Photographs of Graves

Zoe wasn't too pumped about my decision. She bitched me out for a short time, telling me how I was a sissy and I should have stuck out longer before giving Graves what he wanted, how I needed to grow a backbone, and all that good stuff. Mostly she was just annoyed that I kept her waiting for half an hour. When I apologized she mostly let it go, although she grumbled about it every now and again and shot a few killer glances at Graves whenever he would walk past.

That evening Zoe decided to go back to the hotel she was staying at originally to get a good night's sleep and hopefully meet some new people - preferably people with male anatomy, preferably on the larger end of the spectrum. I returned back to Marion's apartment, although she was out taking Sherlock and Bear to a park just out of town. Ana was home, freshly showered and cradling a rather large bowl of chocolate dipped strawberries in her arms as if it was her child. She also had out a couple of Smirnoff Ice next to her, one half drunk and the other unopened. When I walked in she offered me the unopened one, to which I shook my head. I had just recovered from hangover. No alcohol today.

Oh, and Ana was covered in nothing but two towels, one around her midsection and one around her hair. Nothing. No other clothes. The towel rode up dangerously close to porn level, and I had a nagging urge to pull down the towel to cover a bit more. However, I feared that would cause the whole pseudo-dress to unravel and I would see a whole new collection of tattoos I'd never had the pleasure to view before.

She shook the Smirnoff at me again and after a few moments hesitation I relented, appeasing the living mural by popping the cap off and taking a long, cold drink. The liquid fizzed in my throat with a pleasant sensation. I put it down before I was tempted to drink anymore, although by the time I was putting it down Ana's first bottle was finished.

She was Russian. She enjoyed her alcoholic beverages.

I know, for underaged people we probably drank more than we should. We weren't hard party people, I promise. Actually, most of us were pretty reclusive and socially awkward. But we were living like adults with a full work day on top of various requirements for our various schools, living in a competitive program and trying to be the best of the best all the time. We were strung out, so a lot of us loosened up by having something to drink. Besides, in the Netherlands it was legal. Which was a new experience, especially for us poor American interns.

Ana pulled another Smirnoff out from under the couch and popped the lid off. I was beginning to wonder with a bit of concern how much she had had to drink today.

“Hey Ana, maybe you've had too much to drink. Maybe you should stop,” I told her hesitantly, biting my lip. She shifted, coming very close to flashing a very intimate part of her body and fixed me with a with her blue, heavily lidded eyes. It was one of those looks that reminded me very acutely that she was fonder of women than men. I averted my eyes very quickly. I tugged at the collar of my shirt.

“You silly Americans. You do not know how to drink,” she chided. She gave a deep, throaty laugh and drank more of her Smirnoff.

There's a point when you start to realize that a situation is about to go really south really fast. I encountered that moment about the time that Ana started laughing and sucking succulently on a chocolate strawberry. I could feel a flush creeping up the back of my neck and singeing the tips of my ears. I quickly turned away as I saw a flash of white tumble to the ground, but I couldn't help noticing a blur of color appear where the white used to be.

And suddenly I was standing in a house that wasn't mine with my naked roommate of a questionable inebriation level, trying not to look at her tattooed body that I'm sure must have been sculpted by either the god of snow or the Ghost of Soviet Past. Let the awkwardness commence.

Ana started giggling girlishly, stretching one perfect white leg out into the air and stretching her arms out. Girl with the Dragon Tattoo came to mind as I noticed unwillingly the dragon curling up to perch on her shoulder, a claw extending downward toward a breast. I sighed and, trying to be a good roommate, averted my eyes, coughed, and helped the girl to her feet. She dropped all of her weight on me and swooned into my arms, leaving me to half drag her across the floor.

No, I was not uncomfortable with seeing a naked woman. I did nude figure drawing my freshman year of college and I had gone through a rather exploratory curious phase earlier in my adolescence. I'd been known to dabble periodically in the waters of bisexuality. I just didn't want to give Ana any ideas. And I was just trying to be respectful.

I dragged her towards the stairs as she continued giggling, stumbling along somewhat and wrapping her arms around my neck. Her skin was too warm and her breath was hotter. As I was gimping along, her attached like an oversized, overly attractive growth, her hands began to wander dangerously into places they shouldn't. I pursed my lips as one hand dipped under the collar of my shirt and sought out the more sensitive regions beneath. She found them and my ears began to burn.

“Ana, watch it,” I warned, although I was a bit distracted by the way her fingers were moving... Anyways, she giggled and nearly toppled me over.

“You are cute,” she whispered, still giggling, then murmured something in Russian.

All I could think that once all this was over, Zoe was going to be laughing at me for hours for this.

I somehow managed to get the girl up the stairs, although she had nearly tripped me as she tried to wrap around my body like a car around a telephone pole. My pants had begun to seem oddly incompetent, and I had to swat away her hands that tried to tug them down or reach underneath. She squeezed my ass and I jumped. She giggled.

God damn Russian lesbians.

A part of my mind was having some distinctly curious thoughts as I hauled the stupid, pretty girl onto her bed. She was limp and giggling helplessly, naked body splaying over the covers. I couldn't help but admire some of the artwork that adorned her unblemished skin.

I didn't have much time to admire before she yanked me down by my collar, pulling me down to her face with a wicked little smile.

“We could have some fun,” her teeth flashed prettily for a moment before disappearing – she quickly covered them with my own lips in a startling instant, wrapping her fingers into my hair and moving her mouth hotly against mine with hot, ragged breaths.

She was a damn good kisser. Wow.

I regained my thought process when I realized that she was holding my hand, placing it firmly between her legs. I yanked my head backwards, reclaiming my hand and stepping back.

“Ana, you're drunk,” I insisted. “I'm heading out. This is an awful, awful idea.”

I quickly spun around and darted out the door before the intoxicated girl could stumble to her feet, taking a quick pit stop by the bathroom to wash my hands before sprinting out onto the sidewalk outside. I locked the door, praying to any deity that resided anywhere that the horny idiot wouldn't stumble out into the street naked.

I picked up my phone and called Zoe. When she didn't pick up I sighed and called the next speed dial on the phone. It rang twice before I got an answer.

“Murph?”

“Hey, Graves,” I greeted uncomfortably, swallowing and giving a sweet smile even though he couldn't see me. “Hey, could I come over? Maybe spend the night at your place?”

“I definitely wouldn't mind that. What's the rush?”

“I'll explain when I get there. Kind of awkward.”

Graves let me in about ten minutes later, raising an eyebrow at my flustered and disheveled appearance. I flushed again and averted my eyes.

“What happened to you?” he asked. “Get mauled by a small dog or something?”

“No, just a drunk Russian lesbian.”

He paused for a moment. Then, in the next moment, I could tell he was doing everything he could to keep from laughing.

“Please explain,” he insisted, voice tightly controlled, but laughter dancing in his eyes. I sighed and followed him back through the apartment, explaining as I went. By the end he couldn't help it: He burst into peels of laughter, leaning against a wall for support.

“God, I would have paid to see that,” he chuckled through fits, “That would have been sexy as hell.”

“Oh, shut up, you horny bastard.”

He didn't fully stop laughing for a while, shooting me little glances before dissolving again. I glowered at him, though I had to admit that the whole concept was highly amusing.

“I guess I've got to be careful, you might swing on me,” he teased. I punched him lightly in the arm.

“Keep making bad jokes and I just might.”

Graves sighed contentedly and turned on his little 28” inch TV, flipping to a bad soap opera with a lot of fake laughter and little known British comedians. He flopped onto a nearby sofa, a comfortable secondhand thing he'd picked up at a garage sale a few years before. I curled up next to him and he kissed my forehead with obnoxious sucking noises.

“So, is this what it takes for you to forgive me?” he asked, “Getting mauled by attractive drunken lesbians?”

“Enough for the moment,” I shot him a sidelong glance and jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow. “You're on probation.”

He snorted. I snorted back. We settled down and turned, watching a tall British man do a great rendition of something for the Ministry of Silly Walks. The fake crowd roared and the man walked up to a short woman, offering her a flower that squirted water in her face.