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“What’d she want?”
“Nothing.”
Ruth watched Idgie drive away down the impossibility-long driveway and kept watching long after her car was out of sight. Frank had gone back upstairs to continue getting dressed — presumably to go out and drink — but Ruth stayed there in the doorway, almost as if leaving would mean leaving behind the memory too.
And so she stood there, thinking about that summer with Idgie, a summer full of too many drinks, of late nights far too late to be proper, of flirting and teasing until there was no flirting and teasing, no more drinks, and the late night turning into early morning when it was just them and their bodies and breaths moving in sync.
It had gone on like that for weeks, between the secret moments shared in the heat of the afternoon sun and the not-so-secret looks across the dinner table that everyone pretended not to see.
Suddenly the house Frank had bought for her and her mother to live in was closing in on her and sucking the air out of her lungs. She opened the door and stepped onto the porch, hoping to catch the last whiff of Idgie’s scent — something, anything to confirm Idgie had actually been there — until her hands shook and her knees started to fail her. She caught herself enough to make it up to her room, away from everyone. She felt sick, the only cure for her illness driving in the opposite direction at her own insistence.
And then she imagines.
She imagines that Idgie’s famous stubbornness will get the best of her and she’ll turn back around.
This time she won’t ask Idgie to leave.
Frank will be gone for the night by then, and her mother will be in her own room on the other side of the house.
She doesn’t say anything when Idgie arrives, instead just meets her on the porch, opens the door, turns, guides Idgie forward again and again until she feels Idgie’s hand on her chest, and then they’re both falling, she into the armchair and Idgie onto the floor.
Young, sure hands smooth blue organdy and slowly uncover Ruth’s pale and bruised thighs. Their eyes lock. Ruth gives a small nod, and two sets of pupils dilate. A soft cry escapes her lips when she feels her underthings slide down her legs, taking her high heels with them, and suddenly Idgie’s mouth and tongue find what they both want most.
The room fills with heavy moans. Ruth’s fingers pull blonde curls, her heels dig into Idgie’s back. Swear words, words and sounds and curses she’s never heard from her own throat escape, Idgie’s arms wrapping around Ruth’s legs to pull her lower on the armchair. Ruth’s eyes roll in pleasure, her thighs rest on Idgie’s shoulders, her nails scratch at the old, cracked leather. And then she emits a louder moan, her nails digging into Idgie’s scalp, her hips bucking against wet lips.
A pause. Only the sounds of their heavy breathing can be heard — maybe too the sounds of their hearts beating. Idgie kneels in front of her, hands on her lover’s cheeks, their foreheads resting together. They share a tearful, meaningful look. They should feel guilty, shouldn’t they? Ruth isn’t sure.
Next they are walking up the stairs to the bedroom — Ruth’s bedroom, the one Frank corners her in when he’s in the mood to take her. The room where he leaves her to lie in her own blood and tears.
The guilt isn’t quite appeased, but asking Idgie to make love to her in that bed does seem to balance something out. Or begin to, anyway.
One hand grasps the other’s; Ruth’s free hand reaches down and unbuttons Idgie’s pants and tugs them down. Ruth steps away, walking to the bed, biting her lip and beckoning Idgie to follow. They don’t say a word when Idgie sits down in the middle, helping Ruth undo the final buttons that let the organdy dress fall free. As it does, Idgie reaches behind, unhooking an eyelet in an easy, practiced twist. Shaky fingers nearly rip the buttons off the men’s dress shirt; Ruth’s frenzied hands damn near burn holes through the undershirt in their haste to reach skin.
Ruth crawls onto the bed and straddles the younger woman, wrapping fingers around golden rivulets. She feels a small hand moving down her stomach, fingers tangling in a patch of wiry hair. Ruth guides the hand, moaning, moving lower until her lover is inside, all the way in but it’s not enough. Ruth feels Idgie pull back, insert more fingers, and revels in the accompanying stretch. Still not enough, though: Ruth needs it to hurt. She needs reminding she is wrong, this is wrong, everything is wrong. Pain is love, God loves her so much he sent Frank to remind her that the love she has for Idgie that seeps through her skin is a sin. The pain can save her — but maybe not tonight, not with that very woman soaking herself back under Ruth’s skin and into her bones, and it doesn’t hurt a bit.
She moves up and down, slowly, then faster, looking for the pain of the stretch but can’t find it. Not from Idgie’s hands. She feels a free hand slide down the curve of her back, a mouth biting down on the soft flesh of her cleavage.
And it’s exactly what Ruth wants. She releases a loud cry, a petition for Idgie to continue. And she does: Idgie’s always had a hard time saying no to Ruth. She bites all over her cleavage, her neck, her throat, her collarbone, on her shoulders. Still no pain. A sure sign this is a sin. Ruth relishes the feeling of their sweat mixing on one another’s skin, the heady scent of their lovemaking engulfing the room, the sounds of moans growing louder and louder, pants, sighs, cries for more. She feels the ache between her legs about to turn into pure ecstasy, when suddenly it’s gone. She gasps as she is pushed on the bed, now lying on her back. Her legs are now up on top of Idgie’s shoulders, her body hopeless at the mercy of her lover, her wetness dripping down onto the bedsheets and onto Idgie’s thigh.
She feels fingers inside her again, in and out so roughly that she’s sure it will finally hurt. And the pain, that pain she needs so much, that pain that will balance the sin, the pain that could overshadow Idgie’s touch that is bringing her so high that she can’t remember her own name anymore, it’s nowhere to be found. She reaches out to touch Idgie, but she’s too far away, and then a stretch, and now Idgie is hovering over her, only centimeters from her face. They kiss and revel in the taste of each other’s panting breaths. Ruth’s arms wrap around Idgie’s back, her fingernails leaving marks, she’s sure of it. Her hands move up to the base of Idgie’s neck, lightly pulling her blonde curls and holding her close. More panting, sweat covering Idgie’s undershirt, a carnal want to lick away the sweat dripping down Idgie’s neck and between her breasts. Idgie’s hand sneaks between them, groping her, squeezing, tweaking, gently pulling. And it doesn’t hurt, it really doesn’t, and she knows that’s exactly why she shouldn’t — but God she loves it. Love without pain, is there such a thing? She groans and grunts in pleasure, seeing the moon and the stars, every constellation and planet in her mind, her universe spinning around them for many seconds. Her body keens up against Idgie’s, almost off the bed entirely, she shakes, she moans, she pants and sighs, and Idgie is holding her and keeping her safe the entire time until she has no energy anymore and falls backward on the bed, still in Idgie’s arms.
Eventually she feels Idgie’s small hands helping her out of the misplaced clothes, freeing her from their gentle grip. Idgie does the same with her own clothes, taking them off, leaving them on the floor, reaching for Ruth to hold in her arms.
And they wrap around her, and oh, it simply feels so good. Ruth is safe, she is protected, she doesn’t need anything else. She closes her eyes and breathes out, face buried on Idgie’s bare chest, heat shared by their bodies as they quickly drift to sleep. The guilt is no longer there, and in the moment she forgets it will come back, and dreams of happiness and peace, of the feeling of Idgie next to her.
Ruth awakened in the morning, her sheets and her fingers sticky, her panties still moist. For a blissful moment she forgot it had just been a fantasy, and the pain of the realization hurt more than anything Frank could ever do to her. She stood in front of the mirror, willing marks on her body from Idgie’s mouth and hands to witness that it hadn’t been a dream, but she only saw what he had done to her, what he would continue to do to her, and the lingering absence of Idgie.