Dreamt last night that I’d met an old friend at her apartment, one I’d only imagined she’d share with a girl who I knew to be her childhood friend; their alliance was a production of my memory of her. We made niceties and I took off my shoes. The roommate was in a different room, her bedroom, on the phone and lying belly-down on her bed. I made to move past the girl I’d come to visit and she lusted after me, taking me onto the couch and sucking my neck with abandon. I enjoyed it some, but recall being slightly uncomfortable at being so attacked by someone I hadn’t spoken to in ten years.
When she pulled back I felt a tightness and a coldness which told me she’d opened my neck with her tongue. I looked at her and couldn’t kiss her back. I went to the bathroom to examine the wound and sure enough it was there, a little bloody strawberry. Had she been lapping blood?
Seeing me not aroused she threw herself onto her own bed and wept that she hadn’t had a man in so long that she was considering lesbianism for want of attention.
“You seem to know about hickeys,” I said to her.
“Lesbians know about hickeys,” she said, and I didn’t know how to reply. I didn’t know how to cheer her up. Where we were from anything that deviated from m/f missionary was culturally taboo, at least outwardly. It pained me to see her that way.