Author: Pete Milan
He doesn't know that I watch him.
I slipped into the back of the Stable, my hair covered by a baseball cap, wearing dark glasses... though the first time I tried that, I tripped and knocked over one table's pitcher of margaritas. Which are surprisingly expensive, by the way.
I took a seat at a secluded table, the one with the overhead light burnt out, and almost immediately my hands were fidgeting, playing with my drink, scrunching the straw between my fingers, drumming the table, anything to take my mind off what I was doing.
Which was coming to a sleazy male strip joint to get a cheap thrill off watching my best friend dance nearly-naked.
You can dress that up, but that's what it is. I was there to watch Xander dance.
Nearly naked.
And it is thrilling. That's the worst part. Ever since that night, when he told me the truth about how he felt...those old feelings came bubbling to the surface.
Giddiness.
Affection.
Lo--
Lust.
Words are powerful, you know. Ask any witch. The wrong syllable can change your levitation spell into a conflagration spell...so you'll have to excuse me if I don't use that other "L" word for Xander just now.
I can't.
Saying it might make it real.
So, the other "L" word. Lust.
Lust lust lust.
You know, I never really thought of him as a lust object. I know it's odd to say, seeing as how I was in--considering how I felt all those years. But you understand, it was never really about that...he made me happy.
He makes me happy, just by being around, being who he is. When we were growing up, he was gawky and...he has these big ears that look so cute on him...and I dreamed of his kiss, because of what it would mean, but lust? Not really.
No, that I blame on our nation's Speedo manufacturers and tuxedo purveyors.
It's not like I saw him in a new light when I saw him in the Speedo, or the tux...it's more like they just framed him better. They sharpened him, focused him, so that all I could see was him.
Weird. Two different garments did that for him...and now no garments are doing it again. Of course, he does wear the Speedo most nights.
The music started, a slow, bluesy sort of thing with sad guitars...and then there he was. The costume...well, wasn't. He was wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. His feet were naked...which I realize is an odd way of putting it. He looked for all the world like he'd just come downstairs from his room, which just made it all the more erotic for me.
The lyrics went something like this:
Are you back in my life to stay?
Or is it just for today that you need me?
When I heard that, it send a jangle of fear running through me, because...and I realize I may have been reading too much into it...they sounded like they were directed at me. I looked around; was I visible to him, all the way back here? I couldn't be. He couldn't possibly recognize me.
Of course, then he took his shirt off and I stopped paying attention to anything else.
Now he was bare-chested, bare-footed, nothing protecting him from the elements but a few feet of denim. And something underneath.
Hopefully.
I wonder if he ever gets completely naked up there. Do they allow that, or is there that weird zoning thing? I think there's some kind of law that prohibits drinking liquor and exposed genitalia in the same room. Something like that.
And I honestly don't know if I'm relieved by that or not.
I think I'd really like to see him naked.
No, no, no, that's wrong. Totally wrong! Morally wrong, I mean.
I would really like to not be confused anymore...for a moment, as Xander accepted a donation from one of the ladies down front, I heard the lyrics again:
Be for real, won't you baby?
Be for real, won't you baby?
You see I, I don't want
To be hurt by love again...
Does he know I come to see him?
If he does, does that bother me?
Then, he slid the jeans down over his hips, revealing...it was so tiny, I don't think it even qualified as clothing. It hid his...what does it mean that I can't even think about it without blushing? He was covered in the front. (I'm not going to get into size issues.) Then he turned around, and from the back...there was a little string running across his waist, and aside from that, nothing.
Naked.
...
He looks good.
Not just physically, I mean, because when he turns around, he looks confident somehow. In control. He claims that he hates doing this, but he's very good at it.
And he's beautiful.
...
I have to stop talking about this now.
***********
I'm back. Tara's asleep now. My little sleeping beauty. Sometimes, I think about how unlikely it was for the two of us to meet and fall in love, and I feel...blessed is the only way to put it.
I love her. I love her so much, as much as I've ever loved anybody, which is why what's going on now is so terrible. I don't want to hurt her. I don't ever want to hurt her.
It would be so easy to hurt her, because she's so innocent...she seems that way, anyway. I've never felt this kind of complete trust from someone before; even when I was with Oz, I'd get nervous sometimes, worried that he'd grow bored with the little geek girl, worried that one day I wouldn't be enough.
Of course, I was right...sorry. Slight bitter attack.
I love the way she sleeps. As pretty as she is in the light of day, I think she's the most beautiful at night, lying in my arms. She sleeps naked, which took a little getting used to...I'm just not as comfortable with my body as she is. Now it comes naturally.
I remember our first night together in this house. We dimmed the lights and brought out our candle--the candle I brought her the night Oz left--and slipped out of our clothes to perform a tribute to Persephone... it was a skyclad ritual, which means naked, or under a loose robe if it's cold out, since these are generally supposed to be performed outside. We did the ritual in the nude, and I don't think my hands have shook that much in years...I could barely see her in the orange, dancing light, but what I could see I wanted to touch.
That frightened me, a little. Well, "frightened" is the wrong word. I guess "thrilled" fits better. It was scary but wonderful at the same time...
When we finished the spell, I immediately wrapped a robe around myself, but Tara didn't. She puttered around the room, putting things away, naked as a jaybird...she's so cute! She's adorably shy around other people, but when it's just the two of us, she's adorably not.
Digression: Where exactly did the phase "naked as a jaybird" come from anyway? Are the other birds wearing three-piece suits and dresses and stuff, and the jaybirds are, what, the hippies of the bird world?
I've got nudity on the brain lately, don't I?
Anyway, it's really hot tonight, so we're lying above the covers. I love spooning with her, the feeling of my breasts pressed against her wonderful back, one hand on her tummy, the other hand high above my head. I've never been able to figure out where to put that hand when sleeping in that position. It's okay, though; we usually switch off night by night.
I wonder how Xander does in that position...
Damn. Didn't even realize I was going to write that.
For the first time, I wish that Anya were here...maybe she'd, I don't know, distract him or something. Get his mind off me.
Well, maybe not Anya...I almost wish that big fight I had with Xander had gone on longer, so I could yell at him about Anya. I don't understand how he can hate Angel so much for turning into Angelus, yet Anya, who's always been Anya, tried to kill me and all of our friends, and he doesn't seem to have a problem with that.
Tara just snuffled in her sleep. I'm looking at her now, lying on her side, her arms hugging a pillow, her mouth slightly open and her hair falling all around her face...
...and I'm thinking of Xander, and I shouldn't be.
I'll be back later.
*********
I haven't told you about the dream yet.
It's a recurring dream, though I thought it was gone for good...
Maybe that's what me and Xander are. A recurring dream. Our subconscious keeps trying to tell us something we deny in the light of day.
Anyway, I used to have this dream a lot, mostly during senior year. Then it went away, but for the past couple of weeks, I've returned to it over and over...I haven't mentioned it, because I'm not sure what it means.
No. I tell a lie. I do know what it means. I just don't want to deal with it.
Tara just snuffled again.
Okay. Here's how it goes...
***********
"There's a place in my head where it's always October."
I don't think that so much as I hear it. When I open my eyes, I'm in my underwear. It takes me a moment to realize that I'm in my room at home, behind a dressing screen.
It's that night.
The night of the fl--
The kiss.
Xander is out there, saying something about his cousin Rigby...and then the big dope starts asking questions about Oz. Why does he do that? Does he really want to know? He should teach courses in Saying The Wrong Thing 101, I swear...
I tell him it's none of his business, and my hands reach out for The Evil Black Dress. Well, what else should I call it? Clearly it had special powers. Xander never tried to kiss me any other time, did he?
Well, I can't blame the dress, anymore than I could blame the Speedo...
Or the tux.
I step out into the open and I see him. He looks like...he looks like what men are supposed to look like in tuxedos. He looks dashing. Gallant. Sexy.
Really very sexy.
But even better is the look in his eyes as he stares at me, taking me in, and I can say that because he is taking me in. He's not even attempting to disguise the fact, which is wonderful and very, very bad.
Then he says something about Oz being lucky. I'd scream at him to shut up if I weren't too busy gazing at him...instead, I babble out something about Cordelia, which makes me just as bad as he is, I guess.
As we approach each other, I realize I don't know how to dance...I'd like to say that this was a cunning plan to end up in his arms, but the truth is, the sad little geek girl in me took over. I could see a picture in my mind of me reduced to tears by lack of dancing ability...Oz pointing and laughing at me...a bucket of pig's blood landing on my head...
I have a vivid imagination.
He opens his arms, an invitation to the dance, and we start to move together, and I am suddenly very, very warm. So is he.
And then...we look at each other...and it happens.
Oh, it happens, it finally happens!
And it's so wrong and bad and we're both horrible, horrible people but for a moment I don't care, I just don't care, it's Xander and he's kissing me and I'm kissing him and what feels like electricity is flowing through me and all my hair is standing on end and...
And then we realize what we're doing.
And we panic.
And I call it a fluke.
He stammers out some words and I stammer out some of my own and he practically runs out of the house, and I lay down on my bed, and I just want to die...because I've done something terrible, because I've betrayed Oz...
...and because what just happened was not by chance. Because I welcomed it.
Because I wanted it.
And so did he.
************
Sometimes the dream takes a left turn and instead of running away, we go further, pulling off clothes...a little hormonal, that. Sometimes Oz or Cordelia burst in on us and I wake up feeling guilty.
But most of the time, the kiss just keeps going...and those are the best. Those are the mornings where I wake up with a kind of sweet melancholy, like I'm happy to be sad.
Gotta go.
************
All right. I'm back. It's morning.
Tara's in the shower now. I was writing for a while; she stirred out of her sleep, which is kind of odd for her, and snuggled up against me...
Making love to her is nothing like making love to Oz (besides the obvious differences). It's so...slow. I don't mean boring slow. I mean sometimes all we do is kiss, because that's enough. When we make love, we have all the time in the world.
When we started, kissing was almost all we did do...it took me a while to be comfortable with making love to another woman, but now...I don't want to say it's better than making love to a man. It's just different. In a good way.
I've heard Anya talk about Xander's sex technique, despite my efforts not to. It's all she ever talks about. I don't know specifics (you know, length, girth, but that thing he was wearing the other night gives me a good idea); I do know that Anya uses the words marathon and stamina a lot.
This is driving me crazy.
I love Tara. Tara's my girlfriend. Tara loves me back. Tara's always there for me.
And Xander...he's my best friend. He's always there for me. He's the most--well, no, he's not more important than--
...
I love him.
I mean, I truly, truly love Tara, with all my heart...except that I love him too.
I love Xander Harris.
There. I admitted it.
So what do I do now?
**************
So what do I do now?
That sentence was at the bottom of the page. There were a few doodles in the margins, as though the author was trying to figure out that question for herself...but in the end, all there was was a tiny little "W.R." by way of a signature.
Tara closed the diary. She looked at it for a moment, her brow furrowed with worry. Then, with a wave of her fingers, the lock clamped shut, and she stuffed it back beneath Willow's mattress. She lay down on the bed, thinking.
What did happen now?
The door opened and Willow entered, rubbing her hair with a towel.
"Hey," she said softly.
"Hi," Tara replied. "G-good shower?"
"As showers go," Willow replied. She clicked off the lights, slipped out of her robe and jumped under the covers. "Long day..."
"Yeah," Tara replied. "Are you gonna go to sleep?"
"Not right away," Willow said, cuddling close to Tara. Their lips met, making quiet sounds in the dark.
"Tara?" Willow said.
"Yeah?"
Willow ran a hand gently through Tara's hair.
"You know I love you, right?" she asked.
There was a brief moment of quiet.
"Yeah," Tara finally said. "I know."
************
Your pillow's soft, your bed is warm
Your eyes are tired when day is done
One more kiss and you'll be gone
On your way to Dreamland.
--Mary Chapin Carpenter