Free Stripped Down by Tristan Taormino

The minute she opened the door I was immediately reminded of what attracted me to her from the beginning: the blue eyes, dark spiky hair, small sturdy body, and the perfectly round bottom covered in baggy jeans. I wanted to turn her around and smack her ass, but we hadn’t seen each other in over two months and had more pressing things to get over first.
    After the awkward “Hello” hug, we sat down at her kitchen table for the lasagna, which she had baked to perfection and served with a crisp salad and warm bread. I’d almost forgotten what a good cook she was. Almost forgotten that on our first date, Kate had described herself as a domestic butch.
    â€œI like to cook,” she had said.

    â€œAnd I like to eat,” I answered before pushing her down on the bed.
    When we were finished with the lasagna, we moved into the living room where we sat on separate parts of her sectional couch to watch the DVD. It doesn’t matter what the movie was, and I can’t remember it one bit. But I found myself trying to figure out a way to smoothly move myself onto her section of the couch. Maybe if I stretched out far enough, I would touch her leg. I tried this several times but couldn’t completely work it. The last time I sat on this couch with her, she lay across my knee as I smacked her fleshy cheeks with a paddle. I’d worked it into a good rhythm, moving from one red-welted cheek to another with an intensity that almost scared me.
    â€œBaby, I don’t think I can take anymore,” Kate cried.
    â€œOh, you’re going to take it.” I picked up the rhythm.
    â€œIt feels so good,” she acquiesced.
    â€œI bet it does.” I continued smacking.
    But that night I kept my distance as she didn’t seem too interested in crossing over onto my area of the couch.
    Following the movie, we stood in her doorway for the goodbye.
    â€œIt’s late,” I said, looking at the clock on the wall.
    â€œWhat do you mean by that?” she asked cautiously.
    I reached out and touched her hand—I couldn’t help myself. When she touched me back, it was obvious we were both under the spell of the familiar.
    â€œI mean it’s past midnight,” I offered.
    â€œDoes that mean you want to stay over?” Kate asked.
    â€œDo you want me to?”
    â€œIf you want to.”
    â€œAre you sure?”

    â€œYeah, it’s too late. The bus is weird now.”
    â€œI can sleep on the couch.”
    â€œYou don’t have to do that.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œYes.”
    Kate handed me my favorite red flannel pajamas. The ones I’d always worn when I stayed over during our two year relationship. They were soft and warm and as soon as they were in my hands, I realized how much I’d missed them. Or perhaps I’d just missed her. I went into the bathroom to change. Just a few months prior, I would have disrobed right in the middle of the living room, but since we were broken up I felt self-conscious. I was surprised that she had even kept the pajamas; I was even more surprised to find my pink toothbrush waiting for me in her medicine cabinet in the same spot I had always kept it. But then her toothbrush was still in my cabinet, too. I didn’t want to throw it out. “Lesbian couples never really break up,” someone said to me years ago, “they just find new ways to be co-dependent.” I never thought that was true. I’m not one of those people who could be friends with my exes, so this was new territory for me.
    Kate’s new girl made her presence known in the bathroom as well. There was an unfamiliar hair product sitting out on the sink next to expensive loose powder. On the shelf above were two tacky hair accessories with long strands of blonde hair still attached. I picked up one of the barrettes and studied the specimen. I could tell by the way the hair caught the light that the other girl was a natural blonde. Kate