AUTHOR'S NOTES
So. This is my first Rentfic, ever. If you look at my profile you will see that I also have a Frasier fanfic to my credit. I would advise you not to read it, but if you must, please know that I wrote it on a bet.
That having been taken care of. ;) I am not a Rent expert, as I think most of you are. I've seen the show, once, and I liked it a lot. And I loved Maureen and Joanne. One thing I found when I started cruising through the fics here is that there seem to be no M/J fics. Tonight, on a whim, I decided to remedy that. However, I don't know the characters or situations nearly as well as most of you do; so if you have any suggestions, please, I am very very open to them.
This is supposed to be The Story of How Maureen and Joanne Got Together, only that didn't seem like a very interesting title. ;) It starts kind of in the middle of things, and if I get enough of a response to warrant continuing with this, there will be flashbacks to explain the rest.
I think that's it.
TELLING IT STRAIGHT
MAUREEN
She says it's not her thing. "I'm not gay," she tells me. "I never have been. I do know my own mind, Maureen, I've been with enough men to have this figured out -" and just how many men has she been with, three? Real swinging single there. I pointed out she won't know till she tries it. She shook her head, though her hair wouldn't budge, of course. "I'm not gay, Maureen. Let it go. I don't know how many ways I can tell you, I think you're great, but I don't swing that way."
Such a load of bullshit.
This woman needs to lighten up and learn to live. How many years has she sat in that stupid swivel chair at that desk with the green blotter carefully aligned with the edge of the desk, poring over those papers, leaning back on that Harvard Law degree like it's supposed to satisfy her all by itself, wearing that damn bun on the back of her head? She won't listen to me, of course. If you get enough drinks in her she'll admit that she's "taken by my impetuosity" - one time, when she was a few drinks beyond that, she told me she "envied my love of life." So what the hell is she doing in that swivel chair? Get out there! Find your own life to love, hon!
She doesn't see it that way. She says she's happy, and I think she believes it, when she's sober and properly bunned. And she's so uptight, so fucking anal. Of course she could never go for a girl. Oh, no, because that doesn't fit in with evolutionary biology, does it, the way the world is supposed to work? Mommy taught her all about it, I'm sure. How men take care of women, sperm is made for ovum and a penis fits just perfectly in a vagina. I don't think Mommy ever got around to explaining how fingers can fit just as well. I don't think Mommy ever told her a woman can be happy with another woman. Come to think of it, I don't think Mommy ever explained what "happy" means. I'm damn sure Joanne doesn't have a clue.
Well, it's challenge, and that's always fun.
The hell of it all is that I like Joanne. I'd say I cared about her if I wasn't afraid of getting my mouth washed out with soap. Underneath those business suits and that fucking bun there is a real life breathing sexy-as- fucking-hell woman waiting to get out. I'm here for it, you know I'd like to be of service, but I'm getting tired of this. Tired of watching her pretend it doesn't get to her at all when I shake my ass in her direction, when I show up for a just-friends date wearing that hooker shirt I picked up last week at Filene's with her in mind. Tired of watching her roll her eyes when I flirt with her and dodge away when I try to make a move. She wants this, damn it, she does. But if I didn't like her I'd have given up trying long since. Jesus, she's stubborn.
We've got another just-friends date tonight. It's now or never, baby.
JOANNE
I wish she would stop this. I have been perfectly clear with her. How much longer does she think this can go on?
Of course she's sexy, of course she's hot, of course no man in his right mind would turn her down. And no lesbian would either, of course. But I am not a lesbian. And I don't know how many times I can tell her that.
Oh, I know what she thinks. She thinks my life is staid and dull and unfulfilling. She thinks I'm staid and dull and unfulfilled - boring, when it comes down to it - and that she has some sort of duty to change all that, flaunt me all over the city and bring me back to her bed at night. It's amazing I haven't stopped seeing her long since, changed my phone number and my email address and instructed everyone at work that she is disturbed and cannot under any circumstances be allowed to speak with me. It's amazing I haven't taken out a restraining order on her. The stunts she pulls - showing up on my doorstep at 3 am, drunk off her ass, wearing that ridiculous kitten costume? What was that about? Bringing me to bars and all but pouring drinks down my throat, waiting for that one admission that'll prove her point - waiting for me to admit that I'm miserable and I need her to save me. She must be disappointed, that I'm quite happy as I am. Boring, perhaps, but happy. If she's looking for someone more spontaneous, more interesting, she'd best look elsewhere, and I am going to tell her that plainly. Tonight.
Of course, that's going to make waves between us. She's a great friend, fun to have around, someone I can tell anything to. God knows she tells me everything - and yes, I do mean everything - and you know, I don't mind, no matter how raunchy it gets. I've grown. attached. to her, for sure - I love having her around, despite the fact that all she ever seems to want is to get me into bed with her. It's exhilarating, being around someone so free. It's -
See, here I go again, and I'm not going to let myself. I am not a lesbian. I never have been. I was not brought up that way and I did not develop that way. I've been with men. I've liked being with men. Reasonably well. It certainly didn't repulse me or anything. If I've never fallen victim to the sort of screaming orgasm which Maureen describes for me in such detail from her own experience, well, Maureen's reactions are always ten times more flamboyant than mine. The fact that I was somewhat restrained sexually was merely a symptom of my more restrained nature in general. I am happy the way I am. I don't need her to change me. And I'm not gay. Damn it, I'm not gay!
Oh, for God's sake. This is all her fault. She's confusing the hell out of me and she knows it damn well. She knows she's getting to me, she knows she's tearing my life as I've known it to shreds, making me dizzy, and I don't know which way is up anymore. I don't know why I put up with her. I don't understand it. Why is she doing this to me? Isn't there anyone else in her life she could latch onto, someone younger, more impulsive, more - more gay?
I can't be falling for her. That would be ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. I don't understand the basis for homosexuality - is it biological? Sociological? I don't understand it and I don't like things I don't understand. Just like her, I don't understand her, but - God, I like her.
What is this?
Tonight. I have to tell her, tonight. I have to tell her this can't work, damn it. I feel like my whole life's falling apart around me, I've never been so confused, and it's her fault and she knows it and she has to stop it. Tonight.
So. This is my first Rentfic, ever. If you look at my profile you will see that I also have a Frasier fanfic to my credit. I would advise you not to read it, but if you must, please know that I wrote it on a bet.
That having been taken care of. ;) I am not a Rent expert, as I think most of you are. I've seen the show, once, and I liked it a lot. And I loved Maureen and Joanne. One thing I found when I started cruising through the fics here is that there seem to be no M/J fics. Tonight, on a whim, I decided to remedy that. However, I don't know the characters or situations nearly as well as most of you do; so if you have any suggestions, please, I am very very open to them.
This is supposed to be The Story of How Maureen and Joanne Got Together, only that didn't seem like a very interesting title. ;) It starts kind of in the middle of things, and if I get enough of a response to warrant continuing with this, there will be flashbacks to explain the rest.
I think that's it.
TELLING IT STRAIGHT
MAUREEN
She says it's not her thing. "I'm not gay," she tells me. "I never have been. I do know my own mind, Maureen, I've been with enough men to have this figured out -" and just how many men has she been with, three? Real swinging single there. I pointed out she won't know till she tries it. She shook her head, though her hair wouldn't budge, of course. "I'm not gay, Maureen. Let it go. I don't know how many ways I can tell you, I think you're great, but I don't swing that way."
Such a load of bullshit.
This woman needs to lighten up and learn to live. How many years has she sat in that stupid swivel chair at that desk with the green blotter carefully aligned with the edge of the desk, poring over those papers, leaning back on that Harvard Law degree like it's supposed to satisfy her all by itself, wearing that damn bun on the back of her head? She won't listen to me, of course. If you get enough drinks in her she'll admit that she's "taken by my impetuosity" - one time, when she was a few drinks beyond that, she told me she "envied my love of life." So what the hell is she doing in that swivel chair? Get out there! Find your own life to love, hon!
She doesn't see it that way. She says she's happy, and I think she believes it, when she's sober and properly bunned. And she's so uptight, so fucking anal. Of course she could never go for a girl. Oh, no, because that doesn't fit in with evolutionary biology, does it, the way the world is supposed to work? Mommy taught her all about it, I'm sure. How men take care of women, sperm is made for ovum and a penis fits just perfectly in a vagina. I don't think Mommy ever got around to explaining how fingers can fit just as well. I don't think Mommy ever told her a woman can be happy with another woman. Come to think of it, I don't think Mommy ever explained what "happy" means. I'm damn sure Joanne doesn't have a clue.
Well, it's challenge, and that's always fun.
The hell of it all is that I like Joanne. I'd say I cared about her if I wasn't afraid of getting my mouth washed out with soap. Underneath those business suits and that fucking bun there is a real life breathing sexy-as- fucking-hell woman waiting to get out. I'm here for it, you know I'd like to be of service, but I'm getting tired of this. Tired of watching her pretend it doesn't get to her at all when I shake my ass in her direction, when I show up for a just-friends date wearing that hooker shirt I picked up last week at Filene's with her in mind. Tired of watching her roll her eyes when I flirt with her and dodge away when I try to make a move. She wants this, damn it, she does. But if I didn't like her I'd have given up trying long since. Jesus, she's stubborn.
We've got another just-friends date tonight. It's now or never, baby.
JOANNE
I wish she would stop this. I have been perfectly clear with her. How much longer does she think this can go on?
Of course she's sexy, of course she's hot, of course no man in his right mind would turn her down. And no lesbian would either, of course. But I am not a lesbian. And I don't know how many times I can tell her that.
Oh, I know what she thinks. She thinks my life is staid and dull and unfulfilling. She thinks I'm staid and dull and unfulfilled - boring, when it comes down to it - and that she has some sort of duty to change all that, flaunt me all over the city and bring me back to her bed at night. It's amazing I haven't stopped seeing her long since, changed my phone number and my email address and instructed everyone at work that she is disturbed and cannot under any circumstances be allowed to speak with me. It's amazing I haven't taken out a restraining order on her. The stunts she pulls - showing up on my doorstep at 3 am, drunk off her ass, wearing that ridiculous kitten costume? What was that about? Bringing me to bars and all but pouring drinks down my throat, waiting for that one admission that'll prove her point - waiting for me to admit that I'm miserable and I need her to save me. She must be disappointed, that I'm quite happy as I am. Boring, perhaps, but happy. If she's looking for someone more spontaneous, more interesting, she'd best look elsewhere, and I am going to tell her that plainly. Tonight.
Of course, that's going to make waves between us. She's a great friend, fun to have around, someone I can tell anything to. God knows she tells me everything - and yes, I do mean everything - and you know, I don't mind, no matter how raunchy it gets. I've grown. attached. to her, for sure - I love having her around, despite the fact that all she ever seems to want is to get me into bed with her. It's exhilarating, being around someone so free. It's -
See, here I go again, and I'm not going to let myself. I am not a lesbian. I never have been. I was not brought up that way and I did not develop that way. I've been with men. I've liked being with men. Reasonably well. It certainly didn't repulse me or anything. If I've never fallen victim to the sort of screaming orgasm which Maureen describes for me in such detail from her own experience, well, Maureen's reactions are always ten times more flamboyant than mine. The fact that I was somewhat restrained sexually was merely a symptom of my more restrained nature in general. I am happy the way I am. I don't need her to change me. And I'm not gay. Damn it, I'm not gay!
Oh, for God's sake. This is all her fault. She's confusing the hell out of me and she knows it damn well. She knows she's getting to me, she knows she's tearing my life as I've known it to shreds, making me dizzy, and I don't know which way is up anymore. I don't know why I put up with her. I don't understand it. Why is she doing this to me? Isn't there anyone else in her life she could latch onto, someone younger, more impulsive, more - more gay?
I can't be falling for her. That would be ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. I don't understand the basis for homosexuality - is it biological? Sociological? I don't understand it and I don't like things I don't understand. Just like her, I don't understand her, but - God, I like her.
What is this?
Tonight. I have to tell her, tonight. I have to tell her this can't work, damn it. I feel like my whole life's falling apart around me, I've never been so confused, and it's her fault and she knows it and she has to stop it. Tonight.