Girl in the Middle

Girl in the Middle By Annie Dean Ever since Helen Melville and I had broken up last month, I’d been restless. The need had been building within me, lately, for something…I wasn’t sure how to name it. I wanted more than just a simple relationship, but I didn’t know what that meant. I had no preference as to gender, either. I could be comfortable with a girl. Or a guy. Or two guys. That last one, though, was the stuff of dreams, something I longed to experience, but it remained firmly in my fantasies. I’d never shared by secret desires with anyone. It was something I’d kept to myself, unsure of how others would think of me if they found out. I’d probably be mortified if it became public knowledge. I sometimes wondered if I was a pervert. Was there something wrong with me? I worked as a stylist at a high-end salon and came across my fair share of hot men and women looking for the perfect “do” before that ever important date. Or interview. Or their mirror at home. So I had my pick of the cream of the crop, if I so chose. Most of the time, I snickered to myself as I took care of a client’s hair. Some of the stories they came up were exaggerated, mainly in an attempt to impress me. I’d met Helen that way, actually. She’d sashayed to my chair, hips doing a flirty wiggle beneath that short skirt of hers. Helen had taken the chair before me with a flair, and proceeded to tell me about her two male roommates who got it on regularly, and sometimes had her join in. It had all sounded sexy as hell to me, and I’d thought she was the luckiest girl in the world, having two guys at her disposal, for real. And it made me feel I wasn’t so weird, after all. Her hair appointment ended with a date and the rest was history. Turned out, she’d lied about the roommates. She used that line to pick up potential s*x partners, exhibiting her inner freak. I was back to feeling weird. And the truth of it was, I’d only wanted her because of the men she’d said were in her life. Once I admitted that to myself, the relationship ended. Her “me, me, me” attitude hadn’t helped much either, and really, all she’d ended up being was a pretty face and a hot lay. She left, and I went back to nights with my vibrator, gay porn, and my fantasies of two men in my bedroom f*****g each other, with me in the middle. What relationship could top that? The guy before Helen—Sheldon—had been a major stud, but not too bright. He’d been great in bed, and sweet. But frankly, it was my vivid imagination of him f*****g another male that had me coming most nights when we were together, and not much else. It seemed that only my dreams of being with two guys at once ever truly satisfied me, and I wasn’t sure what to do about that. That stuff wasn’t real, was it?