The Hard Kiss of Spring
Now don’t be wishin’ of switchin’ any positions with me cuz when you in my position, it ain’t never easy to do any type of maintainin’ cuz all the gamin’ and famin’ from entertainin’ is hella strainin’ to the brain and… but I can’t keep runnin’ I just gotta keep keen and cunnin’
-The Pharcyde, “Runnin’
”
Peaches fell into my lap.
She spoke in a high-pitched southern twang, her voice cracking a bit as if she’d been up all night: “Hi, how are you?” I’d met the strawberry blonde before, at Audacia’s porno party. I introduced her to a few friends sitting nearby. “Hey, this is Peaches. We’ve been dating for six months.”
Grinning, she smacked my arm. “Now why don’t I remember any of this?”
“Oh baby, I’m hurt that you don’t remember all the wonderful times we had together.”
Eventually Peaches played along. Women love little games like this.
Leslie and I had come to the Poly Cocktail Hour at Madame X to shake off the late-winter blahs (the name of the event is surely false advertising, as the cocktail “hour” tends to run well past midnight), and, perhaps, to take some practical steps in the direction of seeing people separately. “Now that I’m getting married,” I was telling Porno Jim, “I need to have adult relationships. No more girlfriends for me — they’re my mistresses now. Doesn’t that sound so much more sophisticated?”
I recalled that it was only last year when Jim and Dicie made the leap my fiancée and I were now contemplating. But for the moment at least I wasn’t in any hurry to get involved with someone else. I wanted to put the long winter behind me and have some fun. Also, I desired mental respite from our marriage preparations — oh I like the idea of being married well enough, I just don’t care for the drama of getting married.
Peaches and I wound up on a couch feeding each other animal crackers. Every time I looked up I saw Leslie flirting with people, charming everyone with her bright, dimpled smile. She fell into the arms of the fetching, Lindsay Lohanesque hostess and already my naughty gears were turning. At that moment I decided I want to be reincarnated as a bisexual woman. In between mouthfuls I kissed Peaches, both of our tongues dry from the crackers. I peered into her blue eyes and told her she was the sweetest girl I’d met in a while. This was actually true.
Peaches is in show business. “Think you’d like to audition for the part of my mistress?” I asked her.
“Listen to you!” she responded, indignant but laughing. “I never let guys talk to me this way.”
“There’s a first time for everything, sugar.”
I enjoy being outrageously forward with women; it feels, at any rate, more honest than regurgitating the usual warmed-over stock phrases that pass for seduction in the postmodern era. There is a fine fucking line between turning a woman on and offending her, of course, but if one toes that line anything is possible. You give me a hard-on and I enjoy spending time with you — is there any better compliment? Maybe this is what I will say to Leslie on our wedding day.
When I left Madame X that night I felt the first hard kiss of spring. I felt positive that, much like expanse of park across from my bedroom window, my inner landscape was about to change radically — and, I hoped, for the better.
More: Polyamory | Sexy Parties | Poly Cocktail Hour | Seduction | Dating | Marriage
