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Authors: Purple Prosaic
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worth. She worked hard to maintain a tight
reign on her deepest feelings—controlling when, where, and how
they surfaced. And now, the one person who could potentially
alleviate her distress was the very source of it: Jenna.
Fuck
her! Carly nearly
said it aloud as she shifted into the anger phase of her one-woman
pity party. If she
doesn't want me, it's her damned loss .
That anger faded quickly, though. She simply couldn't sustain
it—mainly because she was certain that Jenna really did want
her. She might not
want to want me, but that's another matter altogether .
Carly recalled the torment of her own brief and thoroughly
unsuccessful struggle to push Jenna from her fantasies like an
unwelcome intruder. It didn't take long for her to recognize the
utter futility in that endeavor and open her mind to a wonderfully
vivid fantasy realm.
Instead,
she directed her anger at the circumstances that made their being
together so problematic. Jenna
couldn't possibly think I expect some sort of public coming out.
Could she? Carly
rejected that thought immediately. She knew neither of them wanted
the type of fallout that would result. The collateral damage would
be extreme and serve no useful purpose, and their feelings for one
another would be viewed as tawdry and perverse.
She
just needs some time to digest it all .
Carly tried—and failed—to convince herself that Jenna's
perceived reticence stemmed from nothing more than a period of
adjustment. The emotions ran so deep that nagging doubts assaulted
her implicitly-trusted intuition. She relentlessly over analyzed her
gut feelings and examined every nuance under a mental microscope. It
was like having a sensory impairment, in a way: her normally 20/20
inner vision obscured by emotional cataracts.
Carly
licked her lips, tasting the residue of tears that had passed over
them. She smeared the wetness over her entire face as if it could
salve the crushing anxiety. I
hate this! I hate not knowing her mind .
The absolute certainty that she stood on the cusp of the type of
relationship she'd only dreamed possible made the frustration all the
more profound. Talk
to me, Jenna. We'll self destruct if you don't .
Catharsis,
unfortunately, eluded her and the g-force of reentry into her life's
atmosphere only added to the discomfort. I
wonder what happens when I reach my cumulative angst threshold? Rather than wiping her face, Carly just let it air dry—preferring
to feel the salty mask slowly harden into a crust. It felt like a
protective shell.
Sorry
folks. That's all the time we have for today's wallow ,
she thought as she rose and collected the package. Stay
tuned for the next anguished episode of 'As My World Churns. '
Stuffing the unopened box into her closet, Carly grabbed a dry
t-shirt. By the time the school bus pulled to a stop at the top of
the driveway, the only indication that she'd been crying was a little
sniffle and slightly puffy eyes. The mask was invisible, but she
could still feel it.
*
* * *
T he
next day started with the typical early morning household chaos.
That one exhausting hour before the kids boarded the school bus could
zap Carly's strength for an entire day. However, if she managed to
conserve some energy, she could usually complete the routine domestic
drudgery with enough time remaining for a little private recreational
activity. She cherished the time alone with her imagination and
viewed it as her most effective weapon in the war against apathy and
depression: a time to make the impossible possible.
Carly
fetched the box from her closet, carefully sliced the tape, and
lifted the contents from its bed of balled newspaper. She could
smell the leather of the strap-on's sturdy black harness through the
packaging. The distinct aroma would now forever be associated with
sex in her mind. Not just any sex, but sex with another woman.
Placing the harness and extra straps on the bathroom counter, she
peeled the cellophane wrapper from the jack rabbit
reign on her deepest feelings—controlling when, where, and how
they surfaced. And now, the one person who could potentially
alleviate her distress was the very source of it: Jenna.
Fuck
her! Carly nearly
said it aloud as she shifted into the anger phase of her one-woman
pity party. If she
doesn't want me, it's her damned loss .
That anger faded quickly, though. She simply couldn't sustain
it—mainly because she was certain that Jenna really did want
her. She might not
want to want me, but that's another matter altogether .
Carly recalled the torment of her own brief and thoroughly
unsuccessful struggle to push Jenna from her fantasies like an
unwelcome intruder. It didn't take long for her to recognize the
utter futility in that endeavor and open her mind to a wonderfully
vivid fantasy realm.
Instead,
she directed her anger at the circumstances that made their being
together so problematic. Jenna
couldn't possibly think I expect some sort of public coming out.
Could she? Carly
rejected that thought immediately. She knew neither of them wanted
the type of fallout that would result. The collateral damage would
be extreme and serve no useful purpose, and their feelings for one
another would be viewed as tawdry and perverse.
She
just needs some time to digest it all .
Carly tried—and failed—to convince herself that Jenna's
perceived reticence stemmed from nothing more than a period of
adjustment. The emotions ran so deep that nagging doubts assaulted
her implicitly-trusted intuition. She relentlessly over analyzed her
gut feelings and examined every nuance under a mental microscope. It
was like having a sensory impairment, in a way: her normally 20/20
inner vision obscured by emotional cataracts.
Carly
licked her lips, tasting the residue of tears that had passed over
them. She smeared the wetness over her entire face as if it could
salve the crushing anxiety. I
hate this! I hate not knowing her mind .
The absolute certainty that she stood on the cusp of the type of
relationship she'd only dreamed possible made the frustration all the
more profound. Talk
to me, Jenna. We'll self destruct if you don't .
Catharsis,
unfortunately, eluded her and the g-force of reentry into her life's
atmosphere only added to the discomfort. I
wonder what happens when I reach my cumulative angst threshold? Rather than wiping her face, Carly just let it air dry—preferring
to feel the salty mask slowly harden into a crust. It felt like a
protective shell.
Sorry
folks. That's all the time we have for today's wallow ,
she thought as she rose and collected the package. Stay
tuned for the next anguished episode of 'As My World Churns. '
Stuffing the unopened box into her closet, Carly grabbed a dry
t-shirt. By the time the school bus pulled to a stop at the top of
the driveway, the only indication that she'd been crying was a little
sniffle and slightly puffy eyes. The mask was invisible, but she
could still feel it.
*
* * *
T he
next day started with the typical early morning household chaos.
That one exhausting hour before the kids boarded the school bus could
zap Carly's strength for an entire day. However, if she managed to
conserve some energy, she could usually complete the routine domestic
drudgery with enough time remaining for a little private recreational
activity. She cherished the time alone with her imagination and
viewed it as her most effective weapon in the war against apathy and
depression: a time to make the impossible possible.
Carly
fetched the box from her closet, carefully sliced the tape, and
lifted the contents from its bed of balled newspaper. She could
smell the leather of the strap-on's sturdy black harness through the
packaging. The distinct aroma would now forever be associated with
sex in her mind. Not just any sex, but sex with another woman.
Placing the harness and extra straps on the bathroom counter, she
peeled the cellophane wrapper from the jack rabbit
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