Why Is That So Important? - Sex Stories

Why Is That So Important?

... You knew the guy?”

“Yes, I was the reason he got suspended,” Jamie answered, still keeping the factual attitude while folding her used breakfast napkin and avoiding Laura’s eyes. Once it was folded enough, Jamie finally returned her look and re-affirmed her initial assessment. “He got suspended because he was fuckingme.”

Those words seemed to float through the room while Jamie looked after them, waiting for Laura to react.

“What? Oh, I keep forgetting we went to the same high school.” She quickly did the math. “True, I graduated the summer before you started your freshman year so we never met.”

Remembering to be upset, Laura corrected her tone, albeit a tad too forced. “But... how? You and him? I never knew you actually slept with guys too!”

“Well, I wasn’t really into them at first—I mean, teenage boys, ugh—but I quickly came to like the attention they gave me despite being oh-so-straight. And Mr. Jackson was, below his hard shell, a very sweet and loving man. Classical male of his generation, you know. Trying hard to appear tough and cover up unprocessed traumas with an all-too-thin layer of fake ego and loud dominance. You know, men don’t have feelings because feelings are gay or for pussies and whatnot. What’s wrong with being a gay guy, having feelingsdespite being straight or with pussies? I like all of them.”

“But how? And why you?” Laura blurted out and quickly attempted to clarify, “I mean because...”

Jamie smiled and waved her off. “No worries. ...

... I know what you mean, and I know you enough to understand that your ‘someone like you’ comes from genuine curiosity and not from being a bigoted asshole.”

Jamie waited until Laura’s facial features relaxed. “How about we make new coffee and take this story to the couch? Listen to some calm music and cuddle up. It might get a bit emotional.”

While Jamie brewed up two more mugs of coffee, Laura slipped a first pressing of Bill Frisell’s History Mystery on the record player. She sat down on the couch and lazily reclined, the loose tank top she used for pajamas slipping up her midriff.

She was basking in the mild hangover of half a beer and three self-rolled cigarettes too many when Jamie came and first attempted to hand Laura her mug but, seeing her comfortable position, opted for putting both coffees on the living room table instead.

“Diluted with skimmed milk (yuck) to sub-homeopathic amounts of caffeine and so grossly oversugared that the spoon won’t sink—just the way the princess likes it and just black for me,” Jamie quipped.

Laura stuck her tongue out. “You don’t get to shame me for not liking the cheap lyophilized dust you dare call coffee.”

“Still beats Starbucks,” Jamie offered—shrugging, frowning, and slightly shaking her head—to both their agreement, “but surely stands no chance against Her Majesty’s refined tastes.”

“Wanna cuddle up now or want your little girlfriend to sulk all day because you offended her for being picky with colonial products ...