HOME | DD

Description
Progressive Man

If you offered Alex a cigarette, he'd laugh and tell you he didn't smoke.  But those same pink lips that denied your offer now wrapped around a Marlboro.  Marlboro 100s to be exact.  Alex only smoked a cigarette when Rachel offered him one.  It was Rachel's delicate hands that held the lighter up to him.  Glancing deeply into her brown eyes, he gently held her hands in his and placed the lighter below the stick of tobacco.  Once ignited, he released his grip but continued to relish her softness.
"How's it taste?" Rachel inquired, slowly blinking her doe eyes once.
Alex puffed deeply and then let the smoke exit through his nasal cavities.  His calm, blue eyes stared into nothingness as he debated silently.
"Smoother than the Menthols but not as much flavor as the Turks."
Rachel rolled her eyes.  She'd learned long ago not to expect Alex to like any cigarette she offered him after the Turkish Golds.  The only smoke he admitted he enjoyed more were rolled cigarettes.  Rachel had gone through that phase for only a few weeks before getting frustrated at the time consuming task.  Not to mention, the tobacco made her fingernails look quite nasty by the end of rolling the half dozen she'd keep in an empty pack of Camels.
Alex marveled that Rachel still exuded sexuality even after the many years they'd known each other.  In the five years since they first met in college, neither Rachel nor Alex had ever suggested that they be together.  They had too much in common to risk their friendship on a break-up.  Sex, on the other hand, was something Alex had subtly dropped in many a conversation.
Rachel often felt flattered, as she did find Alex attractive, in a less traditional sort of way.  Unlike the shaved and waxed metrosexuals of the modern age, Rachel preferred a man of beard and chest hair.  A man whose beer belly was both a testament to his drinking prowess and lack of concern for his physical appearance.  Not that she necessarily desired a man who took little care for his cleanliness.  What appealed most about Alex was his ability to use body wash and cologne to compliment a pair of ragged jeans and college t-shirt.
Nonetheless, she always refused with the same argument: she was a girl of integrity.  Not that either Alex or Rachel were oblivious of her sexual history.  Every man who'd had the privilege of sharing her bed had been a boyfriend first.  She only gave herself to a man who'd committed to her.  More surprising than this was her track record.  Having dated ten men seriously, three of which who had become close enough to bed her, she'd been broken up with exactly zero times.  Alex sometimes joked that she was a man-eater.  She playfully acted annoyed.  In reality, Alex never really considered it a joke, and Rachel really did get annoyed when he called her that.
"So Alex," Rachel began, "tell me what you've been up to?"
It had been about a year since they'd seen each other.  In that time, Alex had accepted an internship at a leading clinical psychologist's office.  Strangely enough, the clinical psychologist in question had a reputation for being heavily influenced by feminist thought.
"Besides being ostracized by my boss for having a penis?"
Rachel laughed, freely.  Having finished her cigarette, she smashed it into an overflowing ash tray on a table near their chairs.  The mountain air blew over them, as they sat on Rachel's condo's balcony, in the presence of the setting sun.
"Has it been so bad working for a feminist psychologist?"
She smiled as she said this, assuming Alex wasn't speaking from real pain.  His return smirk confirmed her suspicions.
"She's a brilliant woman.  My first month, she insisted I spend at least an hour discussing my issues and feelings with her, as if I were a patient.  She wanted to know me as a person before sharing her business's sensitive information.  I think in reality, she has some power issues.  But her office, her rules."
He placed his cigarette in the same ash tray, which inadvertently dropped a remnant and its ash onto the table.
"Oh, I'm so sorry..." Alex began to apologize, but was interrupted by Rachel, as she stood.
"Don't worry about it.  I'll get a sponge.  I should have emptied it earlier, anyway."
As she opened the screen door and disappeared into her condo, Alex couldn't help but notice the tightness of her jeans.  Still in her mid twenties, Rachel's rear end caused many a rubber neck when she took to walking in the morning.  It wasn't simply the firmness or curves of her butt, but in how she swayed from side to side when moving at a normal pace.  It was almost hypnotic now, as her light blue jeans held firm.  Alex even liked the modesty of her small but perky breasts.  Tonight, her tank top gave a generous helping of what she had to offer.  It was all Alex could do to keep from focusing on them during conversations.  But he'd learned many lessons well.  Most importantly is this: the prize only comes from the eyes.
When Rachel had returned and leaned forward to scrub the ash, Alex allowed himself a short time to assess the way her tight tank top emphasized her slim waist.  Leaning toward the table, her shirt draped loosely forward, exposing a bit of midriff and revealing the V shape of her pelvic bone.  Despite himself, Alex gaped slightly.  When she turned back to him, he was smiling innocently and focusing solely on her powerful brown eyes.  She gave him a skeptical look, one part playful frustration and three parts flattery.
She replaced the sponge in her kitchen and returned to Alex's side in the reclining patio chairs.  "You were saying?"
Alex, having been sidetracked and momentarily distracted by Rachel's lavishness, tried to remember where he'd left off.
"Oh, right.  So anyways, she analyzed me for a month and came to the conclusion that I had a good heart but was misguided in my views.  She suggested a few feminist books to me..."
"Like what?" Rachel interrupted.
"Standard stuff, like essays from Mary Wollstonecraft and modern thought like Gloria Steinem's works.  But it was a book by an Indian writer named Sarojini Sahoo that really intrigued me the most.  It was called Sensible Sensuality."
Rachel's head cocked a bit.  "That's a strange name for a book on feminism."
Alex nodded.  "That's what drew me to it in the first place.  That, and the beautiful picture on the cover.  It featured a young Indian woman with a Bindi on her forehead."
"Bindi?  Is that the name of the red dot?"
Alex smiled.  Rachel had little tact sometimes, but she was quite intuitive.  "Yes.  But it's her face, pointed downward and exuding a deep relaxation that really peaked me the most.  So I read every essay in the book.  And... it changed my outlook."
Rachel took a sip of her Chardonnay but said nothing.  Alex took this as a sign to continue talking.
"She discusses the importance of breaking down the oppressive stereotypes between men and women.  This theme is pretty common in feminism.  But she goes on to connect this with sexuality.  In the past, I've often alluded to the idea of us 'hooking up', in a sense..."
Rachel sighed.  She knew what was coming next.  He would use his new found knowledge as some sort of evidence that they should sleep together.  Same tune, different instrument.
"... but what's important to realize is that this was a part of my oppressive masculine mindset.  What I've realized is that I should stop ignoring my emotions and speak from my feelings..."
Even as he said this, Rachel expected him to try to convince her that his feelings and desires for her were enough to convince her to give herself to him.  Sadly, this would not work.
"... I like you.  I'm glad of our friendship.  And I need to recognize that you have the masculine urges of sex and desire in you, as much as it is in mine.  If you don't want to share this experience with me, I need to understand that it's nothing against me.  You are not tapping into the urges that are inherent in you.  That does not mean that I can't continue to connect with you emotionally and let our friendship continue to kindle."
At this, he stopped.  Rachel said nothing, waiting for the request.  It didn't come.  He sat back in the chair and smiled.
"I'm glad to have you in my life, Rachel."
This made Rachel frustrated.  If she'd heard him correctly, he wasn't asking her to sleep with him at all.  If anything, he was challenging her ability to be progressive and connect with her masculine, sexual urges.  Since it wasn't a request, she didn't have to say no.  But... there was no satisfaction in being undesired and underestimated.
Wordless, she leaned forward and pressed her dark red lips against his pink ones.  Their eyes closed, as their mouths opened.  Her tongue explored his mouth first, and then he returned in kind.
She leaned back a bit and stared at him in the eyes.  "Will you lose respect for me if we do this?"
He shook his head and then returned to his vigil in her eyes.  "You are a strong, confident woman.  What kind of man would I be if I condemned you for the same action I'm doing?"
Her eyes sparkled and she smiled.  "Good answer."

It was dawn.  The sun crept through Rachel's window.  Her body snuggled, naked against his.  Her arms were draped around him, and his right arm stretched around her neck, his hand resting on her shoulder.  He glanced down at her body, marveling at how pristine and perfect she was.  But then the thoughts crept into his mind.  This girl who had always been so unattainable and classy; this girl who had pushed aside his advances but kept him in her life; this girl who had pretty much dictated all of their exchanges from the beginning of their friendship til now... this girl had willingly given herself to him, even though they both knew he was walking out that door today and would not come back for months and months.
This isn't feminist, he thought to himself.  This isn't what I promised her.  If one of my male friends told me he'd gotten with some girl, I would congratulate him, even high five him.  But here now, when I think of Rachel only one word comes to mind.  A word that has been used to oppress female sexuality for centuries.
He fought against his own mindset, but progressive or not, there's only one word to use for a promiscuous woman.
Slut.