Home / Confessions / My Three Jessicas

My Three Jessicas

By on May 26, 2014

Eight months or so later, I am still living in my first place, a pool house in bohemian Laurel Canyon (its own Anatevka). The owner, whom I knew before, is a successful screenwriter now working in Europe; he comes back every few months to make his Hollywood rounds, and stays in the main house. I look after the house, and most importantly, his dog. Although the pool house is one tiny room — with a bathroom slightly larger than an airplane’s and kitchen that is a hot plate, a microwave and small fridge – and is smaller than a studio apartment in Manhattan, there is a pool five feet out the door. It is nestled into a California canyon, with jacaranda and orange trees. I used to hear boom-boxes blasting outside my window on 112th street, and a cop was once killed around the corner. In Laurel Canyon, all I hear at night are coyotes. I can leave my doors unlocked. I can swim naked, morning and evening.

One sunny morning in early summer, my phone rings. It is Jessie S. She is in town, nearby even, wants to see me, how about now, this afternoon? My insides are instantly aflutter, and my sap is off and running. Sure, I tell her, and I also have a pool if you want to swim. She loves the sound of that. “I’ll go buy a bathing suit.”

I have no memory of what occurred during the next several hours, as I waited for Jessie. I pace around the pool, the thought of her driving up the hill toward me, right now, brings back that old tremble. I hear a car pull up and park. She opens the outside gate and walks smoothly toward me, smiling broadly, looking great in the perfectly dappled sunshine.

We hug tightly, as both friends and lovers might. She kisses me on the mouth, hard but not open, and then says, “I’m engaged!”

That is a stab I feel. She is clearly happy, glowing even. Strangely, or not, my tremble does not lessen. I should be floored or angry, or thrilled for her, or something, anything. But I am not. Lust and desire and wanting every inch of her is all I feel. His name is Chris. “He was my date that night at the birthday party downtown. He’s meeting a client down on Melrose. Can I call him and tell him he can come up when he’s done. Is that okay?”

“Of course.” She calls him, gives him the directions I had given her. She is wearing her new bathing suit under her clothes, so she strips them off, talking non-stop as she does, about what I do not hear. Her body is so close to being naked, outlined so snugly, I can feel every inch of it all over again. I had known everything of her that was now hidden. I clench my hands to keep them from twitching, as my skin quivers. One of my knees actually buckles.

“You alright?” she giggles. She knows the answer to that or else she doesn’t want to know. I just look at her, and she can certainly see it in my eyes. She takes a step back.

“It would be fun to be all sexy with you, J. It really would. I would like to. But I can’t.”

Jessie S. turns away from me and dives into the pool. Droplets from her splash land on me, and run down my arms. I slowly sit down and dip my feet in the water, as Jessie does a leisurely and serene backstroke across the expanse between us.

…

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5

Jewrotica is a spankin' new project with the power to provide a voice for Jewish sexual expression and meaningful conversation. Jewrotica is an online community-in-the-making and a database of delicious and grin-inducing Jewish stories and confessions. Join us!
Related Items