The Tally

However, Lucinda was more of a challenge than even Amy could crack. However much she pleaded and begged and cajoled, Lucinda was steadily adamant that sex on stage was one thing, but off-stage was another. “I mean, don’t you have any other girlfriends you can spend the night with?” Lucinda inquired ingenuously a few days later.

Amy sighed resignedly. She’d already resorted to having a night with the pesky Candy on an evening when her disappointment at not bedding Lucinda had most distressed her. Not that Candy was that bad. She had a lovely smooth crotch and was always very energetic, but sex with her in no way improved her total and was not really what she was looking for.

And at the same time, sex on stage was just as passionate and orgasmic as ever. Amy found herself particularly looking forward to these moments of ecstasy more than the sex she had in the evening in the comfort and luxury of her bed in her luxurious apartment with whoever it was that she’d picked up for the evening. But she found she was taking out her frustration in Lucinda’s rejection in harder and more aggressive sex. She pissed on Lucinda one evening, even though it wasn’t in the script. She forced her fist deep inside Lucinda’s vagina until the girl squirmed. She nibbled and bit her clitoris and nipples while Lucinda gasped as much from pain, if not more so, than for pleasure. She pushed larger and larger dildos into Lucinda’s orifices to the amazement and satisfaction of the audience who cheered loudly at the extent of the punishment that was being displayed.

Amy even tried to tempt Lucinda back with the promise of an evening out with no sex at all, but Lucinda wasn’t having any of it. “Much as I like you, Amy,” she said, wiping the mascara off her face,” I just don’t trust you. As soon as you can, you’ll find an excuse to go back to your apartment, and then you’ll slip off your clothes, lock the door and try seducing me. I’m afraid that’s a temptation, I’d rather not have to face.”

Amy blushed. That was precisely what she’d intended to do. She’d even rehearsed her lines.

“Please just accept that I don’t want to have sex with you anywhere but on the stage,” Lucinda continued severely. “My body and soul belongs elsewhere. Sex is not something for me that I intend to enjoy other than on the stage.”

But Amy was obsessed. And she’d never been obsessed before. Not since she was a schoolgirl and had a crush on her Chemistry teacher, who when they’d finally got together turned out to be such a horrible disappointment. But she was sure that Lucinda wouldn’t be a disappointment. And she found her thinking about the girl all the time, even when she was enjoying sex with other people. In fact, one day on stage, as Lucinda’s tongue probed her vagina and her fingers her breasts, she found herself saying out loud: “I love you! I love you!” And then hoping no one had heard. Sex on stage was one thing. Love was quite definitely another.

But she was in love. She even got to love Lucinda’s appalling taste in clothes. The very frumpishness and plainness of it was in itself a cause for celebration. She would look longingly at Lucinda, at her scrubbed face and tied-back hair, imagining the two of them on her mattress, while she confessed her love and divulged the truth of her diary-keeping. And then the two of them would entwine lengthwise on the bed, arms and legs interlocked, as she would confess all her secrets and her longings. And soon the sun would rise and shine on the two of them, lying in serene bliss, and Amy would never need to make love to anyone else. Well, not for a few days anyway.

And her diary would read ‘1F. 10/10.Heavenly!’

And so it was, after an afternoon session, that Amy actually followed Lucinda out of the building, keeping her distance so that Lucinda wouldn’t see her trailing her, although a girl like her, in her thigh-length boots and skin-tight dress was not going to be the sort to merge unnoticed in any crowd. And Lucinda led her on such a long trail uptown. Several stops on the subway, past several dismal blocks of decrepit apartments, around the back of a depressing paint factory and then to a large Catholic church which Amy could see Lucinda enter.

Amy very rarely went into churches. In fact, never at all as a rule. And a Roman Catholic one. Well! What would her Calvinist father have thought? But Amy hurried in and found herself alone. It was forbidding and to Amy not at all welcoming. All around were paintings and sculptures and carved crucifixes and row upon row of pews, but no sign of Lucinda. She had vanished altogether. Amy cursed herself. Clearly, Lucinda had seen Amy behind her and had taken the opportunity to slip into a church just to get away from her.

Amy left the church, lit a cigarette and sat on a bench in the church grounds reflecting on the futility of her passion and making plans for the rest of the day. Perhaps she’d go to a bar. Pick up a couple of men. Have a good fuck somewhere. She noticed rather a few people around her, mostly men, dressed in very poor quality clothes. In fact, some of them were distinctly ragged. Couldn’t they afford anything better? But then she spotted a sign. ‘Soup Kitchen’ it read. What did that mean? Was it some kind of rock club or a strange kind of café.

But, no, it was actually a place for vagrants to gather to be fed soup and bread and whatever. Fuck! How sordid! Amy sat on the bench fascinated. Poverty was something she’d never really known, and she’d often been disgusted by the sight of beggars and the like on the subway. However, there was a bit of excitement amongst the vagrants who all gathered by a door at the side of the church. And then a rather elderly nun appeared carrying a large cauldron, which she placed on the ground. Like feeding animals at the zoo, thought Amy sourly, as a couple of other nuns emerged behind the first nun carrying cups and some clear plastic bags full of sandwiches.

The nuns weren’t so bad looking. Quite thin, and from what Amy could see, probably quite attractive underneath their gowns. And then one of them looked up in her direction, and with a start Amy now understood. That sweet face. That strange slightly beatific smile. Lucinda was a nun.

Amy glanced at a carved crucifix over the church sign, in the afternoon shadow of the church itself. Now she knew, and the sadness and waste of it hurt her. Now she knew to whom Lucinda’s body and soul belonged.