By a shoestring, with Gianna m/f, f/m

[calebtras]

By a shoestring, with Gianna
Jackie and I were sitting on the damp rip-rap, idly tossing rocks into Hudson Bay. Now, with gentrification of my Brooklyn neighborhood, you see yuppie moms jogging, pushing babies in Audi-like strollers, but then, kids swam in the polluted brackish water, fished for eels, and shot rats with slingshots.
“You ever kiss a boy?” I asked Jackie.
“What's it to you?” she said. “Sure.”
“Who?”
“What are you, spyin' for my mother?”
When Jackie got annoyed, her adopted Brooklyn accent slipped into an aria-like cadence, hand flicking the words like a baton. “Whaddayuh, spy'ne fuh mah muddah?”
When Jackie'd moved to the block in the middle of fourth grade, she didn't speak a word of English. As she struggled to learn, kids made fun of her, yelling 'Fangoola' and shooting her the pinecone. She got into lots of fights, changed her name from Gianna to Jackie, and by eighth grade spoke Brooklyn docks English, with just a touch of the lyrical Italian.
Jackie was curvy, with walnut skin, sturdy legs, and a brassy alto voice. An unruly mane of black curls surrounded cheeks that softly framed an arcing nose and black eyes that flashed when she was angry. She was compact, sexy, and explosive, and I sensed there was more inside her she wasn't showing. As an introverted bookworm outsider, I was attracted to her rambunctious Neapolitan outsider. The other Irish boys dismissed her, making me want her even more. I knew she liked me, perhaps also drawn to opposites.
I said, “Just wanted make sure you weren't a lip virgin.”
“Shit, Terry, everyone say you savin' yourself for the priesthood. And you ain't gonna get me confessin' who I'm kissin'.in your booth, ”
Only my mother thought I was going to be a priest, but she'd told the whole block. “Just askin' 'cause some of us goin' to the Bat Cave this afternoon.” The Bat Cave was the only abandoned building on the block. Kids used it to play hide and seek, teens for kissing and screwing. A decade later it became a crack house and now it's a hipster townhouse.
“For what?” she asked.
“Spin the bottle.”
“Kid's game.”
“Depends. On what you do with the one your bottle points at.”
“What do you do? Genuflect?” She crooked her leg and put her hands in mock prayer.
“Lot you can do down on one knee.”
“Yeah?”
“Shoot craps.”
“Need money.”
I leaned toward her, stuck out my tongue, and rolled it.
“Terry, you wish you was nasty. You're a choirboy.”
“Come to the Bat Cave and find out.”
“Who's goin' be there?”
“Liam,” my best friend whom Jackie also liked, “Maeve, Katy, maybe Bridget.”
“I dunno.”
I had a secret I was ashamed of. I'd discovered getting a girl to let me tie her hands and kiss her really excited me. Back then we all lived in a cloud of shame—girls ashamed of their periods, bodies, and daydreams, wives ashamed of being aroused having sex with their husbands, and boys afraid their sexual needs were weaknesses girls could exploit, hiding behind bluster and tough talk. I'd stopped believing in sin and hell, a fifteen year old heretic, and I wanted to explore my shame and excitement. I only tied up girls I liked. I wished Jackie would like me and my tie-ups as much as I liked her.
I stopped joking around. “Please, Jackie. I want to go, but only if you're there.”
She looked at me, teetering, but holding back.
I pleaded, “Only kissing. Second base if you want. No slidin' into third, no home run.” And hopefully, a tie up
She grinned. “'Kay.”

Jimmy spun the Coke bottle so it turned only one rotation before pointing at Katy. He pumped his fist, “Oh, yeah!”
I glanced at Liam. His lips were tight from nerves. He liked both Katy and Jackie, and knew what his brother Jimmy was capable of.
Jimmy jumped up, pulled Katy to her feet, and before she even got her balance, kissed her with mouth open, covering hers.
“One,” clap, “two,” clap, “three” . . . we chanted. At “nine” Katy turned her head away, and at “ten” we all clapped in applause. Jimmy looked annoyed while Liam hid a grin of satisfaction. I felt relieved—he wanted Katy.
We were in the basement furnace room of the Bat Cave, a four-floor row-house like the others on our block, but abandoned. The plumbing had been stripped out, but the rooms were in decent shape, and most of all private.
Jackie spun the bottle and it wobbled and stopped at Liam. I prayed for her to think of me. They both kissed with mouths closed so I breathed a sigh of release, and at nine they both turned away.
Liam's turn. It pointed at me. He laughed, blew me a kiss, and spun again, holding his breath until it stopped at Katy. When they stood, they looked into each other's eyes, embraced, and kissed open mouthed. As the others counted, I chanted for my best friend, “Go Liam, go!” When we reached ten they continued to kiss as I clapped my hands overhead.
Even in the flickering light of the three candles, I could see Jimmy was angry. As Katy and Liam took a candle and walked toward the stairs hand-in-hand he shouted, “I got the President's Suite.”
“Winners choose,” Liam said.
That infuriated Jimmy. “Go 'head. I'll toss your ass out the fuckin' window!” Without a gang, leadership of the boys on our block went to the most charismatic, dominating, and shrewd tough guy. Jimmy foolishly thought he could fight his way to the top, until a group thrashing sent him scuttling off. He got a job on the docks, and now leveraged his enlarged ego, biceps, and paycheck to snag unwary girls.
When Liam turned to confront his older brother, Katy stepped in. “I want the Blue Room, Liam.” They walked up the stairs to the first floor bedroom.
Maeve spun. She wasn't allowed to talk with a boy alone, and if her father found out she was here, she'd be sitting gingerly at school tomorrow. The bottle pointed to Jimmy. Maeve was no match for him, and even though it was between her and Jackie, I almost hoped she'd chicken out. The count went “eight,” clap, “nine,” clap, “ten”—they were both still kissing.
I glanced at Jackie and she flashed me a hidden thumbs up. “Guess we both got leftovers, Terry.”
“The desert—apple pie with chocolate ice cream,” I said.
I got the candle and, while Jimmy and Maeve headed for the top floor bedroom, we walked to the second floor Captain's Cabin. I placed the candle on the floor of the bay window which, though boarded over, felt special, like the sanctuary behind the altar when the church was empty. She sat down cross-legged, and I sat on the opposite side of the candle. I was searching for an opener, when Jackie said, “Terry, the bottle made your first move for you.”
I grinned sheepishly and slid next to her, put my arm around her shoulder, and kissed her. Jackie's moist, warm kisses soon swallowed all my doubts. I stroked her thick, wavy black hair. I cracked my eyes open hoping to see her eyes flashing with excitement, but they were closed, her kiss gentle. I slid my hand from her back to her side below her ribs and was wondering how I could continue into second when a girl's loud voice came from above, the third floor. Jackie and I separated. It was Maeve. Quick footsteps down the steps. On the landing outside our door she shouted, “Fuck you, Jimmy!” She ran down the steps and was gone.
Jackie shook her head. “I hope Maeve's okay. You think Jimmy . . .”
“She left too fast,” I assured Jackie. “And she wasn't crying.”
“He should get a girl at the South Bay Pub if he wants to get laid.”
“Fuhgeddabout him.” I leaned forward to kiss her, but she just stared down at the candle. We couldn't be sure about Maeve. On the block, a pregnant girl would be sent away for the duration, maybe kicked out of her home.
I tried to get Jackie's attention back. “You can trust me.”
With a crinkling of a smile, she said, “Yeah, novice priest, what were you up to when you did this?” She took my hand and slid it from her back to under her breast.
At least my clumsy move brought her lovely smile back.
She poked my chest. “It's the quiet ones speak with their hands that are dangerous.”
She was kidding, but it gave me an opportunity to turn Jimmy's loss into my gain. “If you don't trust me, tie my hands behind my back.”
She laughed and did her Italian wave off.
“For real,” I insisted. “With my shoelaces. Then there's no way I can cop a feel—you got no worries.” I silently prayed, puh-lease, Jackie.
She grinned. “Then I can do anything I want with you.”
Inwardly I bathed in sweet expectation. I undid one shoelace, handed it to her, turned, and put my hands behind me.
When I was eight, nine, I liked tying up girls, boys, and being tied up, not knowing why. At fourteen a girl had let me tie her hands and kiss her, sending a thrill all through me. [My stories posted here, “Captivated” and “Wrestling, a leather belt, and Colleen.”] Jackie was warm, lively, and open. I should have done the red-blooded, All-American right thing, and asked her to go out with me. Then, after awhile I could tell her about my tie-up thing and she could decide. But I felt too unwanted and fragile to take that first step, terrified of stumbling into hurt and heartache. Easier to wangle a tie-up and kiss.
Jackie wrapped the shoelace several times around my wrists and knotted it. I tested it; it was tight. I said, “Now you. I tie you up.”
“You're changin' the deal.”
“It's only fair,” I said. “And fun—lips only.”
“Afraid of me? What do you think I'm gonna do?” She put me in a headlock, gave me a noogie, and kissed the top of my head.
“See?” I said. “You're outta control.”
She unlaced my other shoe and put the lace in my bound hands. “How you gonna do this?”
“Turn around and put your hands behind you.” I made a loop in the shoelace and slid it over her hands. I pulled it tight as I could and tied a second loop, a granny knot, but it held.
We knelt and kissed. She looked so cute tied up on her knees, my awkwardness faded. But, we had to crane our necks like geese.
“Hold on.” I sat back against the alcove wall, legs stretched in front. She straddled me, and I pulled my knees up behind her, pushing her high and close. She bent down and sucked on my neck so long, I knew she'd given me a purple hickey.
“Gianna,” I whispered as we kissed. “Gee-ah-na, whoa oh,” I sang to the tune of “Volare.” I nuzzled her black curls. “I'm so glad you aren't another dishwater blonde. You're the most beautiful girl in Bay Ridge.”
“La ragazza piu bella di Bay Ridge,” Jackie said.
“Yeah, exackly.”
“Say it.”
It took a few times, but when I got it right, she kissed me hard. Soon afterwards at school, she told everyone she wanted to be called by her real name, Gianna.
“Lie down,” I said.
She lay on her back, sliding her hands a little to the side for comfort, and I lay next to her, my leg on hers. Now I could nuzzle and kiss below her ears, her eyelids, lips, and she slid her tongue against mine. She sighed into my mouth, a kind of humming I'd never heard before. I kissed her on the chin, the V below her neck, and finally on the swell of her breast. She watched with a smile, I took for approval. I slid on top of her. With my hands tied, my body pressed down on hers.
As we kissed, I felt a thrill so new and strange it was scary, crumbling my cautious make-out by numbers approach. I closed my eyes and just felt her move beneath me, the warmth of her mouth, the feel of her cheek, her breasts pulsing as she breathed.
She squirmed. Worried she was uncomfortable, I was about to slide to the floor, when she bit my lip and squirmed more. We swayed, communicating through a stroke of the cheek, brush on the neck, pressing and shifting thighs and hips, circling. At some point we fell in step and moved together, rolling like the tide.
Back then, sex education for Catholic kids was catechism and gutter rumors, isolating each of us in ignorance. No advice from an older married brother, to say nothing of Google and Internet porn. If we had known what we were doing and what to expect, we could have experienced this together. As it was, I knew Gianna was feeling it, but for me it was magical.
Afterwards, we peck kissed for a long time. Gianna looked questioningly into my eyes. “Terry?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you feel nasty?”
“No. I feel . . . wonderful.” Why was she even asking. “Don't you? Feel great?”
Her forehead creased in worry. “I dunno.”
“When we were . . .” I could tell from the way she kissed and moved how she felt.
“I know,” she moaned,” her voice pleading. “I felt great, too. Then. But now . . .”
“You ashamed?”
“Yeah.”
I rolled off her, helped her up with my shoulder, and sat beside her. I didn't believe in sin, but I didn't yet have the concept and words for a sin-free sexuality.“Your heart was pure before and it's pure now, Gianna.”
She was doubtful. “You think I should pray?”
I only wanted her to feel good about herself. “What we did feels good, so it's right.”
“That's not what they say. ”
We only had each other for answers. I scooted around. “Untie me.”
The candle burned out and the knot had tightened. Her fingers fumbled. I led her to the window where a chipped edge of the board let in a sliver of light from the street. We stood back to back and I untied her hands. As soon as she untied mine, I embraced her.
I said, “Don't let anyone make you feel bad about things you do.”
“It didn't feel wrong when we were doin' it,” she admitted.
“If deep down inside you, it feels right, it is right,” I said with as much certainty as I could muster. “Lead with your heart and your soul will follow.”
I don't know where that came from, but she put her arms around my neck and touched her forehead to mine. At first her lips felt tense; then her tongue let me know she felt good again. When she pulled away, she said, “I hope you're right. I gotta think about all this. ”
Think, not pray or ask. I felt she'd find her answer.
She smiled. “Don't become a priest, Terry.”
She didn't mean I was too nasty or opposed to Scripture to be ordained—she meant it would be a waste of my budding boyhood.
She crinkled her nose. “It's dark out. My mama will kill me.” She gave me a last, quick kiss, and trotted down the stairs.
The house was silent. Everyone else had left. I went up on the roof to lace my sneakers in the glow of the city.
I felt Gianna and I had shared a special moment, one that no other couple had experienced in exactly the same way. I'd been taught all sex before marriage was sinful, but I felt cleansed and renewed. Six stars shone in the dark sky, and streetlights sparkled on the murky Bay, like specks of hope and purity in the inky city night.

[brizz20]

Golly, this nearly got me cryin in the club right now. What a great story. Holy moly.

[jafib]

Beautiful!

Minor suggestions: I think it could use some paragraph breaks, and I couldn't find the point where her hands were freed ^^