Three Thursdays in a Hole: An Interlude
Life can only be understood backward but it must be lived forward.
Sören Kierkegaard
It was another Thursday night at the Hole. The place was fast becoming a bad habit. The stunning defeat of the Red Sox at the hands of the Yankees was fresh on my mind. “Take him out!” I had screamed at the television an hour earlier. “He’s staying on the mound,” the television said. I needed alcohol to burn away the memories. “I’m a Yankees fan because I think Jeter’s cute,” Derek was saying to me. I couldn’t argue with his reasoning.
Emma wasn’t there long. She was exhausted and fled home, leaving us with Derek, Chloe and a few assorted hangers-on. I found myself talking to Chloe, dressed cute and cartoonish, like an anime caricature of herself. Chloe rubbed my arm and said she was happy I came.
I stretched out my hand, examining my index and ring fingers. “Guess I’m not gay,” said I.
Chloe mimicked my gesture, holding out her delicate hand. “What does this mean?”
“Fuck if I know.” We sat on a shabby bank of seats. Chloe’s petite friend was standing nearby, dancing about and flirting with Leslie.
“You know, I’m a typical bisexual,” Chloe said. I didn’t know what to make of this. I figured her for a heterosexual or a lesbian. My sexual compass had been off all along.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, I like both guys and girls—I’ve dated both—but I’m only really serious about guys.”
“I suppose that’s not atypical.”
“People can’t handle it though. Lesbians hate it. They think I’m faking it or something. And straight guys don’t have the highest opinion of bi girls.” Chloe leaned into me when she spoke, put her hand on my back. She was animated. I could feel her breasts softly brushing against my shoulder. I had one of those moments of clarity. I finally understood why she had brushed her cheek against mine at Puck Fair a couple of weeks earlier. Guys are thick.
“People aren’t comfortable unless they can put a label on something. If you don’t conform to their expectation of what you should be then they hate you for it. It’s the same way for us. Have an affair, an open relationship, that’s okay. But dating women together makes us deviants among deviants. People also have these unreasonably high expectations. I mean, you date one person and it doesn’t work out, that’s life. But if a non-traditional arrangement doesn’t work out it’s suddenly proof that no such arrangements can work.”
“Can I be honest with you?” Chloe said, smiling as she looked at me. She had a habit of prefacing her confessions this way.
I smiled back at her. “You don’t have to ask.”
“You guys are the hottest couple. You always light up the room when you come in.”
“You’re making me blush.”
“Was that too much?”
“No, no. I love it when women are honest with me. I wish more women were that way. It takes a mature person to be honest.”
“I’ve been the third before, and I’ve been part of a couple looking for a third. It’s difficult sometimes. It takes a special woman to be a part of that.”
“I’ve never understood why bisexual women are so afraid of couples. You’d think it would be ideal—two hot people showing you all that attention. Makes me wish I was a bisexual girl sometimes. Anyway, it doesn’t have to be about love or anything. Most relationships end after a short while in any case; it’s not as if people don’t enjoy the adventure on a certain level. Doesn’t have to be all about the sex either. We’ve dated girls and just had this energy together. Sometimes it was enough—just the three of us going out and having fun on the town. The sex is great but there’s something more to it.”
“No one wants to be the third wheel. And most people don’t know what they’re getting into.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem,” I eyed the scene around me pensively, took a drag of my ciggy and handed it to Chloe. “You know, I remember seeing you here the first night. You were making out with that guy, right? Emma pointed you out. We never really got a chance to chat.”
“Emma set me up with him. He slept over that night—it was alright but I felt bad about it afterwards.”
I rose and went to the bar to order a drink. The party was a dizzying swirl around me. A bizarre pop-culture video montage flashed on the large projector screen at the other end of the bar above the DJ booth. I chatted with Derek for a while. When I turned around I saw Chloe, Chloe’s young friend and Leslie locked into a three-way kiss. I sat on a barstool watching the situation unfold.
Later on Chloe sidled up to the bar. I wanted to know what the story was with her friend. “Are you with her? I thought you said she was—”
“A friend, yes. She’s not really into girls. She just lets me kiss her when we go out.”
“Ha. That’s a nice arrangement.” I flashed Chloe a wry smile. “I usually don’t kiss people unless I mean it.”
“I meant it before, by the way. You guys are seriously hot. Don’t get me started on Leslie. She’s a great kisser.”
“You’re making me blush again.”
Chloe stood in silence for a moment. “So yeah, I don’t understand why people make things so complicated. There’s no reason to define everything. Just relax and have fun.” Chloe was standing in between my legs, swaying against me a bit. Every few seconds her thigh would oh-so-gently brush against my penis. She leaned over to take a sip from her vodka cranberry. Her lips were perilously close.
“People should just do what comes naturally,” I heard myself saying, “like this.” I leaned over and planted a wet kiss on her mouth. Her jaw relaxed and our tongues intertwined. Our teeth clicked at first. This happens sometimes, with a new person. I felt her tongue ring flopping around. My hand found her thigh. We stayed like this for a little while.
We returned to the couch and I sat between Leslie and Chloe, watching them kiss. Leslie told Chloe to kiss me, and Chloe sat there for a moment with her hand over her mouth, wearing a coy expression. She leaned in and took my cheek in her palm, kissing me again, this time a little longer, a little deeper. She pulled back and I breathed again.
Next Thursday came. Leslie was home sick so I stopped by the Grill and picked up Jorge, Leslie’s childhood chum. He had just gotten off his shift and was already a couple drinks in. “You wanna beer?” he asked. I gave him a funny look. “Are you fucking kidding me? We’re going down there to drink for free. That’s the whole point of the Hole.” He pounded his brew and we shared a cab downtown.
The Hole never changes. Various gay men and a smattering of lesbians were up to their usual antics. It was truly a pansexual affair. Jorge was on the prowl for pussy—every once in a while he’d return to keep me up to date regarding his progress. He’s the most dedicated cunt-chaser I know. There’s a certain charm, I suppose, to his messy, curly hair and his shabby attire.
Chloe arrived late and Emma, for this and several other reasons, was in a bad mood. It put a damper on the usual joviality.
“So what’s the story with these girls?” Jorge asked me.
“All single, as far as I know.”
“I mean, what’s the story with you and these girls?”
“Oh, I dunno. Still trying to figure that out, I guess. Emma, well, you know I like her, but I don’t know where that’s going. I think Chloe likes me, but I don’t know where that’s going either. Don’t let my confusing love-life hold you back.” I raised a beer bottle to my lips, finishing off the suds. “You need to stay on top of this Lisa situation, by the way. She’s a little freaky, just like you.”
I passed the time drinking and making small-talk with various people. Eventually Chloe cornered me. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m always talking to you,” she said.
“Don’t be silly. I like hanging out with you.” I couldn’t think of anything better to say.
“It’s just that I love talking to you about things. We have the greatest conversations. It doesn’t matter what we’re talking about.”
Another night, another revelation. I tried to recall what I might have said or done that was so great. It’s not that I don’t appreciate praise. I simply never know what to say. “Oh, come on. You’re just amped-up.”
“Yeah, I am. But I’m serious. I was telling a friend of mine how much I look forward to seeing you here.”
We were both silent for a moment. I glanced over at Emma, who was sitting by herself. “Have you two ever—”
“No.” Chloe smiled.
“I hope you don’t feel weird about last week. I know you two are good friends.”
“It’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it.” Nonetheless, I did.
A little later I took a seat next to Emma, thinking I might be able to get her mind off whatever was bothering her. We talked about the Naked Loft Party a bit. I guess she was becoming a regular reader. The events of the previous week kept running through my head. I wondered how much Emma knew about what had happened. I hadn’t expected things to unfold this way.
“You don’t strike me as the orgy type,” I said, “but that’s not a bad thing.”
“I know, but I like reading about it. It’s fun to read about myself too, the way you describe me.”
“It’s weird writing about someone I like, broadcasting my intentions as it were. It’s a new experience.”
“It’s nice though.”
Another week went by and we were sucked into the Hole again for a pre-Halloween party. The place was festooned with a neural network of giant spider webs. I had to duck impossibly low to get anywhere, or else do the Limbo.
Emma sported a short red wig, not her official Halloween costume but festive nonetheless. I thought she looked rather like Patricia Arquette. Chloe opted for a sluttish look that I liked, shirt open and a black bra framing her breasts. Derek was a priest. “Help me find God, brotha,” I kept telling him.
I sat huddled in the corner for a while, chatting with Les and Emma and watching empty beer bottles accumulate on the wobbly table in front of us. The party rolled on. Jorge showed up, ready for action as usual. He quickly ended up in the arms of one of Emma’s friends and the two of them disappeared into the bathroom for a while. Not to knock bathroom hookups—Hotel W, Open, Lotus—there are some great places for a quick release. But the dingy bathroom at the Hole is not among those great places. It stands as proof, perhaps, that the most ardent desire can surmount any obstacle.
Chloe was into the music, shaking her little behind. Pushing it against me. She clambered atop the seats and undulated, putting on a show for everyone. Derek and I cheered her on. After her seductive performance she hopped down and stood next to me. “I hope I’m not being too forward,” she said, “but you have the body type I like. You know, tall and slender.” I told her she could be as forward as she wanted to be.
As the night wore on I sensed the impending climax. I could do nothing or I could act. It was a simple binary choice. “We should get together,” I said.
Chloe flashed that coy smile of hers. “I don’t know if I can.”
I was as taken aback by this as I had been by her advances. “Are you serious?” I said, blinking through an 80 proof haze.
“Yes. One, I’m not sure how it would work out and two, well, I’m more attracted to you than Leslie. But please don’t tell her.” I knew this was a request I wouldn’t be able to honor. Les and I tell each other everything. We wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise.
“I’m confused, though. I thought you said she’s hot.”
“She is, absolutely. I guess I just have more of a connection with you.”
“We call it the pendulum,” I said, affecting an air of indifference. “It’s either one of us or the other.” I was growing weary of words.
Talk is cheap, after all. What does it have to do with the way a woman smells, the way she looks at you, the way she moves against you? I see certain things now that I didn’t see then. Looking backward, I might not have chosen to travel the path I did with Chloe. I might have simply let things be. But life isn’t lived backward, is it?
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