Dirty Diana

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

—

The first time Oliver and I had sex, it didn’t feel like fucking. It wasn’t the kind of sex that made you wonder, while you were having it, if this person was going to call afterward, or if you’d even want to see them again. It wasn’t performative. I didn’t move my body to put on a show and neither did he.

Two days after we met and he had shown me the apartment, Oliver called to tell me my credit was indeed terrible, but by that point I’d found a room in a two-bedroom with a friend of a friend who was in dental school and very quiet. A week after that, Oliver called again, this time to tell me that his father’s company was hiring a new front-office person. “It’s a lot of answering phones, but the hours aren’t too bad. I’ve managed to survive it,” he said. I could tell he felt bad about the apartment falling through. He mentioned he knew of a unit in his girlfriend’s building that might be free. I told him again that I’d already found a new place. I was pretty sure he was mentioning a girlfriend to convince me there was nothing creepy in his job offer.

“How do you know I’d be good at the job?”

“You answered my phone call pretty well.”

“Ha ha.”

I started work the next Monday. It was an easy job at his father’s wealth management firm. I sat up front and answered the phones, “McKinnon, Wood, and Bloom.” I circulated mail to each of the three named partners by dividing it among their female assistants. Two of the senior executives—Messrs. McKinnon and Bloom—were ancient-looking, gray-faced men and were mostly indistinguishable to me, holed up in their offices behind closed doors at the other end of the hallway. Oliver’s father, Mr. Allen Wood, was the second name on the masthead, and of the three men, the only one I ever saw outside his office among the assistants, making an effort at social interaction.

When the phones were slow, I used sharp No. 2 pencils and every other free office supply at my desk to draw new sketches for my old friends Barry and Alicia—mostly of the irritated, very wealthy people Ipictured on the other end of the calls. This time I signed them D$rty D$ana to make Alicia laugh. And instead of sending me sponges, Alicia sent me back a tightly rolled joint, which I quickly stashed in the back of my desk drawer. She couldn’t believe I was working with finance people. Then, years later when I became a financial planner, she said she knew I could do it and that it was good to have one in the family.

Other times when I drew at my desk, I tried to picture Oliver’s girlfriend. I imagined her with a chestnut bob, an oval face, and rosy cheeks. In my drawings she said things like, Y’all are too cute! while looking at Oliver with large watery eyes. Every night, Oliver would exit past reception, sometimes letting his hand linger on my desk, and wish me good night. And every night, over that first two and a half months, my crush blossomed.

On my eleventh Friday afternoon of work, something in me snapped. Without giving myself time to chicken out, I found an empty envelope marked Personal and Confidential then got to work drawing a map of our office floor. Over Oliver’s desk, I wrote, You are HERE, and over the back stairwell I drew a star and wrote, I am THERE. And then at the bottom of the paper, a question: See you THERE?

The joint Alicia mailed me was still in my desk. I placed it in the middle of the map and folded it in half. I emailed my officemate, Glory, subject line UH-OH: “You were right. I never should have trusted that taco truck!! Cover my phones? Might be a minute…” I forwarded my incoming calls to Glory’s number and walked the envelope over to Oliver’s desk. I made sure he saw me drop it, then kept walking toward the stairwell.

The heavy door slammed shut behind me. I sat on the stairs and waited. After several long minutes, I thought about slinking out. I’d just slipped the boss’s son a joint and an unsolicited invitation. Then the door to the floor below me creaked open and Oliver ran up, two stairs at a time, a huge grin on his face. “I had to go to three break rooms to find this.”

He pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the joint. He sat down next to me and we passed it back and forth.

After a while, he asked, “What do you think of my dad?”

I laughed because I thought he was messing with me, asking about his dad while we got high in the stairwell of the office his father runs. But Oliver looked so earnest. I told him his father seemed nice. The truth was, at that point, Allen had never spoken to me. I had only ever interacted with his assistant, Cindy, who called me when she needed office supplies. Every time I brought her something, she held up a bowl of mints, and when I took one, she croaked, “Don’t let ’em catch ya!” then winked. I asked Oliver what she meant.

“I’m not sure, but she’s been making that same joke since I was a kid. It might even be the same bowl of mints.”

The weed made this hilarious and provoked fits of laughter in both of us.

“Do you want to meet him now?” Oliver asked, wiping his eyes.

“Who, your dad ? Are we still talking about your dad?”

Then we were laughing again, even harder, until our faces were so close our foreheads nearly touched. I asked, “Are you still dating someone?”

His eyes were a summery blue green. “No. I like someone else.” Oliver leaned in close, until his lips were on mine. The kiss was briefly delicate. And then it broke over us both, a wave that held all the stored energy of our monthslong crush. It was a kiss between two people flushed with relief, a kiss that said, I was beginning to think you would never show up.

Desire rushed through me with an intensity that made me shiver. Oliver assumed I was cold in the over-air-conditioned office, so he pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me. Maybe it was the weed, but the warmth of his skin just then was the greatest sensation I’d ever felt.

I turned and straddled him on the steps. He groaned with happiness and I lifted my skirt, hitching it high around my waist. Only my underwear and his jeans separated the heat between us. His hardness, the feel of him, made me ache.

He looked up into my face and whispered, “Okay?” and when I nodded, he slid his fingers inside me. We gasped at the same moment, which made us both open our eyes and laugh. Just when I almost lost it to another fit of stoned laughter, he pulled my face toward his with a conviction that surprised us both. We kissed even more deeply. He tasted like marijuana and peanut butter cups from the office vending machine.

—

We dated for close to four months before we slept together. Oliver wanted me to know that I meant a lot to him, and no matter how much I teased him every time we kissed, how often I moved my hips against his jeans or sucked on his earlobe, he would always whisper, “not yet.” It became a game between us, and I loved watching Oliver try to steady his breath, willing his erection to settle.

By the time Oliver was ready, we were both overcooked. The buildup had become monumental, and I feared both of us would be disappointed. Oliver’s parents were out of town, so he took me to the home he grew up in for a nighttime swim. The pool was Olympic-size with a lit up sea-blue bottom. There were four chaise lounges with cabana-striped fabric and a perfectly folded white towel laid on each cushion, as if his parents had known we were coming. I giggled as I watched him undress then cover his penis with two hands before jumping into the pool. I stood on the diving board and tossed one piece of clothing into the pool at a time, while Oliver watched me quietly from the shallow end. It was a hot, humid Texas night and I remember worrying that I would freeze when I jumped in, but the water was the temperature of my body, warm and inviting. I dove underwater and swam until I reached Oliver, surfacing inches from his face. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. I just smiled; I felt beautiful with Oliver.

As we ran toward the house, naked and dripping wet, Oliver grabbed a Coke from the fully stocked fridge in the outdoor kitchen. Then he led me up the back stairs to his childhood room, which had a poster of Cindy Crawford in a black bikini that was only visible when you closed the door. His bed was full-size, covered with an emerald-green duvet, which matched the shades Oliver now pulled down one by one.

“Who’s this?” I held up a framed picture of Oliver and a striking redhead. Oliver’s room raised hundreds of questions and I wanted answers to them all. How many times have you read Dune ? Who picked out your clothes? Did you ever sneak girls through your bedroom window?

“That’s Alex,” he said. “She was my first.”

“Where is she now?”

“Married with three kids. Lives in Houston. Happy, I think.”

“Were you in love with her?”

“Kinda,” he said. “I’m not sure I knew what love felt like.”

“Do you know what it feels like now?”

“Yes.” He entwined his fingers in mine. “This.”

This is what love feels like, I thought. The softness of his childhood bedroom carpet on my feet. The sweet taste of Coke on his lips. The smell of chlorine still on our damp skin.

Oliver held my face in his hands. He kissed me deeply, then sucked my lower lip. I closed my eyes and he put a hand on my back, guiding me to the floor. We cuddled, my back to his chest, on the thick carpet and Oliver kissed the back of my neck and gently circled my nipples with his finger. I felt his erection against my back and raised my leg slightly, allowing him to push himself inside me. He held me tightly while he moved in and out of me. “God, Diana. You feel so good.”

I grabbed his hand, forcing him to squeeze my breast. I wanted more of him. More friction. More pressure. More fucking. But we were making love. I turned my face to his and Oliver’s hands traced my lips. I took his finger into my mouth and started to suck on it. Oliver moaned with pleasure, as if this was the most erotic thing a woman had ever done. “This is everything to me,” he said. “Being inside you.”

I slipped away from him briefly and shifted onto my back so I could watch his face. I opened my legs and pulled my knees to my chest.

“Diana.” His voice was strong and deep and I wanted him back inside me so badly my entire body trembled. When he entered me again, I knew I could never let him go.

Oliver brushed the hair from my face. He kissed me slowly, his mouth open wide like mine until we were no longer kissing—just lips pressed against each other, breathing the same air.

“You feel too good.”

“It’s okay,” I whispered into his ear. “Come inside me.”

Oliver’s entire body shuddered, and then he collapsed onto me, burying his face in my hair. All I could think was, Who cares if I get pregnant? Because this is who I want to be with forever. My desire was for something so much bigger than sex. With Oliver, I could picture an entire life—time moving in breezy, gentle circles, the air around us always soft and sweet-smelling.

“Did you come?” he asked.

“Yes,” I lied. Then I curled up against him and we both drifted to sleep.