

  “I want us to have sex with other people. Together. But I know you wouldn’t do things like that…you’re a good girl. This is why I avoided talking to you. It’s hard to explain. This conversation usually ends my relationships.” He handed me a box of tissues, and then sat next to me on the couch.

  I was wiping burning tears out of my eyes. Why can’t I just have a man? I finally meet someone beautiful…inside and outside…and he’s a pervert? A lecher? I honestly felt like I was losing the love of my life in this very moment. We only knew each other a couple of days, but I felt like no man would ever replace this one. He was too gorgeous. Too intelligent. Too sensual. Too talented.

  “David, I don’t understand what you’re telling me. How can you have a relationship and have sex with other people?”

  “To me, sex needs to be…adventurous. I want a normal relationship with a woman…with you. But sexually, I need to have exotic sex. Try new things all the time. Wild, sexy, sexual things. That wouldn’t always involve other people, but that would be part of it. Do you know what swinging is?”

  “No.” Swinging was not something people talked about in the 1970s.

  “Swinging is when people exchange sexual partners with other couples.”

  “So you would want to have sex with another woman?”

  “Yes…” more hot tears shot out of my eyes, “while you would have sex with other men.”

  “But…I don’t want sex with other men. I want sex with you.”

  “I understand, Rachel…I understand. You’re a good girl. The best. I totally don’t blame you. Believe me, I usually get this response.”

  “Usually?”

  “Yeah, I’ve had to have this conversation before. It’s not easy. I didn’t want to have this one with you though…”

  “Why not?”

  “I felt like you were maybe ‘the one.’ You are special to me. But I have tried to lead a normal sexual life and simply can’t. Eventually, I find myself needing it. Like I’m a drug addict or an alcoholic or something. At some point I seek it out. I figure it’s better to tell you now and save us from a much more painful conversation later. I had to tell you now so I wouldn’t fall more madly for you, and then lose you when I couldn’t be without you.”

  Fall madly for me? “But why can’t you just focus on me?”

  “You see, here’s what happens to me. I meet someone, and we enjoy healthy sex and fall in love. Then I find myself feeling these desires…desires for adventurous sex. Sometimes, I have only shared a little bit of what I’m interested in, and the girl might try to satisfy that. But it’s never enough, you see? I need to keep pushing the boundaries of sex. Sex with you was amazing…the best…but I know that in a couple of weeks I’ll find myself wanting to try new things with you, and I’ll keep pushing until you hate me.”

  “You can’t stop? You can’t get help?”

  “I don’t want help. I desire these things. Why shouldn’t I have them? It’s part of me…part of who I am.” He was looking down at his hands.

  “What types of things have you done?”

  “Oh, you don’t want to know. Many things. With many people.” I didn’t want to know, but I was so immensely curious…I had to push a little.

  “Just name me one thing you’ve done.”

  “Just one?” He paused, and thought for a second. “One thing I like is to attend orgies. Do you know what an orgy is?”

  “Like the Romans?”

  “Yeah…many people, all having sex with each other.”

  “Men and women?”

  “Yes, men and women have sex together in orgies.”

  “I mean, do you have sex with men and women?” I had wanted to know but now I really didn’t want to know.

  He paused, looked down again, and then looked me in the eyes. “Yes, I have and I do, though I prefer sex with women.”

  “So if we had sex with another couple, you might have sex with both of them?”

  “I have before, yes.”

  There aren’t words to describe how I felt in that moment. I had never heard of bisexuality…I had barely even heard of homosexuality. All of this was very sudden. I was shell-shocked, I think.

  “This is all very hard for me to understand.”

  “I know…you see now why I was so hesitant to talk with you about this. This isn’t easy. Do you understand?”

  “That I understand.”

  And I did. This was a long time ago, after all. People didn’t talk about sex like this…especially when they were young and had only gone on one date. While it was destroying me that a man I had already fallen for was telling me he wanted sex with other people, I totally appreciated that he was being honest with me. He could’ve lied and then dumped me when he got bored.

  “Rachel, you are so special to me. I meant it when I said I’ve fallen for you already. I hope you know that you’ll always be someone I care so much about. I hope we can always be friends.”

  “David, wait. Before you write this off, I want to think about it, okay?” My words formed reflexively. I didn’t know what I was saying but I knew I had to consider ways to preserve my relationship with David.

  “Think about what?”

  “I want to think about what you told me…think about it some.”

  “What’s there to think about? I can’t change, Rachel. I’m who I am.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “What then?”

  “I might be willing to do some of those things with you, David. I might be willing to try some of those.”

  “Might?”

  “Well, I’m not sure…I have to think about it. This is all so new to me. I’ve never thought about swinging or anything like that.”

  “You would have to understand…it’s not just one or two things. It’s everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “I want to do everything…nothing off limits...nothing out of bounds…”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing between consenting adults. I want to try it all…all…”

  “That’s a lot to get my head around. But I will think about it, David. I will.”

  “I don’t want you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with, Rachel. I’d rather us part as friends than find you hate me later.”

  “Let me think about it. I’ll call you.” I said that on purpose.

  I felt betrayed…and in some ways I wished he hadn’t taken me out. This was a lot for a young woman in those days. I didn’t even want to think about many of these things. Sex was stigmatized back then. Even still, I guess.

  But I did think about it. David called me a cab, and I went to my room that night with my head faltering…swimming in thoughts. I was shocked by what I had heard. But, perhaps, just a little intrigued. It’s hard to imagine t
hat I was a woman who had only experienced her first sexual orgasm a few nights before, and yet was thinking about joining a man on a sexual exploration that violated almost every principle I was raised with. What would my father think? I was raised in a Christian household. We attended church every Sunday, and were good Protestants. How could I even consider what I was considering?

  But David was breathtaking. Beautiful. Unique. Confident. A man I wanted to be with.

  On cue, my father knocked on my bedroom door.

  “Hi, baby girl. Are you okay?” He was standing nervously at my door.

  “Hi, Daddy.” I didn’t answer his question.

  He moved into the room, and sat on the edge of my bed.

  “Why are you crying? Did somebody hurt you?”

  “I can’t really talk about it.”

  “You know you can tell me everything.”

  “No, I can’t really talk about it, Daddy.” And I couldn’t. How would I talk about something like this to my father? Well, Daddy, my new boyfriend likes to have sex with men and women and attend orgies and threesomes. What do you think I should do?

  He sat there for a bit, and then walked to the door. “Don’t forget that I love you, and will always be here for you.”

  I didn’t reply. I wish I would have.

  I felt like I was standing on the edge of a high bridge, looking down into yawning blackness. All I could see down there was darkness and uncertainty. On the bridge was my same old boring life. My same old loneliness. If I jumped into the blackness, would I die? Part of me said yes. That darkness below was fear. But part of me felt that I hadn’t yet really lived. If I jumped, I could hurt myself—I probably would. But if I stayed on this lonely bridge and went down the lonely highway in front of me, I might never experience life fully.

  And isn’t that at least part of a suicide? Jumping off a bridge? Isn’t part of it that you desire to see what’s waiting? Experience newness…different-ness. You hope that what’s waiting for you will be a better life. I don’t think anybody who commits suicide thinks the afterlife will be misery and suffering…or they wouldn’t do it. They’re hoping for a release from their current suffering, and maybe just assuming that whatever waits for them is better. Or couldn’t be worse, anyway.