Of Drag Kings And The Wheel Of Fate Part 5

"If I tell you she's here, what then? You want to go up to her bedroom and wake her up?"

"Look, I can just..." Rosalind began, feeling lost. Brando had it easy. All he had to face was the disapproval of two nations and the US Army. She had to face Rhea, and the idea of explaining about the bridge made her feel ridiculous.

Rhea sipped from her teacup, her eyes opaque. "What makes you think Taryn is upstairs alone?"

It hadn't occurred to her, not for a moment. Her mind had pictured Taryn waking on the mattress alone. She had relived the lovemaking of the night they'd spent. But Taryn waking with someone else? Her mind balked at the thought, her stomach clenched. She recalled the way Taryn had kissed her goodbye, with the noncommittal "I'll see you later." Later meant never.

How often had her mother told her that? Taryn hadn't called her, had she? Taryn hadn't even asked for her number. Last night had been Sat.u.r.day; of course the drag king wouldn't come home alone. Some other woman would be waking up under the thin red blanket, wearing a borrowed T-s.h.i.+rt.

Rosalind felt sick with shame. She had been saved from making a complete a.s.s of herself by the disdain of the woman now watching her with the detached interest of a scientist. She set the black clothing down on the steps. "Would you see that Taryn gets these?" Rosalind asked. She didn't wait for a reply before slipping back down the path.

Rosalind spent the morning in her office at the university clearing away the pile of papers, getting caught up on the business of moving in. She shuffled files like tarot cards, trying to see a future in work alone. She dropped her head down on her desk, exhausted by the thought. This was ridiculous, she told herself. She couldn't be missing something that flitted through her life like a hummingbird. Taryn wasn't interested. Her mind was chewing on the disastrous visit to 34 Mariner, dissecting her own motivation. Paul had been solid, steady, a guarantee.

In the end, stability hadn't been enough to hold her interest. She thought she was getting too old to start picking out love objects based on their unavailability, their youth and arrogance. If this was going to be her pattern, why hadn't she started in her teens? It would make it much easier to berate herself now, she thought wryly. She felt a moment of humor break through. She pictured herself listening to Carole King and drinking wine, Patsy Cline and drinking whiskey. "Brando, you let me down," Rosalind said to her empty office.

Sunday night was unbearable. Ellie had gone out with friends from the theater department. She'd invited Rosalind along, but Rosalind had refused. The thought of company was unappealing. Smiling and making conversation sounded like hard work. "Just let me brood a little, write in my journal, listen to sad songs. I'll be fine," she'd said.

The plan had worked, for half an hour, until the sad songs made her double over on the couch, sobbing. It felt good to have that release, but it left a lingering feeling of overindulgence. Her body went to war against her mind, demanding things she couldn't give it. Desperate, she picked a book at random from her bookshelf, Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time, and settled down to read. Surely this had to be a safe, pure distraction. When Hawking started talking about the universe and the mind of G.o.d, she started to see s.h.i.+va dancing and threw the book across the room.

By Monday night's cla.s.s, she was enervated, ready to crawl out of her skin, tired of the spinning of her mind and the demands of her body. She didn't want to think anymore. She wanted Taryn naked and in reach. Her desire was clarified, making it that much harder to admit that it probably would never happen again. Whatever rules had been suspended for that one night were back in force; life turned on its accustomed wheel. Her temper was short. She felt sorry in advance for any student she snapped at during cla.s.s. The room was filling up; students were brus.h.i.+ng by her to take seats. Rosalind glanced down at the stack in her arms, wondering if she'd remembered to correct all the papers she was handing back.

"Dr. Olchawski."

The voice was enough to make Rosalind nearly drop everything she was carrying. She looked up, disbelieving. Two thoughts fought for dominance: How did she find me? and Oh, Lord, she's here.

There, leaning against the doorway, was Taryn. The girl grinned at her, and all other thought fled out of reach. Rosalind's heart started banging so hard, she thought it might disconnect a few of her ribs. There wasn't a rational thought left in her, only pure reaction that seized her like the force of gravity. She was here, and nothing else seemed important. Taryn strolled forward, hands in the pockets of her jeans, a look of pleasure on her face for surprising Rosalind in her own territory.

"I was wondering if I could have a conference with you," Taryn said casually.

"Sure. I've got a minute before cla.s.s," Rosalind said, trying to appear as if this was any other conversation. Taryn was young enough to be a student, so standing in the hall chatting with her certainly looked innocent enough, despite the way it felt.

Taryn glanced down the hall at the staircase and smiled. "Take a walk with me?"

"Sure." Rosalind, giddy with adrenaline, smiled back, her bad mood a memory.

The top of the stairs had double doors, usually propped open by impatient students hurrying to cla.s.s. Rosalind, concentrating on breathing normally, stepped through them. Taryn kicked the stand, and the doors swung closed. In a moment the papers she'd been carrying were dropped on the floor, Rosalind was pressed back against the wall, being kissed like the world was ending. Her arms were around Taryn's neck, her body was reveling in the length of the body covering her, forcing her into the wall.

The urgency of the kiss took her breath away. The need she felt staggered her, but Taryn seemed to feel it as well, claiming her with impatient hands, kissing her savagely. One of Taryn's legs was between hers, pressing up against her, the muscle flexing in the most interesting way. Rosalind ground down against it, wanting to feel more.

Footsteps. Rosalind felt Taryn's mouth pry away from hers and groaned. "Don't-"

There was the sound of running, some student late for cla.s.s. Taryn hopped a step away. Rosalind tried to fix her skirt. A boy ran past them, up the stairs, smas.h.i.+ng through the doors, barely noticing them. Rosalind was conscious of her pulse doing the tango, how flushed she felt. Taryn stepped in again, and Rosalind reached for her.

"I haven't been able to think about anything else since you left," Taryn said, leaning down to kiss her. The doors to the stairs banged; they barely had time to jump apart. They stood with a foot of distance between them, breathing irregularly.

"How did you find me?"

"I have my ways. Miss me last night?" Taryn asked, her smile devilish.

Rosalind closed her eyes. "Yes." She wanted to know who had been in bed with Taryn on Sat.u.r.day; she wanted to go on kissing her. The latter desire won out, when Taryn moved a few inches closer.

"I have to get to cla.s.s," Rosalind said, but her hands ignored her and reached for Taryn.

Taryn leaned back in, nipping at her neck. "I'll meet you in your office afterward. There's something special I want to show you."

"What would that be?" Rosalind gasped, arching her neck. She felt Taryn's lips ease up to her ear.

"Why a butch always wears b.u.t.ton-fly jeans," she whispered, sending a shudder through Rosalind. She grabbed her purse, fumbled through it, and dropped her office keys into Taryn's outstretched hand.

Rosalind made it through cla.s.s. It was a unique blending of sublimation and antic.i.p.ation, but she was inspired. The lesson she had carefully prepared was ignored. Instead, she stood in front of the room, so wet that if she sat down, she was afraid she'd soak the chair. Her students surely found the lecture about writing a personal essay pa.s.sionate, gripping. When Dr. Olchawski spoke about writing what you know, a smile of beatific glory came across her face. Rosalind was firm with herself. She fought down the urge to cancel cla.s.s, then the urge to let them go early.

The waiting, knowing that Taryn was in her office, was delicious. She lectured about surrendering to the control of your muse, following the urging of the artistic mistress, and her mind played. She pictured Taryn lounging in her chair, unb.u.t.toning her black s.h.i.+rt. Her mind struggled with the mystery of the b.u.t.ton fly, but it eluded her. Her energy was extraordinary. Her students caught it and left cla.s.s eager to attack their projects.

Dr. Olchawski's office was on the fifth floor of Clemens. She set a new university speed record in getting back to it.

The door was open, and Taryn was there, settling one fear and bringing on a host of new ones. Taryn was reclining in her chair, boots up on her desk, and Rosalind didn't mind a bit. She was holding the picture of the Renaissance Festival, turning it over in her hands. "I like this. You should dress up for me sometime."

The thought that there would be a sometime was very welcome to Rosalind. It indicated more contact with her. She agreed readily. "Whenever you like."

"That's what I love about you, Dr. Olchawski. Your enthusiasm. How was cla.s.s?" Taryn set the picture on the desk.

"What cla.s.s?" Rosalind asked, as Taryn stood up.

"Yeah. I've been the same way. I went drinking with Joe and Egyptia on Sat.u.r.day. They were giving me h.e.l.l all night for not being able to think straight."

"I've had that problem myself," Rosalind admitted, her mind capering with joy that Taryn hadn't been out with another woman on Sat.u.r.day. This was getting entirely out of hand. Her body had a will of its own and an elaborate sense of what it wanted.

"Good," Taryn said, and kissed her. The desire that had her wound like a bowstring roared to life. Rosalind grabbed her, impatient, and pulled her closer. Taryn let herself be captured for a moment, before pulling back. "Rosalind, do you trust me?"

She had nothing but emotion to inform her answer, and emotion was a kind of drunkenness, making reason suspect. She didn't have to reach for the word; it was waiting on her lips as she looked up into the sapphire eyes of her tormenter and gave her soul up willingly. "Yes, I do." It was as sweet and honest a response as had ever existed.

Taryn kissed her, lightly, in acknowledgement. "Thank you."

Taryn stepped back from her. "I want you to undo the middle two b.u.t.tons. Not the top, not the bottom," Taryn said, her voice firm. She took Rosalind's hand and put it on her fly.

It took a great deal of concentration to do only that, without giving in to the temptation to fondle her or rip her clothing off.

Taryn smiled at her when she was done. "If you're not wearing a harness, and most of the time I don't unless it's a special occasion, you can get caught without any way to wear your toys. If you have b.u.t.ton-fly jeans on, you can do this." Taryn eased a d.i.l.d.o through her open fly. "That will keep it in place. I've got my c.o.c.k on. I'm going to f.u.c.k you. You can do anything you like, except scream," Taryn said, her voice low and urgent.

Rosalind gasped, the words making her body leap in response. "Yes," she managed to say, not recognizing her own voice.

The toy was a piece of latex, held in place by her jeans. Rosalind reached out with her left hand, touching it shyly, finding it warm from Taryn's skin. Taryn smiled encouragingly at her, letting her explore. She put her right hand on Taryn's hip, stroking the toy with her left. It was the blatant declaration of what was coming, and it surprised Rosalind how much she enjoyed it. It was like claiming the s.p.a.ce, announcing her desire. She felt the coursing of power along her veins. She was doing something simply for her own pleasure, not because it made any sense. It made her feel lightheaded.

She thought, when she saw Taryn pull out the toy, of the fumbling nights in the back seat of cars, the sweaty, awkward, needful stumbling of adolescence. Of wanting so much that never happened, waiting for her body to miraculously spark to life, waiting. She remembered the fear of living her entire life without knowing why this physical entanglement was supposed to be sublime. It was numbing, and it seemed like work. Were those who spoke of it in rapturous terms kidding? Her own inability to lose herself, to make her mind shut up, her distance from what seemed by all report to be a good thing frightened her.

It's hard, when you are sixteen, to decide you'll never be normal, that your senses are blunted beyond repair. Rosalind covered it well, but inside she knew the truth. There were things she was never going to know, and she'd best get a sense of humor about it. Marriage hadn't been much better, for now the silence in her flesh was disappointing someone she cared about. In the end, it was easier not to attempt it at all.

The memory of that awkwardness, that numbness in her body was right there, waiting. She looked into the burning eyes of the lover who stood in front of her, wanting something to a.s.sure her that she wasn't that teenager anymore. What she saw was herself reflected, magnified, desired. The hunger was naked on Taryn's handsome face, hunger for her, coupled with a look she didn't recognize. It was playful, and pa.s.sionate, the look in Taryn's eyes, and it gave her the s.p.a.ce to be the same. She felt her body remember their first night together with a surge of longing.

Taryn put her hands on Rosalind's waist, guiding her. "Bend over the desk," Taryn said. The professor bent over with her stomach and b.r.e.a.s.t.s on the desk; the drag king stood behind her. Rosalind felt Taryn's hands lift up her skirt, caress her thighs. When her hands felt how wet she was through her panties, she thought she heard Taryn sigh. Then the cloth barrier was gone, torn away. Rosalind closed her eyes in antic.i.p.ation. Her body had been tormenting her for days; even Taryn's impatient pace was taking too long.

With her hands still on Rosalind's waist, Taryn entered her, pus.h.i.+ng her hips forward. She was so wet Taryn slid right in, filling her. Rosalind gasped and threw her head back. Taryn started sliding in and out, easing only the tip of her c.o.c.k into Rosalind. Her breathing took on a rhythm to match her thrusts, the swivel to her hips working wonders. Rosalind let herself fall into the sensation, enjoying the penetration, enjoying the fact that it was Taryn who was f.u.c.king her. Her mind started floating. She saw everything start to dance.

Rosalind gripped the sides of the desk, rising up to meet Taryn's thrusts. The ungraded papers on her desk crumpled with their motion. Some of them would be inexplicably moist when Rosalind sat down to grade them. She found herself biting down on a student's paper and spit it back out. "Taryn," she breathed, and that name was a caress and a command. She felt Taryn's thighs meeting hers, heard her growling.

"This is all I can think about, being inside you. All day. What have you done to me?" Taryn said, covering Rosalind's back.

She closed her eyes, thinking everything, nothing, unable to form the words. Rosalind felt Taryn move into her, slowly, then agonizingly back out.

"No, stay inside. Please?" Rosalind asked. She felt Taryn immediately respond, felt the weight of her body, her teeth close on her shoulder. Rosalind threw her head back at the sensation, nearly cracking her skull against Taryn's. One of Taryn's hands reached out and captured Rosalind's, drew it down to her c.l.i.t.

"Touch yourself. Show me what you like," Taryn said in her ear, lifting her hips off the desk.

"Anything," she said, and it was true. Everything was unbearable and marvelous. It was the feel of Taryn's hand on top of hers as she guided them that finally sent Rosalind over the edge. She moved her hand frantically, rubbing hard, arching off the desk into the protective curve of Taryn's body. Rosalind came, her muscles tensing all at once, her arms sweeping out across the face of the desk, grabbing for purchase. The motion threw the rest of the papers to the floor in a crash. Her mind spun; her girl-boy, her drag king, was covering her, holding her down.

She felt Taryn move, slowly, out of her. It hurt. She'd closed around the c.o.c.k, but Taryn took her time until she relaxed. Rosalind felt a sense of grief at Taryn's standing back up, uncovering her. She turned over on the desk, eyes wide and questioning. Was Taryn about to turn back into a stranger on her? She didn't know if she could bear that. Taryn's eyes were warm, her smile gentle. She took Rosalind's hands and helped her up. "That can't be comfortable."

Taryn sat down in Rosalind's chair and drew the professor into her lap. Rosalind went willingly, feeling very much like purring and turning in circles. Taryn stroked her hair, her neck, wearing an expression Rosalind had never seen before. It was part wonder, part humor, and something she couldn't place. "What's on your mind?" Rosalind asked, feeling brave.

Taryn tilted her head back against the chair and looked at Rosalind from that angle. "'The gate between her thighs was golden, the road beyond meant only for kings.' Tanith Lee, from a book of hers I read when I was fourteen. That line stayed with me. I just never knew what it meant until now."

There are words that, when spoken, ignite the air around them, falling like ash on the listener's bare skin, leaving a tattoo. That was how Rosalind heard those words.

"Careful. I'll get used to you saying things like that to me," Rosalind said with a nervous laugh. Her heart trip-hammered in her chest. She wanted to melt around Taryn, take all of her inside.

"Would that be so bad?" Taryn asked, and Rosalind glanced at her face. Taryn seemed to mean it. There was no mocking edge to her voice, and the look on her face was open, unguarded.

"No. It wouldn't be bad at all. The road beyond is meant only for kings." Rosalind took Taryn's hand and curled it between her thighs.

Taryn gasped and closed her eyes. When they opened again, she looked into Rosalind's face in awe. "You mean so many things when you talk."

"It's my training. Six years of Renaissance lit, it's lucky I can say anything without meaning. You'll get used to it," Rosalind said, curling up on Taryn's lap. She sat there, feeling wonderful, basking in the arms around her. Something was beginning. She didn't need to fear it anymore.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" Taryn asked, her lips in Rosalind's hair.

"I'd like it if you did." Rosalind managed to hide her smile of triumph at her own restraint. She'd been planning on tying Taryn up and hauling her home. Funny, I never supported hunting before.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But a few ground rules first," Rosalind said, and felt Taryn stiffen beneath her. "One, we go get something to eat first. Two, no rising before 6:00 a.m. Three, I sleep on the left. You can try to change that, but I'll just end up on top of you." Rosalind felt Taryn's whole body shake with laughter. "Whoa! Careful, you're bouncing me around here."

"Thought you liked me bouncing you around," Taryn said with a leer.

"Oh, I do. But I have to keep you from getting too c.o.c.ky. You're impossible as it is," Rosalind said, meaning every word.

They ate at Kostas, one of the Greek diners that lurked on every street corner in Buffalo. It was close to Rosalind's apartment over on Crescent. Taryn ordered coffee and a souvlaki breakfast, to Rosalind's surprised look.

"Breakfast, at this hour?"

Taryn shrugged. "I always feel like breakfast after s.e.x."

"Okay, I'll note that down. Takes coffee black, likes breakfast after s.e.x. Anything else I should know?" Rosalind asked, lightly. This was an experience she'd never had, trying to get to know the person she'd been having s.e.x with. There was something about the way Taryn was slouching comfortably in the chair across the table from her that seemed perfectly natural, like they'd been lovers for years.

Taryn was giving the impression that she was feeling something as well, but refused to be explicit about it. Rosalind thought she could live with that, as long as they had the time to go slowly. She felt a sense of urgency whenever she looked at Taryn. Physical urgency to be sure, but also a sense that if she wasn't careful, Taryn would vanish in front of her eyes. The thought sent a wave of pain through her, so she set it aside. It was too soon to be feeling bereft about a handsome girl she barely knew.

"Yeah, a lot, but you can learn it a bit at a time. I don't know anything about you," Taryn said.

Rosalind smiled and spread orange marmalade on her English m.u.f.fin.

Taryn made faces at her. "How can you eat that?"

"I like sweet things. What else do you want to know?"

"Family. Got any?"

"Mom and dad, one brother Eric, younger. He's a computer geek, works in Rochester. Lives with this gorgeous Bengali lawyer, Sandhya. They've been together since undergrad. Drove our parents up a wall for a while, but they've started to come around."

Taryn appeared to consider that, while she drained her cup of coffee. Rosalind thought she was about to ask something else, but she shook her head and asked a neutral question about pets.

"Growing up, a dog. A Lab. You look in the dictionary under dog, you see a picture of Roscoe. You?"

"You asking me to be your pet?" Taryn asked in mock surprise.

"No, genius. If you had any pets growing up."

A flicker of anger pa.s.sed across Taryn's face, quickly masked. "None. Tell me a story about Rosalind as a kid."

Rosalind accepted the change of topic. She could feel the anger still simmering under Taryn's skin, but knew it wasn't directed at her. If telling stories would distract her, get her to smile again, she could tell stories all night.

"All right. We lived outside of Poughkeepsie growing up, Dutchess County. Real rural area. We had this big mulberry tree in the front yard, overhanging the road. Huge, sweeping branches. I used to climb it all the time. I was a bit of a tomboy. I got it into my head that the branches hanging over the road were just too good for coincidence. I convinced my little brother to climb up there with me, and when a car drove under, we'd shake the branches. Big, fat purple mulberries would splat down on the car. It was great fun, until our neighbor Mr. Manning drove his brand-new white Cutla.s.s under the tree. He stopped the car, dragged us down, and marched us right up on the porch. He rang the bell until my mother came out and told her what we'd done."

"And you got the life beat out of you?"

The question surprised Rosalind, but she didn't let that show. "No, but we did get reprimanded. Poor Eric, he was just following my lead."

"You were a rebel, Olchawski," Taryn said with feigned admiration.

"I got away with it because I looked like such a nice girl." Rosalind flipped her hair back over her shoulder and batted her eyes at Taryn. The girl snorted.

Taryn walked into Rosalind's apartment with an easy sense of owners.h.i.+p, claiming the s.p.a.ce by moving through it. After spending the weekend fantasizing about having her here, Rosalind couldn't believe it was happening. But there she was, sitting on her couch, her arm thrown over the back. Rosalind kept looking sideways at her, to see if she'd vanish.

"Nice place. Clean," Taryn said, picking up a gla.s.s globe with leaves suspended in it. She looked quizzically at it.

"Would you like something to drink? Anything I can get you?" Rosalind asked, feeling like a new hostess. The absurdity of playing Martha Stewart to a girl who had just been f.u.c.king her on her desk at school wasn't lost on her.