One Night (13 page)

We kissed. Did our best to get back to where we were. The things he had said . . . I wanted this man. This stranger, this warrior, this vulnerable and wounded bird, I wanted him. Tonight he deserved me.

I said, “I think I was just feeling a little scared.”

“Of what?”

“I never meet guys like you and they dig me. Brothers want me, but they don't like me. For guys like you, men who have their lives together, men with your disposition, I'm not the girl who's supposed to be in the picture frame with the family and dogs. I have dreadlocks and tats and I'm not fat, but I'm not skinny, and guys who probably don't have either the physical or the mental equipment to get the job done attack me in some fashion: the hair, the weight, talk about my ass, say the same trite, disgusting bullshit. They attack what they fear, what they can't comprehend. So, to them, that made me the girl no one wants to read about or see as the lead in an A-list Hollywood movie. I'm not the girl next door.”

“You are the girl next door. Every girl lives next door to somebody.”

“Yeah, someone has to live next door to Bates Motel and the Groovie Goolies at Horrible Hall.”

“Your uniqueness. You woke up something inside me. I was on the way home to a new problem, had a crisis to deal with, ran into you, became distracted, and meeting you made everything else going on in my life, made everything bad that had happened since sunrise, seem irrelevant and small.”

“Well, I think you're a pretty smart guy.”

“I like you from the inside out.”

“You want to give me some of that intellect from the inside out?”

“I want to get some of that intelligence while you get some of this intelligence.”

“Fair exchange.”

“A fair exchange is no robbery.”

He came and rested behind me, moved against me again, clockwise, then the opposite direction of the rising of the sun. I moved against him, moved counterclockwise when he moved clockwise, and clockwise when he did the opposite. I pressed into him and he pushed into me. He hardened again, cock poking at my ass. I felt that he still wanted me, felt how much he wanted to have me.

I rolled over on my belly and he rolled with me, moved my hair, and kissed my shoulders. I loved when I was on my stomach and a man was lying on top of me. I felt his weight on my body.

He grabbed my neck in a chokehold, gave me roughness, but soon became kind, nuzzled my neck. I imagined getting it doggy style with him grabbing my hips to really give it to me; imagined him grabbing my dreadlocks, pulling my head back. When I was getting wood like that I felt complete. That position allowed a man to have depth, and that gave me sweet pain, took me away from all my worries.

He said, “Be explicit. Tell me what you want to do. What you want us to do.”

“You be you. I'll be me. No pretending. No dramatics.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to stop talking and put that inside me.”

“I'm ready to be inside you.”

“No, you're not.”

“What's wrong?”

“I'm not that girl from Vail, so we start the way we end it.”

“What does that mean?”

I said, “Put the helmet on the solider first. Not in the middle of the war or just before the cannon is about to blow. Put the condom on Mr. Happy and then we can play war, and no one gets hurt.”

“Let me put it on.”

“No. Let me do that for you. Let me show you how it should be done.”

He handed me the flavored condom and I put it inside my mouth, pressing the reservoir tip against my tongue and the ring against my teeth, then used my hands to hold the base of his erection while I pulled his foreskin back, pressed the tip against the roof of my mouth, and used my lips to roll the condom on. I made sure my teeth didn't rip it, and dressed him that way. I had warmed up to him. I was revealing more of my true self. He might find out some of the things I did when alcohol was in my blood. He set free low, sustained, mournful cries, hums that told me he loved what I had done.

He eased on top of me, anxious, yet reserved, and the doors to the church opened. My legs opened automatically, slowly, in invitation, in consent, opened like there was a sensor that caused them to accede just for him. He lay on top of me, settled his warmth on my warmth as the television supplied a baby-making song by Marvin Gaye, telling us to go ahead and get it on, to find that sexual healing, and as our bodies touched, everything about him felt powerful. He kept the bulk of his weight on his elbows so he didn't squish me. The body of the strong on top of the body of the feminine. But the body of the strong was always weakened by the softness of the feminine, always weakened by the gifts of the feminine, forever weakened by crossing the folds into a secret place. New sex. Unknown sex. Fantasy sex. I was so overwrought. I couldn't be still. I shivered with anticipation of the best part of sex. I anticipated him sliding inside me, the first contact, the connection when the real sex started, being opened and stretched. Everything that had been hard about me, all that had been difficult about me, no longer existed. I was woman. He was man. He kissed me, teased me with his cock, teased me by moving it up and down against my damp slit. I wriggled, bit my lips, bit his lips, put my nails in his back, breathing like I was drowning, embarrassingly excited. His mouth was on mine, his tongue moving with mine, and he teased me, sucked the long, distressful, dismal erotic cry of sexual distress out of my mouth. I needed to be penetrated, opened, and taken back to the land of orgasm. Over and over I wiggled underneath him. It went on and on until I wanted to scream for him to put it inside me, wanted to scream for the long and strong cock. Then he backed away. He backed away and grinned.

He was toying with me, enjoying my misery.

He came back to me, and I pushed him away.

I said, “You had your chance. Playing games like that, you blew it.”

He came back to me, smiling.

I smiled, too. We kissed again. I could hold out as long as he could.

I would play the game, would win the game, and would eat cheesecake while he had none.

He eased on top of me again, and my legs reopened for him like a gate to his home, gave one last chance, a final invitation into the other parts of my temple, and he lay on top of me, weighed me down, powerful, the body of the strong again on top of the body of the feminine.

He kissed me.

I reached down and touched his long, sweet dick. That was like LSD. Long, solid dick. I made sure that LSD was still covered, felt comforted when I made sure that he hadn't tried to do a trick and slip it off. Men would do that, try to sneak and remove the condom, try to lose the barrier because the rubber stole sensitivity and gave more than a few erection problems. He was covered, and the erection had no problem. Long, strong dick. It amazed me and made me anxious.

God bless
aspirin
and how it made what was malleable become as strong as wood.

We were here, had arrived at the last exit before creating our own little Sin City.

I held on to his erection, felt that power in my hand, felt what would be inside my body, imagined this moving in and out of me, and I became dizzy thinking about the moment he would be inside me. My belly filled with butterflies and as I stroked his cock I couldn't wipe the silly smile off my face. I was giddy with anticipation. I took a breath. He moved inside me slowly at first, and as moments went by, as his breathing thickened, as he thickened inside me, he sought to own me with each stroke, but with my every soft sound, while he was inside my feminine place, even as I trembled, I owned him.

Twenty comprehensive and unwavering strokes later it felt like he was trying to earn the pink slip to Susan's heart. From the first stroke it felt that good. We had had so much foreplay, and the prickling in my body needed to be scratched in the worst way. I wasn't going to give in, wasn't going to be weak. Wanted to act like I didn't want him more than he wanted me. Had to be a lady and let the man lead. My hand betrayed me. My fingers wiggled and reached down. My body joined in the conspiracy and betrayed me as well. My ass shifted in order to line up my vagina, and my hand held his latex-covered erection, measured it the way a woman measures an erection when she holds it the first time, its weight, its power, its stiffness. New pussy had him in heaven. New dick had me hot as hell.

My phone buzzed again. Chicken and Waffles' ringtone. Again it was ignored.

The man from Orange County bit my lips, sucked my tongue, and gave me another kiss that felt like nothing I'd ever felt, a kiss that shortened my breath. I wanted more. He kissed me like he'd wanted to kiss me all his life. Each kiss was better than I could have ever imagined. Had forgotten how good a moment like this could feel. The suspense was powerful. It had been that way with my boyfriend the first time. When it was new. But he had rushed inside me, hadn't taken his time, had put his dick in me and started pumping before the gun had gone off, had raced toward orgasm. Now my eyes opened. I was moments into cheating on my boyfriend, and I craved having this new man deeper inside me. I craved all of him. I craved his cock. I craved this strange cock. And now this man was dying to know me, dying to be deeper inside me, to be all the way inside a woman who had been a stranger to him a few hours ago, a woman the universe had placed at the same gas station at the same moment to make this possible, as if it were already written. So I arched my body, helped him be able to explode deeper inside me. Being opened, feeling total penetration until his skin rested against mine—it hurt and felt good.

I whispered, “Jesus Christmas.”

“What?”

“You're all the way inside me. All of you, all of your cock is inside me.”

At an unhurried pace, he moved in and out and in and out. Each time I moved away from him, then toward him. It was an unhurried dance between people who did not have the luxury of time. I purred. He moaned. Moaning was nonverbal direction, said you were on the right road, doing it the right way. The auditory battle escalated. We'd only started and I became a little louder, cries of sexual ecstasy rising from my body, trying to lose control. It felt so good. From the first lick, this had felt too damn good.

I whispered, “We're having sex; we're having sex; we're having sex.”

“Yes. We are having sex.”

“How the hell did this happen?”

“Don't question it. Enjoy it.”

We were having sex. I was having sex with him. We were together, yet separate. My mind raced. I felt what I felt, while he felt what he felt. Our experiences were independent from each other, yet here we were, pleasing each other in the absence of love. Sex was sex. He was so into me. It felt like he was here with me. Lovemaking is divine and soulful, yet he put himself completely into the act of faux love, maybe the start of what to him would feel like true love, a place where I wanted to be, but I keep it on the physical level, because there, in that shallow place, I will not drown, so I am safe.

He whispered, “You okay?”

“My heart is racing.”

“Are you freaking out again?”

“I'm fine; I'm fine.”

“You're okay?”

“Overwhelmed with emotions.”

“Should I stop?”

“How does it feel to be inside me like that?”

“You feel so warm and nice inside.”

My insides took on the shape of his erection, opened to fit its form. He took his time, and that was driving me fifty shades of crazy. As I opened up, I cursed. I panted as I felt his erection filling me, stretching me, moving deeper. Color came in waves like an ocean. His tongue had been bliss. But his erection was the top floor of heaven. Then I was underwater, floating in space, swimming in serotonin and dopamine, all at once, my sounds low and strong, but relaxed, happy, alive, dancing against his LSD.

He asked, “You're okay?”

I whispered, “Don't move. Let me absorb this moment.”

“Okay.”

“Pull back out to the tip, then wiggle back in; move like you're waving at me.”

“Cheesecake.”

“Yeah, cheesecake. The bet is still on?”

“The bet is still on.”

He pushed in deeper. It hurt. I smiled and clutched his shoulders. He pulled all the way out, then moved inside me again, did that over and over and over, and as moments went by, as the torture went on and on and on, as once again his breathing thickened, as he again thickened inside me, as he opened me up more, I stretched to accommodate his enthusiastic dick. He sought to own me with each eager stroke. Each stroke felt indelible, like none would ever be forgotten, and none would ever be erased. I panted like I was hyperventilating. He took hard breaths and stroked and stroked and kissed and panted and kissed. The connection was powerful, electrifying. It felt more than sexual. It felt dangerous. It felt like madness. He kept a steady stroke. We had found our sex groove and moved around the king bed, trying a dozen positions. It was coitus to end all coitus. The people in the room next door banged on the wall.

I felt spasms. Wonderful convulsions. I was engulfed in a spine- tingling contraction, a set of contractions, and I made the orgasm sound, made the face that told him I was on a wonderful journey.

He thrust, stirred me, and as he moved he whispered, said endearing words, told me how tight I felt, how good I made him feel, talked dirty, and in between my sex noises I told him how good he felt inside me, told him that his cock was big, that his cock was perfect, and I talked dirty for the sake of talking dirty, said things that motivated him to please me like he'd never have the chance again.

We complimented each other as lovers do, whether it is the truth or not. We were civilized savages, intellectual fornicators in the throes. We were beasts with manners. We were kind liars.

He suckled Tina, then licked Marie, multitasked as he stroked Susan and held my callipygous butt, held what many saw as part of my African heritage, gripped both cheeks of the booty nicknamed Ophiuchus, gave me the dance of all dances. I danced with him, and I was so high. Susan sang because there had been so much clitoral stimulation from his tongue, and now she was open and felt so much vaginal stimulation from his LSD. My sex hadn't been massaged like this since . . . ever. I was over the moon, beyond Mars. I had an outburst of passion, a sudden rush, was besieged by a thousand tingles and spasms. This was better than ten years of masturbation. My heart beat faster. Involuntary rhythmic rapid muscle contractions and more spasms made me hold on to him like I was falling. The heated feeling from those tingles spread to other parts of my body. I was manacled by euphoria. Feral desires magnified. Those desires handcuffed me as well. Muscles tightened. My breasts felt like they had doubled in size, and my nipples were so tender, so fat, so erect. My face, neck, chest, all of my skin was flushed. Susan felt alive, wet, engorged. Every noise I made was power, reflected the pleasure I was experiencing, and expressed how good he was making me feel. The expression on my face revealed to him how good I felt, just as the expression on his face told me the same. He looked like being inside me was better than being in a suite in heaven. I touched his face. Wanted to stare at him, study him, remember this moment, remember what this felt like forever.