28. Noa #2
After throwing out enough guesses to get us to the front of the line, Aarti orders for both of us. When the sandwiches arrive–towering pastrami monuments–she turns to me.
“Let’s find a seat and stuff our faces. We’ve gotta fuel ourselves enough to stay up past midnight.”
My face lights up. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?
“Well, well, well, look who’s a real fan now,” Aarti chuckles.
Half an hour later, we’re stuffed full of fresh rye, pastrami, and pickles. We set out on our much-needed walk uptown to Rockefeller Plaza. Aarti grabs my hand, hurrying me along in a tight jaywalk, but doesn’t let go. I stare down at our hands then back at her.
She shrugs. “One of the reasons I love New York is because no one cares here. They all mind their own business, too busy to give a fuck about some D-list celebrity who may or may not be gay.”
“It’s a place where you can be yourself,” I observe. “Feel normal?”
“Where I can partake in one of my favorite hobbies–crying on the subway in broad daylight–and no one blinks an eye.”
“That sounds… kinda depressing?”
“We’ll try it someday, you’ll see.”
My heart flutters. Someday.
Midnight Live is better than I could have imagined. Aarti gives me a tour behind the scenes, and I can tell from the looks we get that this is a privileged experience reserved only for a former cast member and her plus-one.
I get to see the writers’ rooms and am able to point out the editing bays like a real pro, though they’re slightly less sexy than CBT’s, if I do say so myself.
On the tenth floor, there’s a small museum of famous characters and their costumes, including Aarti’s King Louis.
I get to meet the current cast, plus the head honcho himself, Larry Michelson.
“I knew you’d be big-time someday, kid,” he says to Aarti with a pat on the back. “While you’re here, think you could step in for the cold open?”
I watch from the front row as Aarti performs like it’s second nature, reading her singular line of “That’s an awful lot of blood, Mr. President,” from the cue cards.
When she returns to sit by me, our knees press together in the dark until curtain call, when she hops back onstage to a standing ovation.
We make it out of the theater well past one a.m., wandering hand-in-hand back to our hotel.
“Sorry I got a bit social back there,” she says.
“No!” I gasp. “That was–this whole night was an incredible experience. Thanks for sharing your old stomping grounds with me.”
She smiles and, right there, for all of Manhattan to see, plants a kiss on my lips. I feel the blush tinge my face. As we pull apart, I glance around–she’s right about this city, there’s not a soul looking at us.
“More where that came from,” she promises.
We arrive back at the hotel, our rooms across the hall from one another.
She leans against her door. “It really is more for show, the two rooms of it all…”
I can’t hide the smile on my face as I take her outstretched hand.
Aarti’s opulent suite feels like stepping into another era.
The marble bathroom alone is larger than my entire apartment, housing a clawfoot tub with corner seats that could easily fit three lumberjacks (a valid form of measurement when you’re from the Pacific Northwest) and a crystal chandelier casting kaleidoscopic shadows across the coffered ceiling.
“This is ridiculous,” I breathe, running my fingers along the gold-veined marble.
“Ridiculously perfect,” Aarti amends, already turning the ornate brass faucets. Steam rises as the tub fills, and she adds a generous pour from one of the complimentary bath oils. The scent of bergamot and sandalwood fills the air.
How lucky am I? I marvel. This comedy queen whose flawless smile graces billboards all over the city, who gets standing ovations just for showing up. And here she is, running a bath for us , and–my-oh-my–slipping her blouse over her head.
I step forward to help her pull the silky button-down off, revealing a lacy lavender bra. I unhook the clasp while staring up into her twinkling eyes. When I set her perky tits free, my breath hitches and I lean in to suck first one nipple, then the other, feeling them pebble on my tongue.
While I kiss and tease her breasts, she unbuttons her pants and slides them off.
I pause my ministrations only to rapidly undress myself, taking in her matching lavender thong with…
what is that? I get on my knees in front of her and confirm my suspicions.
The darker purple on her panties is her arousal seeping through, summoning me like a siren’s call.
“What are you–ah…” she trails off as I run the flat of my tongue over the damp lace, teasing out my first taste of her, struggling to pace myself.
Everything I’ve ever learned about developing one’s palate is about being methodical, experiencing new flavors slowly so as to pick up on the subtleties and nuances.
But right now, it’s truly a feat of self-denial that I’m not devouring her with abandon.
Even through the fabric, I wish I could bottle the honey and peach and orange blossom of Aarti Nair and taste it on everything, cover myself in her scent, always and forever.
My hands trace the waistband of her thong until they find their way around the plumpness of her ass, squeezing her cheeks as I straighten my tongue and use it to shove her panties aside, exposing her dripping pussy at long last.
Her fingers wrap in my curls with intensifying urgency as my mouth suctions over her swollen clit.
Slow, slow, slow. I have to keep checking myself. I want to tantalize her. As much as I want to take it fast, I want her as urgent as possible. I want to leave an impression.
So I pull my mouth back, releasing the suction entirely. She wiggles her hips, pushing her pussy closer to me with a sexy little groan of frustration.
I answer her with a firm kiss planted over her lush wet opening, helping myself to another taste of her exquisite jus before pulling away once more, sneaking a peek up at her.
She meets my gaze with a playful pout, but her glazed eyes and blown pupils tell me my edging is not all that bad. Which gives me an idea.
I pull the plug on the tub for thirty seconds, letting a few inches of water drain as Aarti looks on, confused but too dazed to interrupt.
Then I jut my chin. “Go sit?” Yes, even my commands in bed are questions. I’ve never claimed to be a top, just a bottom eager to devour and tantalize and claim.
Aarti nods at my request and climbs into the steaming bath, lowering herself onto the raised corner seat.
Perfect . Her pussy is exposed while her spread legs relax underwater.
I climb in after her, kneeling in the tub, unable to hide my fleeting wince at the hard ceramic.
Her brows furrow and she reaches to grab a folded towel.
“Knees,” she states plainly. I take the towel and tuck it beneath me in the water, breathing a sigh of relief at the cushioning.
“Where were we?” I tease her. She huffs and toys with her perfect nipples, putting on a show.
I click my tongue at her brashness, but my playful admonishment doesn’t hold much weight as I lose all self-control again and dive into her pussy with the ferocity I’ve been attempting to restrain.
And thank god I do, because as I push my tongue into her tight tunnel and nuzzle her pulsing clit with my nose, she starts moaning at a brand new octave.
Suddenly, there’s nothing I want to chase more than the desperation and unbiddenness of her cries.
I can tell she’s getting close when her hands abandon her nipples and return to tug on my curls with urgency. Her hips dance of their own accord, and she’s saying my name over and over again like an incantation to bridge the final gap between her arousal and its crescendo.
“Noa Noa Noa NOA!” she chants, legs and hands and fingers twisting and twitching until a grand shudder overtakes her entire body and the sweetest culmination of every flavor I’ve tasted from her tonight arrives on my tongue.
And suddenly, without stimulation from anything but my own thighs pressing together, I’m cumming too, unable to maintain the suction of my mouth catching her final drops as I moan into her thigh.
As soon as she realizes what’s happening, she strokes my head as I shake and groan against her, still kneeling.
When my quakes subside, I look up at her sheepishly. “I didn’t realize…”
Aarti scoffs in kindly disbelief. “Don’t you dare apologize for cumming hands-free while giving me the most mind-blowing orgasm of my entire life. That was… that was insanely hot. Is that… does that happen a lot?”
I shake my head hazily. “I… never in my life,” I admit.
“Well, alright then.” Aarti’s mouth quirks with a hint of pride. “Get up here, please.”
I scoot between her knees and she wraps her hands around my face and kisses me deep and long, her tongue exploring my mouth, tasting herself on me.
We stay like that for a while, time slipping by unnoticed as our tongues dance, making out like teenagers in a backseat, no further agenda but to stay this close for as long as possible.
Eventually, we pull apart, breathless. We hop into the shower and take turns washing each other's hair, Aarti turning my wet curls into a sudsy mountain, while I turn her long locks into a bona fide George Washington.
Bundled up in the hotel's waffle-knit robes, we settle in to watch Mean Girls , curled against each other.
For a moment, I believe this is our life.
Our real life that will go on and on even after we return home to LA.
“I feel like Regina and Cady are into each other,” I posit as the cafeteria scene plays out. “Is that crazy?”
Aarti snorts. “I mean yeah, textbook pre-gay-awakening female frenemyship canon event.”
“Did you ever have one?” I ask. I turn to face Aarti, and notice her brow is furrowed. “Oh, we don’t have to–”
“Her name was Evie.” She exhales. “Truly a cliché. I was totally and completely in love with my best friend when we were thirteen.”
“Did she… like you back?”
“Incredibly, yes,” she says, quiet. “We’d been… figuring things out together. Practice-kissing that turned into real kissing. Holding hands at sleepovers. It was… lovely.”
“My middle school homoerotic friendship started dating a boy who put glue all over his hands during math class just to prove to she didn’t feel the same way about me–you’re lucky,” I tell her.
Aarti shakes her head. “Dunno if I’d say that.”
I tuck a silky lock of hair behind her ear. “What happened?”
“Evie was my original fan. She dragged me to my first open mic even though I was terrified.”
I smile. “How did it go?”
“I did okay, got some laughs. She was in the front row, cackling at every joke.” Aarti’s voice gets softer.
“But as we were leaving the venue, this drunk guy followed us out. Evie was a baby butch even back then–pixie cut, basketball shorts. He started yelling at us, calling us dykes, telling us to try a real man.”
I trace the beauty marks on her shoulder.
“Evie grabbed my hand, you know? Stared him down, this barely five-foot tall middle schooler glaring up at a six-something ogre with a beer belly.” She takes a shaky breath. “He started screaming, ‘I knew it! Couple of little lezzies!’ And I just…”
Aarti’s eyes go distant.
“You don’t have to finish,” I reassure her, but she shakes her head.
“No, I want to. I–I panicked. I dropped Evie’s hand and stepped a foot away from her and told him we weren’t lezzies , we were just friends.”
“Oh, Aart.”
She rubs her temples. “Evie looked like I’d slapped her. I’ll never forget the hurt in her eyes. We took the bus home in silence, she wouldn’t speak to me. She never really did again.”
“You were a kid, Aarti. You were scared.”
“I saw how easy it was to compromise myself in the name of appeasing people that hated me. I was a coward. And I’ve been one ever since.”
I want to tell her she’s wrong, that survival isn’t cowardice, that the world failed her, not the other way around. But I also can’t dismiss the pain in her voice, the weight she’s carried all these years. I search for the right words that don’t exist.
Aarti glances at my face, reading my struggle, and I watch her walls come back up in an instant.
“Wow,” she says with a forced laugh, rolling onto her back. “Heavy much, Nair? You don’t need to respond to that.” She rolls her eyes. “God, I’m such a buzzkill. Here we are in this beautiful room and I’m trauma-dumping about middle school.”
“Aarti, no–”
But she’s shifting to face me with a practiced smile.
“Our call time is four thirty,” she whispers, her arm wrapping around my shoulder. “What do you say we pull an all-nighter? Do some more of this?” She brushes her hand on the inside of my thigh and I’m already wet despite my mind reeling from her story. “Never let this night end?”
I climb on top of her and bring her face to mine, understanding this is how she needs to cope right now. “We are in the city that never sleeps, after all.”