Tell Me Why You’re Here

Part 1

The lead up to right now doesn’t matter. We both said some words and exchanged the type of glances the devil waits for in the dark.

Sometimes the way things unfold matter and other times, it’s the way someone looks sleeping next to you and how you recognize this is a snapshot of moments you are lucky to have. The sky changes colors on the other side of these walls and people are laughing on the street; the soil is wet in the dark hours of morning.

She is against you in that same way, compressed and still damp inside. She is soft and warm and she is dreaming, and your hand is holding the bruise on her hip while you thumb the rising hues of purple. You painted her well earlier, stroked and soothed and your palms and teeth filled up on the feast of flesh she gave over, like you already owned a part of her.

You want to stay awake and drink the snapshot in, but your shoulders are tired and the rhythm of her soft tummy rising inches from your palm soothes something in your chest, your bones. You are falling asleep with her thighs against yours, her devotional smallness a saccharine and honeyed thing that tasted as good as it was to feel, same as the inside of her. She clenched to hold on, but also to keep; her warmth pulling you further and her small fists around your neck balled up. Her need to hold you inside was evident long after it was over.

The ebb of her needed that flow of you. Those fevered moans turned to cries, to tears, spilled tension and finally, pliability that met the swallow of you with ease, with deep surrender that didn’t look back.

———————————————-

I had watched you all night, from my corners and fervored gaze. I knew it already, sensed that bit of you as I swallowed the last gulp of my drink, crunched on the last cube of ice like I wished it was your thigh.

The soft cream of you needed the bricks of me to rest against. Your fingers would feel slender between the roughness of my own. The fabric of your dress, slinky and delicate, would complement the denim around my thighs thick and tight, holding my cock against my skin like an unsheathed weapon.

I watched you laughing with your friends and saw the wave of your hair flounce off your shoulders from the patio above the bar. I thought about jacking my hips up into you to make your hair do that again, fall down on my chest like curled wisps of silk while I tangled my fists against your scalp.

You had something that made others want to watch you, a sort of magnetism in your aura even if you were quiet at times. You knew how to listen and keep your voice in your back pocket until it belonged in conversation, knew how to find that line between too much and not enough and dance on it like a tightrope.

The bracelets you had on made me think of handcuffs, the way they jangled together. They twinkled and gleamed at me like bells on the way to the bathroom when you brushed against my chest and I caught a whiff of your perfume; lilacs and July sunsets and freesia, a hint of coconut oil that reminded me it was still Summer and maybe you’d swam that day, hours before.

You turned the nob a bit hurriedly and finding it locked, looked over your shoulder at me shyly and asked if I was waiting too.

I felt something tremor in my chest when your voice broke my thoughts and nodded and smiled, shrugging about how long it was taking. Line waiting solidarity. We are the same, but we are not on even ground.

“Oh. Well then. I guess that puts me behind you, sorry for the confusion.”

Before I could respond, you were already thumbing through your clutch for your phone and the flash of your hazel eyes had moved to something else. Just the two of us now, squeezed awkwardly in a tight hallway until another patron haphazardly ran by, knocking your slighter frame into the wall and me.

A gasp of exasperated air and shock moved through you and I turned as your weight hurled against me. I took your shoulders reflexively, and positioned you in front of me, my height and wider frame towering over you now in a protective way.

“Ladies first, anyway.”, I breathed sweetly into your neck and I saw the tension in your shoulders stiffen and then fall. You said nothing but I could feel it, the gap of space between us closing tighter, the way your head was bowed, a nervous scratch of your neck while I deeply perceived you, breathed slow behind you.

I could feel that fluster in your stomach, notice the calm turn to fidgets and jitters while we waited in silence, together.

I noticed the tan lines on your backless dress and surmised you’d worn a bikini earlier. That pink glow of almost sunburn had kissed you close, and I envied it. I felt you shift a little on your feet and tap your clutch on your thigh when I whisper-asked you if you’d come alone tonight.

There was already a response to my voice; its cadence and my presence swirled behind you like smoke and I noticed your breathing change.

You glanced over my shoulder and were surprised to find my eyes right there, peering back deep and steady and demurely, you said,

“With friends. Are you alone??”

It was cute when you tried to hold my gaze and couldn’t, even cuter when your eyes jumped to the floor and tucked your hair behind your ear self-consciously. Your body stayed turned halfway into me, closer still,

“I’m alone, yes. Hoping to leave with someone brave.”

I saw your pupils dilate and you jumped in a sort of pathetic hop when the door unlocked abruptly, bursting open. You moved away and looked back at me curiously, hand on the doorknob, struck by my confidence that leveled something in you.

“Don’t leave…”

You said this with taciturn authority, unsure of the words even as they left your mouth, but saying them anyway toward my body with a small hint of boldness I hadn’t pegged you for.

——————————-

That was an hour ago.

Now we were here. She’d trailed behind me up the steps as if she’d never done this before, her pacing eager like a lost lamb that’s finally being herded. She followed obediently, climbing the stairs as if her muscles were driving the decisions and her brain was just a passenger.

Still, I knew that hunger in her; I knew the push of it behind her heels and the reality that no matter how she breathed or touched her hair or straightened her dress or tapped her fingers, she wanted to be right here, closing the door behind us to turn around and face me alone.

No noise. No people. No music. No familiarity. No knowing. Most of all, no certainty other than what she felt when I stood before her and simply asked,

“Tell me why you’re here. Tell me what you want.”