We're Just Friends Ch. 2 and 1/2

Chapter 2 – Lake

            Starbucks was one pricy place to get some coffee, but I could see why business boomed. Viking looked over at me disgustedly. He couldn’t believe I’d spent a five dollar bill for “that piece of crap.” I swirled the green mush around before sucking up a huge chunk of it. Yum, green tea flavor.

            “And how goes your bland ice Americano?”

            “Tastes extraordinarily refreshing given its – by comparison to your piece of crap’s – cheaper cost, thank you for asking.” He then proceeded to pop off the lid, tip his head back, and chomp on the ice.

            “Mhm.” I replied, unimpressed. A sudden question struck me, and I leaned forward eagerly, “Tell me Viking, we are friends are we not?” A cocked eyebrow was his response and then a slight nod of affirmation. “And friends are honest with each other, that is to say friends answer each other’s questions honestly, no?” Another, though slightly skeptical, nod followed. “Then I’m assuming that as your friend, I can ask something, and not expect a violent burst of, I don’t know, volatile man pride?” Viking’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he audibly pulverized the ice between his teeth. I pressed on, “So, I’ve been wondering for these past few weeks of our friendship…” pausing, I carefully worded my question, “why, you know, were you, I mean I’m sure its normal sometimes it’s just that none of the other guys I’ve been with, not to say that you don’t, you know, match up in size, or strength, or god, I don’t know, vigor-”

            “Spit it out,” he interrupted me.

            “So, what I mean, what I was wondering, was you know that,” I coughed, “that night?”

            “Uh huh.”

            “It was great and all, I mean, god were you great-”

            “Jesus!”

            “It wasn’t a problem with you I’m sure,” I rushed on, just letting the words pour out. Our voices were unintentionally increasing in volume and Viking was crunching the life out of his ice cubes.

            “Fucking hell, women just can’t say it in one sent-”

            “LIMP!” I didn’t realize that I was standing up with my palms flat on the coffee table until Viking violently coughed all of his half-chewed, Americano brown ice chunks all over my enflamed face. We both sheepishly looked around at the shocked, furtive gazes of the other Starbucks customers. Damn Starbucks had to be busy all the time.

            Viking pulled on my arm to seat me down. Locking his head with his arms, he glanced around and then gazed at me fiercely. I picked up a napkin and wiped my face clean.

            “You didn’t have to say that so loud,” he hissed.

            “You didn’t have to say that women bullshit either!”

            We both seethed in silence for a while, downing our respective preferred drinks and refusing to make eye contact. Guys and their sexist attitudes.

            “Alright, fine, I take it back,” he finally said, leaning back and crossing his arms.

            “Take what back?” I asked sweetly, letting him know he was going to have to go the whole nine yards.

            “The rude comment I made about women not being able to say anything in one sentence.” I hated to admit it, but I was a bit impressed. He didn’t hold grudges and owned up to his mistakes quickly.

            “I’m sorry for shouting out loud that word too.”

            “Next time, I should specify that statement. It’s not fair that all women have to suffer for your mistakes. Lake Summers, you cannot say what you want to in one sentence. Truth.” He smiled arrogantly and I stared dumbfounded.

            “You…asshole,” I said without thinking. All of a sudden he was chuckling, and that got me laughing too until we were both tearing up for no reason.

            “That, that wasn’t even funny,” I wheezed at last.

            “It wasn’t, your facial expression was.”

            “God, my abs hurt from laughing.”

            “Assuming you have any. You didn’t, last time, by the way.”

            “You’re only saying that because I can’t say the same for you.”

            “You are very clever Lake Summers.” For some reason, his compliment made me feel elated and I broke out into a wide grin.

            “Friends again?”

            “Friends,” he agreed. “So, I guess I should answer your question then. Well, I guess, it’s because I was nervous.”

            “Nervous? Why were you nervous? I was the virgin,” I said, surprised.

            “What? You were not,” he exclaimed, and then after registering my completely serious attitude, he swore under his breath. “Shit, I’m such a jackass.”

            “I agree, but do explain because I don’t get your reasoning.”

            “I mean, you were a little tight, excuse the vulgarity, but man how was I supposed to know?”

            “You are not serious.” He was. “I thought it was pretty obvious, just the way I lay down like I was planking.”

            He gazed up at the ceiling, evidently remembering the night, and then laughed. “Yeah, now that I think about it, you were kind of stiff-”

            “Which you weren’t” I interjected.

           “And if you let me finish,” he said, “you might know why.” I demurely lowered my eyelids and pressed my lips shut. “Well, sorry, I must have been a terrible lay,” here he paused as though expecting me to deny it, but I only smirked, and he continued, “I would’ve done a better job if I knew. Anyways, it’s not an excuse, but I was nervous because you were the first girl I did it with-”

            “Lies.”

            “Did it with sober,” he emphasized, rolling his eyes. “That’s a bad habit, you should let others finish their sentences.”

            I sat back, dazed at this confession.

            “Really?” He nodded, embarrassment tingeing his cheeks. “That’s…unexpectedly sweet,” I gushed. “So how many girls were there before me?”

            “The point, my dear clever Lake, is sober. If I was so blacked-out drunk to not remember doing it with these girls, then do you suppose I would remember their names or how many there were?”

            I ignored his sarcasm. “So, assuming you don’t actually know, I may have been the very first girl you ever did it with.”

            “There is that .01% probability.”

            “Which is still a probability.” He didn’t think my statement worth answering.

            “Then, we may have been each other’s firsts. That seems like such a fated meeting.”

            “Explain.”

            “Well, we were each other’s firsts. Which is like the beginning of our actively sexual career, and now we meet almost what, twelve-thirteen years later when we’re both sort of at the end of it. Me figuratively, you literally.”

            “Wow, insensitive bitch.” He grinned to let me know it was a joke.

            “So, it does seem like fate. You know how they say red strings of fate? Well, an alternative version could be our sex strings were tied together, and that’s why we met at that clinic three weeks ago.”

            “It’s a far stretch, and I would be inclined to think the same if there weren’t obvious errors in that theory. Such as, for instance, having HIV doesn’t mark the end of one’s sexual career, there’s the idea of safe sex, precautionary measures. Secondly, you practically assumed you were my first, when I clearly told you that you were the first girl I did it with sober. Thirdly, you, of course will have sex with many men, this is a compliment, while I may have sex with comparatively fewer women at which point our “fated” meeting will not be very fated at all.”

            “Asshole,” I grimaced as he ripped my romantic theory to shreds.

            “Which reminds me, why were you at the clinic?”

            “Vaginal infection.” I glared at his visibly amused face. “What?”

            “Nothing.”

            “Just say it,” I said, pissed.

            “It’s just, you know, you seemed so prim…and proper back in high school. But, and I hate to point it out dearie, vaginal infections usually happen when you have multiple partners. Of whose sexual history you would have no clue of, usually. Not that I’m implying anything in your case.”

            “Wow, you have really learned how to converse haven’t you? And I was prim and proper, until I met you, so yes this vaginal infection is your fault.”

            “You mean my performance was so good you craved a man’s touch after that?” He said this jokingly, but then stopped once my face revealed he was spot on.

            “Wow, I feel honored.”

            “Asshole,” I muttered.

            “You mean a sex machine.” He corrected me. I didn’t deign to respond and picked up my cup to throw it in the trash. He followed me out as we made our way to our own cars.

            “Dinner on Friday?” I confirmed with him as I opened my silver Cadillac SUV.

            “Sure,” he called over and then disappeared into his smaller Toyota Camry. Apparently it was his parent’s car.

            On the way back home, I mused over what he had said. Viking was right, I had changed a lot since high school. Back then, I had always tried so hard to fit in, to be inconspicuous, to not say anything that would offend others or attract attention. I had always kept my thoughts in, my usual response had been, “Cool,” or “Awesome”. Really vague reactions.

            Then I smiled to myself. Lake Summers and Viking Huller in high school couldn’t have been friends. But now? Now was another story.

Chapter 2 and a half – Viking

            Me? Limp? Please. Was what I wanted to say. I hit the gas pedal up to 70 since the highway was nearly empty. My mom’s dark green Camry groaned in protest.

            I mean, sure, the recollection of going limp for nearly an hour had certainly bothered me for a while. Maybe for a few days after it happened. Still, I’d gone and nailed her, hadn’t I? I didn’t remember her complaining afterwards. Though it was true she hadn’t been moaning my name or telling me how awesome my dick felt. Whatever, all high school boys suck at sex, no reason for me to be any different.

I remember wondering if it was because of the alcohol or cigarettes. Scientifically or chemically they were both depressants, so maybe it had affected my member. Depressed the shit out of it or what not. Yeah, science isn’t really my forte if you can tell.

            But, damn, it annoyed me to think that after 13 years that was the burning question Lake had for me. It was like hello, hey, I haven’t seen you for 13 years, by the way how’s your limp penis? Let me share that with everyone, attention here please, he has a LIMP penis.

            Ladies, it was a one-time thing, just for the record.

            Lake Summers…High school was just a blurry phase for me, going through the motions of going to school (when I didn’t skip) and partying on the weekends. But for some reason the memory of that night with her was always pretty vivid. Maybe it was because she was the first girl I had done it with and remembered doing it with. Lake in high school had been hot. How I felt about Lake thirty-years old was, I didn’t have an exact word to describe it. She was much more developed (yes, in the chest, but other areas as well) and she didn’t show off her nice legs as much. The shortest bottom I’d seen her in for the past three weeks was a white skirt that was barely above her knee. But it was much more than the physical, in fact it wasn’t really the physical that had changed. It was the not physical. What was the word for that? Aphysical? Nonphysical? Whatever the word was. You all get the point.

            She seemed like a different person. She was lively, had a great sense of humor, a lot of sass that surprised me. Lake thirty year old version cracked jokes at me, acted insensitive, but was actually really sensitive and kind. Like how she had just held me for hours at the clinic. And she was standing up too, while I was sitting down. I felt a little bad after realizing that fact.

From the way she had gone on about fated sex strings and all that nonsense she seemed like a romanticist too. And then a little bit of a feminist with the way she had burst out at the women comment. Lake thirty compared to Lake high school was much more complicated and interesting. Also Lake in high school only said one word to everything (which was cool) but Lake thirty version had a much harder time shutting up.

            Which brought my thoughts to an abrupt stop. A vaginal infection? With the sort of loose lifestyle I had supported the past decade, me having HIV was relatively expected. But I couldn’t imagine Lake sleeping around…And I’m not saying this to be sexist. That’s retarded. If there weren’t any fun loving women around, then all the fun loving men would have to do it with other fun loving men, or by themselves – both options aren’t entirely appealing.

            It’s just that I couldn’t shake off the feeling that Lake in the past or Lake now was different from all the other girls I had played around with. She didn’t seem like the type who could cope with casual sex. But she said she was. That was a puzzling paradox.

            Sighing I realized that I had driven all the way to my parent’s house already. Whatever, I decided to take this friendship with Lake slow. Pestering her about her sex life probably wasn’t in the friendship basket.

            I keyed off the engine and crept into the house silently. It was only 11 at night, but my parents were early sleepers.

            “Viking,” I stopped dead in my tracks as my father called my name from the living room. Squashing down the tiny dread I felt, I walked over to his armchair.

            “Hey, Tom, I didn’t realize you were still up.”

            “Yeah, I actually stayed up on purpose, wanted to break some good news to you.” He stood up and put his folded newspaper on the tea table. Walking over to me, he stoically put his arms around me and patted my back. “Jerry called me earlier and said he wants you to start work first thing in the morning on Monday.”

            “That-That’s great,” I said, forcing enthusiasm into my voice. Considering how close Tom and Jerry were, I’d expected to land the job.

            “I’m proud of you…Son.”

            “Thanks…Tom.” He stepped away and patted my shoulder again.

            “So…I should sleep…first thing in the morning…” I trailed off.

            “Yeah, yeah, get some sleep. I’ll, just, head off to bed too.”

            “Alright, see you.” He sort of swayed back and forth, on the verge of saying something. “Right, good night,” I said quickly and jogged up the stairs. I heard him click off the lamp as I entered my room.

            Quickly, I stripped down to briefs and settled down in bed. Well at least I had a job now. One step away from the thirty year old loser who stayed with his parents. Not that I had a right to complain.

            The last image that lazily flitted through my head was Lake’s face when she had called me an asshole. Chuckling softly, I turned on my side and closed my eyes.