“So do you remember that girl I told you about on my softball team who I asked out last October but she flat out said, ‘No,’ to me?”
I nod and sip on the Sidecar he’d made for me and brought over, a foot tucked under my bottom, my breasts bulging out of my strapless sundress.
“Well, she’s the one I drank with till 4 am last week and who I went to that housewarming party with on Saturday. And I can’t figure her out.” Aha, 4 am girl.
“What are you asking me?”
“I don’t know,” he replies and gives me his best boy-next-door grin. “I think I might be in love.”
The words were a joke, I knew, but the word-bubble was still hanging over his head when I abruptly stood up and said, “Be right back.” I swayed drunkenly to my bedroom door and opened it loudly then veered left into my bathroom and slammed the door. I sat heavily on the toilet and shook my head and laughed. I had basically just stormed out of the room, but it was the most anti-storming ever. I wasn’t even mildly pissed at him, but he had crossed a line. I am not his girlfriend-woes receptacle .
I let him stew a little longer in the living room as I changed into my pajamas and continued to chuckle. We finish our drinks and he says he’s tired and wants to go home. He’s been over for less than an hour and I’m not done, yet, goddamnit. I ask him to stay for a cigarette and he follows me out onto the balcony.
The strawberry moon overhead bathes us in soft lights. “I had a fantasy last night after you came out on your balcony naked.” His eyebrow raised. “I imagined that you’d get drunk tonight and we’d go down into the pool and you’d bend me over those stairs,” I pointed to the far steps, “because the water would mean you couldn’t transmit anything to me.”
He laughed and said, “Wow, well, that’s fucking hot. But the bumps are truly going away now I think.”
“Good, because I’m dying.”
We each sat with our thoughts, the cicadas singing their lullabys and the frogs chirping their desires. Earlier in the day I had sat on the familiar brown couch in my therapist’s office and decided that I needed to end things with The Neighbor soon. I want to be loved and no matter how amazing our interactions are, no matter how much I believe he loves me, no matter how terrific the sex, the bottom line is I’ll never hear it from his lips and that has become important to me all of a sudden.
I take a drag on my cigarette, watching the orange tip burn like my resolve, “Did you know that I’m now looking for TN Plus? Someone just like you, but someone who’s willing and able to love me.”
His face crumpled for a split second. “Wow. That really upsets me.”
“Well, you’ve told me you never will,” I counter, looking directly at him.
“But I love you as a friend. Isn’t that good enough??”
I laugh, scoff, really and take a long hard blink as I say, “Loving me as a friend is very nice, but” I open my eyes and look out over the shimmering pool, “it’s not the same. You know that.”
Nothing gets by him (except the obvious) and he says, “You said that with your eyes closed. Isn’t that enough??”
“No,” I answer simply. “I know I want more.”
I drag on my cigarette again, languidly, and stub it out, stand up. He rises, too, but doesn’t move out of my way. He grabs my breasts and kisses me forcibly. I push back into him, relishing his scent and scruffy face. Then I pull away entirely, deny him my breasts. He whimpers and asks why. “Because, you’re going to get me worked up, then just waltz out of here. I don’t like it.”
“But, please, Hy. Please…” he dives towards my tits and pulls me closer.
“No. Really. Don’t,” I have no desire to be played right now.
“I won’t go yet, I promise,” he implores. He looks at me, his eyes soft, heat radiating off his bare chest.
I give in, “Ok,” and lean forward. He captures my mouth with his and his hands roam all over my body. His fingers enter me and I stand still, like a patient mare, as he strokes me from the inside. I tremble and fall to my knees.
“No, don’t, I’m sweaty. I haven’t showered since my game.” I ignore him and pull his shorts down, inhale. It’s sweet and heady, clean smelling.
“Let me clean you, then.” He rolls his eyes in defeat and drops his hands to rest on my head. I impale my face with his rod and he governs the pace. It’s demanding and forceful. I pull off and spit up in my mouth, swallow it like a goddamned champ, and fall back down on him.
I look up at him looking down at me, “Fuck, you’re beautiful with my cock in your mouth.” I preened under the compliment, buzzed with his manhood in my mouth. He’d been complimenting me all night; my dress, my hair, my face.
“What are you doing tomorrow night, Hy? I want to fuck the shit out of you.” I stood up and let him kiss my neck. This wasn’t like him. He nearly never comes at me. He plays coy, he waits, he rejects with a smile on his face.
“I have a date.”
“Yes.” These moments, while of my own doing because of my insistence on transparency, make my gut ache.
“What are you doing after? If you don’t fuck him, let me fuck the shit outta you.”
I laugh, but I’m not sure why. I’m half incredulous, half flattered, 100% pleased. “I’m not going to fuck him. I have to be at work at 8 am.”
“Perfect. Then I get you as soon as you get home.”
I can’t resist this level of interest, so I say, “Ok.” He kisses me again and I walk him to the door.
Today, he doesn’t have to wait because my date fell through. I just texted him to share the news with him.
I don’t know what to do with myself. He’s expressing more interest in me since I told him I want someone to love me than he has in weeks. I express demands and he rises to meet them. I understand on a basic psychological level that he likes the chase, but I am incapable of running from him. I love him. He can have me. But my shift, my decision to end it seems to have changed my perfume. I am now tantalizing, irresistible. I am happy, yet ambivalent; calm, yet excited. I haven’t been this excited about a night with him possibly ever. I’m afraid of the hope, but I’m willing to sit with it.
And you better fucking believe he’ll be licking my liquor-coated breasts, “cock tail,” indeed. That little shit might die from fucking me tonight, if he doesn’t split me in two first.
Three hours and counting. Wish your dirty little flower luck.