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Journalism Monologue

Thank you. I know that must have been difficult for you to agree to. We can settle the details of the meeting later– that you will at all surprised me. I know you enjoy your solitude… Or at least, you find solace in it. To answer your question, your only question, I’m not sure how long I waited for Johnny. No clock was keeping the time and to me it felt like hours, but every minute seemed to drag. I really didn’t think he would come, even if he didn’t know that Joyce was away and I had given him their secret signal.

And then I thought of what you said about the possibility that another of Joyce’s boyfriends could show up at the window and if they did… Would I still let them in? A stranger? Who knows how many times Joyce has invited someone in while I was sleeping, and who knows how many men it could’ve been. Still… I tossed and turned, nude in Joyce’s bed, listening to that album play and wondering what my sister felt like when she was waiting for a visitor. Did she always feel this thrill, did her blood bubble beneath her skin? I felt hot, even in the cool of the room.

I wanted to open the window. If that wasn’t an open invitation to some nightly visitor, I don’t know what would be. But that felt like cheating somehow. I left it unlatched and nothing more. I closed my eyes and tried to laugh at myself for playing such a stupid, dangerous game… And then I heard a rap against the glass and I don’t think I can adequately describe how it made me shudder– it was the most complete and… somehow delicious feeling I think I’ve ever had up until that moment. It scared me and I couldn’t move, and I held the sheet tightly to me.

All I could see was a shadow at the window, but if I had my glasses on, he would know I was me and not Joyce. In the dark, in her bed, no glasses and posing salaciously as I was… As long as I didn’t say a word, he might not ever know who I was But I wasn’t going to answer. I knew I had taken it all too far and really, I had never dreamed that he would really come. I decided to just let him knock and hope that he went away… I pulled the sheet up to my neck and waited and then… I heard the window lift. So quiet, as though he must’ve opened dozens of windows in stealth.

I wanted to call out and tell him to leave, that I was just s pale imitation of my sister, a poor imposter… But all I could do was breathe. He climbed through the window and I wish I could’ve seen his expression because… I thought that he thought I was Joyce, but then he knelt down by the bed and I could feel him looking at me closely. He touched my hair, so tenderly it felt like a dream, and then he cupped my chin in his hand. I saw nothing but a blur, but I couldn’t help but smile. “Pretty,” he said, and his voice sounded a little strange, as though not being able to see him had more fully awoken my other senses.

I thought then that maybe he knew who I really was and I was about to apologize and ask him to leave, to never mention it again. But then he… He touched my lips, just as he had before. I was shaking, not just trembling but shivering hard. His fingertips were so light, and he traced my lips so softly that I could hardly bear it. “Very pretty,” he said, and then leaned down and kissed me. It was lik How do I describe it to you, that incredible feeling? Journalism doesn’t really allow for such detail and nuance, and what I felt seems to escape words.

Reporting the facts alone doesn’t do it justice. His lips were warm and somehow… knowledgable of me, and I didn’t care that his expertise was probably due to the dozens of girls he had seduced before. No, I had no illusions that he was mine alone but it didn’t matter. I think I understood Free Love then, and sharing, and how it made so much more sense to just give in to whoever was willing and just enjoy that experience without attaching an eternity of matrimony to it. Darning his socks and cooking a wholesome dinner for him were the farthest things from my mind.

He held me there and even though I had never kissed a man before, I knew just what to do; he was so patient with me, it made me wonder if he knew it was me and not Joyce and he just didn’t care. I was so caught up in it, that sweet way that his tongue flicked against me lips until he convinced me to part them, my eyes closed, that I didn’t realize that his other hand had taken the sheet from me and was slowly drawing it down. No one had ever I broke away and tried to bring it back to my throat, but he was insistent– gently so, but I knew he would win and to be perfectly honest…

We both wanted him to. He brought it down to my waist and left it there, and I burned in that bed as I could feel him looking at me. He either didn’t know or didn’t care that I wasn’t my sister. His face was a maddening blur but… a pleased one, I think. The way he looked at me… I felt like a work of art. Then he slid his hands up my sides, holding my ribs and I felt his nose in my hair, smelling it. It was strange but… It made me shiver. “Cold? ” he said, and I nodded, but I was anything but.

He laughed under his breath and I thought he sounded nervous; why, when he had been with who knows how many girls? Was it that he broke into the room, that he knew it was me and somehow being with me, the awkward maybe-pretty sister made his breath catch? I don’t know. He brought his hands to my breasts. His hands had fire in them, and he smeared it all over my skin. The weight of the sheet was suddenly unbearable and I wanted to kick it off but then what would he think of me? He cupped them and bounced them slowly and I felt wanton and lascivious and I didn’t care.

He kissed my cheek and I turned my face towards it, but all he did was laugh and I could feel him shaking his head. We were engaged in some strange game I didn’t know the rules to, but desperately wanted to learn. I held still like I thought he wanted, every nerve alighted, and he nuzzled my neck and kissed me there… Once, twice, I’m not sure how many times, and not some dry pecks but buttery, delightful, sensual kisses. I never knew that being kissed ther I totally unraveled, I think I said his name a few times until he quieted me with his mouth.

I had completely forgotten where I was, or that my father was sleeping just down the hall. I felt him shifting and then he was in the bed with me, the sheet separating us. His hands were so slow and deliberate, tracing circles across my sides and he dipped his head down, kissing between my breasts. I knew I should tell him then– that it was all a trick and that the only respectable course of action would be for him to go– but then he I’m sorry, I can’t Are you watching me wri I’m supposed to be working on an article– one that I only teased to Hopkins and he seemed really interested.

He said, if it turns out to be anything, that it could get me my own byline. Mrs. Stanford has been by twice asking if I needed any help and I quickly had to hide the diary under a heavy reference book and tell her that I’m fine. She wants to know where Fanny is; I forgot to return it. But she’s about to come by again and the library is about to close. I noticed Popular Mechanics hasn’t left its shelf all day. I need to go for now, but per our agreement, I’ll continue tomorrow. I won’t welch. Too much depends on it. But by the time I finish, this book might be the most lewd one on the shelf.

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