I cried all weekend, too. When I thought of having to see her at work, I was panic-stricken, so when Monday dragged around, I took a personal day and went to the county employment offices where I applied for several openings in other schools. I went online and through the newspaper looking for boring, undemanding jobs with benefits that asked nothing of me beyond a 40-hour week. I applied for as many as I could by phone, fax and e-mail.
Of course, Lynn didn't call me and I didn't call her. I wanted to. I picked up the phone over and over, and then I imagined how our conversation would go. Either we would have the same fight again, or I would concede to all her demands and still be utterly convinced she didn't love me. So I put the phone down again.
On Tuesday at school, I asked if I could change to the early shift so I could avoid taking down the flag. That turned out to be impossible, so I got one of the guys to switch jobs with me and arranged to water the flower beds instead. Thus, I could avoid the front of the school at 5:30 PM.
Other than that, I hunkered down at home. I didn't write. I slept a lot. I called my friends and cried. Susan said I had pushed Lynn too hard, but I hadn't asked for a commitment, only the equivalent of a date. Susan and I ended up having to agree to disagree. I got a lot more sympathy from Nancy, who invited me to Orlando to hit the lesbian bars with her. Unfortunately, I just wasn't up for that yet. I was afraid of hearing love songs and I didn't want to watch other women in love.
I made up my mind to get out of Windy Ridge High and get Lynn Jeffries out of my heart. It hurt me so bad, I cried myself to sleep every night, and I woke up crying. Lynn was the way she was; nothing would change it. I wasn't going back into the closet; nothing would change that, either. My ultimate goal was apathy toward her. Hatred was too good for her. Too much energy and emotion had to be expended to maintain hatred, and she wasn't worth it. And every once in a while I would kick myself around the house for imagining, even for a minute, that a woman as accomplished and selfish as Lynn could ever really love me.
By the time the weekend arrived, I had myself convinced that Lynn had never intended to do more than play with me until the right man came along. He would be some very quiet and unassuming, yet sexually demanding, Harrison Ford type, as she told me she had always lusted after him until she met me. Like I could compete with that. What a joke! She had just been fooling around with me, trying out her bisexuality on me. Then, when I wasn't willing to take my place next to Paprika, I ended up on the sidewalk, as welcome as a homeless person on the streets of “The Barony.” I was sure that if I stuck around Windy Ridge long enough, I would see or hear that she had acquired my replacement, and I wasn't sure I could handle it.
It was Friday night and I couldn't stand to stay home where she and I had made love and spent hours talking about writing and literature and music when we hadn't been eating each other out.
I went to the dungeon.
After making a reservation for Beverly's last hour, I stayed in the gallery all night. I found I could treat it as a theatrical experience, and amused myself by critiquing the artistry of the performers. I won't say I didn't have a little too much to drink, but I knew Bev wouldn't let me drive after our session if I couldn't.
When it was my turn, I went to Bev and knelt, waiting for her command. I wasn't looking up at her, but I heard her make a noise of surprise. She recovered quickly. “This way, sub,” she grunted.
She led me into one of the private rooms and closed the door. I knelt again, threw my arms around her and cried so hard I thought I was going to throw up.
Bev made all the appropriate, comforting noises, stroking my hair and holding me against her. When I had calmed down slightly, she helped me up and brought me to an armchair where she sat down and pulled me into her lap. There she held me until I had cried myself out. “You didn't have to pay,” she murmured. “You could have called me or come to me anytime."
“I didn't know what I wanted until I got here.” I hiccupped. “Thanks for understanding."
She was nice enough not to say, “I told you so."
“Do you want to make love?” she asked me.
“Oh, yes, please,” I whispered.
“How do you want it?"
I told her. I stripped and she put me down on the mat on my back and opened her pants. She sat on my face, squeezing my ribcage with her booted legs until she climaxed repeatedly on my face.
It was so comfortingly familiar; I managed to lose myself for a while. Bev felt and tasted completely different from Lynn, whom I desperately needed to purge from my system.
“Oh, God, oh, God, Bev,” I muttered into her gushing pussy. By the time she had finished, I felt a lot better.
Bev stretched out on top of me and we lay kissing for a while. When she felt me squirming underneath her, she got up and sat in the chair again. “Bring a stool,” she ordered. I obeyed immediately and sank down onto her leather.
“Jesus!” I groaned. Her boots were so big! She was the largest and strongest woman I had ever seen, let alone made love with, and while she impaled me with her eyes and made me come on her boots, there was nothing and no one else in the world but her. The climaxes tore through me and I screamed and cried. Finally my legs gave way and I fell over.
Bev gave me half a minute to collect myself before she said, “Lick them.” I crawled back and did as she commanded, still crying but by now they were tears of gratitude and relief, not utter, abject misery. Somewhere deep inside, a little voice told me I would recover.
When I was done, I looked up at her and she gave me a hand. “I'll get changed and take you home with me,” she said matter-of-factly.
I knew better than to argue.
After that, it was easier to get through a day. Sometime the following week I got out my book again, belatedly remembering Lynn had that disk with the first 200 pages or so. But there was no need to ask for it back. I experienced a twinge of real regret when I realized her publishing contacts were now lost to me, but on the other hand, I was no worse off than I had been before we became involved. I would just have to deal with it. What else could I do?
I also had to struggle with writing about a protagonist based on someone I was learning to despise, prior to achieving apathy. I wondered if Lynn had read it or just threw it away, and if she would laugh, or if she would find it pathetic that she was the model for my hero. I decided that, had she even begun reading, she would stop, delete the file, and use the disk for something else. Whatever.
I still hurt every time I saw her silver BMW out front in its reserved spot. I still had to look away from her windows when I went outside. Inside, I went the long way around to avoid passing her office. Three weeks after our breakup, neither of us had made any effort to contact the other, and then I received news of a transfer to a middle school. I cleaned out my locker at school one Friday afternoon and drove away. That part of my life was over. I was free of it. We had nothing else in common. There was no way I would ever see her again.
On weekends, I returned to the dungeon, but not to work; only as a spectator, and to be with Bev. I only went once each weekend, because I didn't want to attach myself to her too closely, and then have to experience losing her to her own partner. But it was good to have a lover who helped create emotional distance between Lynn and me. Eventually I would be ready for someone else. For now, I was content to be in limbo, neither dying inside nor pursuing a mate. It was back to square one where I would just work and write. I figured another three weeks of writing and I could look for agents and publishers. All I had to do was keep myself busy and I was sure it wouldn't hurt so much.