My girlfriend had the sexiest mouth. Nice smooth lips, natural deep pink, full and soft with an impish little smirk lingering perpetually at the edges even when her expression was neutral.
She also had gorgeous eyes - warm hazel with little flecks of green and gold. I thought I could die for those eyes.
I was sure there was no butt in the world cuter than hers - round, perky, perfectly grabbable. When she wore something snug, I had a hard time tearing my eyes off of that cute behind.
Even her name gave me pleasant shivers. Lisette. Lisette Labelle. Her family was from Montreal. She'd moved here as a child and had just a faint whisper of a Francophone accent. I didn't know more than half a dozen words of French, but Lise told me once that "la belle" means "the beautiful", and for a long time I had a habit of calling her "Lisette the Beautiful". She certainly was.
We met in college. It was easy to hook up then, easy to get along. We spent so much time embroiled in classes and papers and part-time jobs to pay tuition that we had to pack as much fun into our limited free time as we could manage - at least, that was Lisette the Beautiful's philosophy, and I would have agreed with nearly anything that came from her irresistible lips. She took me to friends' parties, to pubs and clubs, anywhere loud and boisterous and alcohol-fuelled. I was never a party kind of a guy, nor was I much into drinking culture, but I would have followed Lisette to the ends of the earth, and getting a bit tipsy made it easier to cut loose and be social in the way she wanted me to be.
I would have liked to stay in and cuddle, maybe watch a few good movies, but she was restless, wanting to get out into the world and splurge after the drudgery of classes and paper-writing, and thought movies were antisocial. I suppose she never really asked me what I wanted to do, but I didn't mind. She was radiant and full of life, and I was unremarkable in every way possible. I was a fade-into-the-backdrop sort of guy. There was nothing special about me, nothing exciting, and I wasn't much to look at either. We were the sort of couple about whom people would say, "How did a schlub like him manage to score a knockout like her?" I had no idea how I managed it, but I was thankful every day she wanted me by her side. I wore whatever she wanted to dress me in and cut my hair according to her recommendations. I suppose I became more socially acceptable thanks to her influence.
My girlfriend let me have sex with her, and for this I felt undeservedly privileged. I was a virgin when we met, and had always considered myself a loser. We didn't do it often, but it made the times we did do it all the more special. Sex with Lisette certainly wasn't like it was in the movies or on the Internet. She didn't touch me a lot, or put her mouth on me. She mostly just lay back, closed her eyes, and waited for me to finish. I never complained - how could I? I was lucky just to be able to see her naked, and she even let me put my penis inside her. I never expected it to be like it was in porn. Everyone knows that stuff is completely unrealistic, and I had also heard that in real life, sex isn't nearly as big a deal to girls as it is to guys. I thought she was sweet to indulge me.
My family never liked her, nor did most of my friends. This should, perhaps, have been a red flag for me early on, but I assumed no girl would ever please my family. As for my friends, I saw less and less of them, and instead ended up with Lise's friends most of the time. A couple of my oldest friends once took me out for coffee just to warn me, intervention style, that Lisette was a "user" and a "pathological narcissist" - that she only kept me around because I worshipped her. Instead of considering whether there might have been truth to this, I felt deeply hurt on Lisette's behalf and parted ways with buddies I'd had since primary school. Lise told me I'd done the right thing in cutting the "poison" from my life, and I believed her.
I couldn't tolerate people speaking critically of my girlfriend. I thought she was an angel, and she made me feel like the luckiest guy in the world just to be near her. I closed my ears to dissent. When she picked out all my clothes and styled me according to her taste, I thought it was love. I wanted to be her toy to dress up. When she audited all of my homework, I thought it was love. She wanted me to get good grades so I would have a more promising future. When she told me what to eat or what not to eat, and put me on an exercise program, I thought it was love. She cared enough to help me be healthy, and it was true I needed to lose a few pounds. I wasn't crazy about what I saw in the mirror. Maybe, with Lise's help, I could be a better man. There was a lot I could stand to improve about myself, and she helpfully pointed out all the ways in which I could do so.
We graduated at the same time - her degree was in Communications, and mine was in Microbiology - and she straightaway picked out an apartment for us to live in. We'd never discussed moving in together, but of course I wanted to. She had been doing an internship with a Public Relations firm, and they hired her on full-time straight out of school, so she felt very secure and pleased with herself, as she had every right to be. I was fine with her picking out all of our furniture and everything. She was the one with the impressive, high-powered career. I had a humbler job, working in Quality Assurance for a factory that produced bottled water and other assorted beverages. Lise liked to tease me that I had the most boring job in the world. She was probably right, but I enjoyed it well enough - I found the work to be tranquil and strangely rewarding. I supposed that meant I was just a boring kind of a guy, and was all the more grateful to be with such a dynamic, charismatic woman as Lisette.
I had thought our life together would be bliss. She was a natural leader, and I was content to follow. It seemed we complemented each other - yin and yang. It was, of course, not quite as blissful as I had envisioned. At first I blamed myself, and Lisette probably blamed me too.
She caught me watching porn once, during the first two weeks of our cohabitation. I knew she wasn't comfortable with porn, and I felt guilty every time I watched. I was feeling wound up - we hadn't had sex once since moving in together, and I had been looking forward to doing it in our own bed we shared. She simply hadn't felt like it. Instead I caved and turned to the Internet.
"How could you do this to me?" she shrieked, bursting into tears instantly. "How could you?!"
"Lise... I'm sorry," I whispered, feeling as bad about making Lisette cry as if I'd run over a kitten with my car.
"It's cheating! Don't you understand it's cheating?" she sobbed. "You're being unfaithful to me!"
I shook my head slowly, not necessarily to deny her judgment of the situation, but simply at a loss and bereft of words. She thought I was arguing with her.
"Yes, you are!" she insisted, pulling my iPad out of my hands and pointing at the screen. "You're cheating on me with this disgusting, fake slut! Is that who you want me to be, Cody? Is that the sort of girlfriend you expect? Some kind of pornstar with fake boobs who will perform for you, and slaver all over you like a dog?!"
"No - no!" I replied quickly, my voice trembling with panic. "Sweetie, you're perfect. You're the most perfect girl I could ever ask for. You're so much better than I deserve. Everyone says so, and I know it's true. I'm weak, and I'm sorry. I screwed up. I'm so sorry I hurt you. Lise... please forgive me. I love you. I love you so much."
She gritted her teeth and flung my iPad across the room. It hit the corner of our mantelpiece, and a network of cracks spread across the screen. "Bastard! How can I love you right now, when you take me for granted like this?" She sniffled noisily and wiped at her eyes, smudging her makeup. "How can you expect anything from me? Forgive you, really? I don't know, Cody. I need to think seriously about this. I need some time."
I hung my head, paralyzed. The thought of losing her was unbearable. I would be so alone without her. I would be nothing and nobody, without a home or friends or even an identity. "I... that's fair," I stammered. "I guess I don't have much right to ask forgiveness. Please... I don't want to hurt you. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, I'll do it. I promise. Just tell me what to do."
She sighed and sobbed a few more times, pacing back and forth across the room. "I'm going to have to think about that. And you should be thinking about it too. I expect you to be a better man."
"I will," I promised. "I'll be better."
I bettered myself as best I could. I didn't complain once about my broken iPad, deciding it was fair for me to lose my tablet privileges. I made breakfast and dinner for Lisette every day from then on - all of her favourite healthy meals. I brought her roses every few days. I left her little love notes, and bought her cute trinkets. I did everything I could to show my affection and appreciation for her. I began to feel as if I were simply dropping stones into the Grand Canyon of her disappointment. Still, doing anything else was unthinkable. I had screwed up, and I had to put in my time.
A month in, we still hadn't had sex. I felt guilty even about masturbating. I took to doing it whenever she went out in the evenings with her friends, or in the bathroom at work over my lunch breaks, as I couldn't even get privacy from her in the shower - she might wander in at any time, and she thought it was suspicious if I locked the bathroom door. I felt like a cheater and a failure every time, but I still seemed to have to get off on a daily basis. If I didn't get some kind of sexual release, I was even more miserable.
Things did get a little better. She stopped bringing up the porn incident, and at least started giving me little hugs and kisses again. I would have given my right arm to simply have a nice, long cuddle, but she wasn't ready for that much touching.
