Page 1 of Dirty Diana
Prologue
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Outside our tent, the night is dark, deep, and absolutely clear. Inside, I close my eyes and try to sleep.
But the ground is cold and so hard beneath my back. I press my lips together to keep my teeth from chattering.
Itmustbe warmer in your sleeping bag.
I shift onto my side so I can see you. It’s a new moon and only the stars give off light. They paint you in a dreamy tint—your skin is smooth except where the stubble of three days in the desert has grown in. Your eyes are closed, your face turned up toward the tent’s mesh opening and your lips, full and perfect, are arranged in a relaxed smile, as if you’re stargazing in your sleep. You must not be cold because your arms are outside your sleeping bag, resting triumphantly by your sides. Your chest, naked and muscular, rises and falls in a steady rhythm.
We haven’t had sex in hours, but it feels like years.
I was prepared for the desert days to be hot and the nights to be cold—or at least, I listened and nodded as you warned me, which I know now is different from being prepared. I underestimated the weather the same way that, earlier today, we had both underestimated the craggy hills surrounding us. “The peak isn’tsohigh,” we’d said. “Let’s hike to the top.” You climbed like the sun didn’t bother you, and if I hadn’t been with you, you would have moved much faster.
Near the top, we passed the entrance to a cave. I wondered aloud what lived inside. “Maybe a bobcat,” you said and shrugged. So I shrugged, too, said, “Cool,” and backed away.
I burrow deeper into my sleeping bag and wish for another layer of clothing. Ithasto feel different in your sleeping bag. I imagine crawling inside. But I’m not sure if you want to be woken up. Our relationship is so new that every choice feels weighted, like it could be gravely misinterpreted—waking you up might signal that I don’t understand boundaries and the importance of a little space to balance out the intensity of our physical closeness. The infancy of this is intoxicating, but also slippery and uncertain.
It’s been this exhilarating for the last three days, both of us set off by the smallest thing—a slow puff of weed, a bra strap that slips off my shoulder. We look up constantly from our work to catch the other one staring.
I pull my arms into the sleeves of my T-shirt for extra warmth and stare through the tent’s mesh roof at the stars. I think of the steep, rocky trail, of the entrance to the cave. And the bobcat.
I remember the wool hat I left so cavalierly by the campfire. It’s suddenly the solution to my sleeplessness. It will make me warm. I have to have it.
I slip out of my sleeping bag, careful not to wake you, and unzip the tent to sneak quietly into the night.
The air is so cold it’s sharp. There’s an owl close by; I can hear her, loud and watchful, as I grope for my hat near the dying campfire. Thetrees at the edge of our campsite have a bluish glow, and near my feet, some kind of lizard skitters by. I startle so easily I make myself laugh.
I take a deep breath and find consolation in the fire’s last red embers, holding my hands out to warm them. As my shoulders relax, I drink in the stillness.
“Diana!” The sound of your voice makes me jump. You grab my shoulders and scoop me to your side. The beam of your flashlight illuminates the trees, dancing across them, until it settles on a set of eyes—shiny and bright and glowering right at us. “Get back in the tent.”
I gasp, then step away slowly. She’s watching.
Inside, we shine the light through the tent’s window until her long, feline body skulks into the night, toward the hills.
“Do you think she’ll come back?”
“We’re fine,” you say, but your heart still hammers against your chest and so does mine. In the quiet, we study each other—our eyes big and vigilant, our bodies frozen. My laugh breaks the tension first, then yours.
“That was terrifying,” you say.
“Truly.”
The tent is small but the distance between us is suddenly too far. Your eyes flit from my eyes to my mouth. I study your throat, the thick muscles of your arms, your face.
When our lips touch, I realize I’m shivering. Your mouth is warm and briny, and we kiss until we can both feel the heat radiating from my body. I pull off my T-shirt. You sit back so you can take in the curves of my breasts, soft and wanting in the pale light.
You unzip your sleeping bag and smooth it out as a blanket for us. We lie down on our backs, both of us naked from the waist up, only our hands delicately touching. We try to slow the ecstasy of this moment.
“I don’t want to go back to the city tomorrow,” I say.When we do,I think,everything will evaporate, including us.
I watch the night sky, but you’re too distracting. When I turn to face you, you’ve already shifted to meet my gaze. We turn on our sides and you pull me into you. Your skin is warm, as if you’ve just been lying in the sun.
I pull the waist of your pants down over your hips then brush the bare skin of my stomach against you, feeling you grow harder.
I take you in my hand and you groan. “Where am I?” you ask.
