Another rich, heart-felt Friday, late-late-late in the afternoon...
The sun is going down, dipping its head low against the breast of the earth past the long arms of cascading willows blowing lightly in the breeze. For a moment I look over my shoulder, the bare skin of my lower back pressed against the sinister, stained white of a painted brick wall. Heel twitching lightly against the floor, the long tip jerking anxiously like the tail of an agitated cat.
You're late... and I hate it when you are late.
It makes me angry and reminds me of broken promises from my childhood. None of which have come from you, up to this point you have been such a good and stable boy yet my mind stalls then hiccups... life's experiences have a way of catching up with us, haunting us, bending us over the most veneer of furniture and raping us violently from behind.
It is quite possible, I think quietly to myself that at this very moment as another second of the clock twitches past, that I hate you and I know, even before you arrive that trouble is brewing. My rage and anger are bubbling up from closed depths... and even though it is not your fault, it will be your loss because... my heel twitches with distraction... you are my temptation.
Outside the heated street tugs at the silhouetted people passing by...
I love the way the bluish-orange haze of the sky begins to flirt with softer shades of purple and all of the surrounding buildings loose the coloring of their faces as they stand firm and erect to meet the end of another day and the beginning of a new night; their identifying features becoming less discernible.
You wave, deep, mellow voice calling out "hello" with the slightest hint of a lisp.
I nod in recognition; lips curling with satisfaction as I rise from the disjunct twin of the other bed perched against the opposite side of the room. A thought back-fires from somewhere within the recess of my mind as I pull away from the window and involuntarily note the contrasting features of the two beds... the bedding of mine is twisted and wrinkled, the edge of one fitted sheet clings loosely to the top left of the mattress. The other bedding is pulled taunt and smooth, crisply into a near perfect picture of perfection... yet I wonder briefly for a moment, slender caramel fingers twining around the knob of my door... is this a metaphor of our lives?
The light from the hallway spills into my darkened room, right palm lingering against the threshold as I turn... it dips back in and flicks on the inner switch as I pull out into the hallway and begin to move forward to meet you. Today I am wearing plum-colored patent leather pumps with plaid leggings in a deliciously maroon medley. A taste of red here, a touch of navy blue there, all lavished over a soft cream like tightly pulled shibari. The print is small and the squared-off corners of the textured pattern meet and intersect at points that create a cornucopia of small squares that ride over my curvaceous hips like minuscule needle points.
"Good evening Charles," I whisper, smiling like the Cheshire cat as I let your arms curl around my backside to pull me close against you. The warmth of our bodies bumping together as we meet sends small waves of excitement through me like sparks from an electric current running over water. I lean forward to press my mouth to your cheek, half-parted, the lips glide together over your skin to form a gentle kiss.
As one of your palms rolls over my ass pinching lightly and playfully in a discreet manner, I whisper, "you're late," then pull away.
"I've missed you."
"We've only been separated for a couple of hours, damn."
"I know."
"We can't be together every goddamn minute. I need some space!"
My door closes and the room grows still, for a brief moment we sit in silence while the rest of world continues to flourish outside.
I hear laughter, talking, and the giggles of girls fading as they walk down the street, backsides highlighted by fluorescent street lamps.
I'm sorry. I'm stressed... Got a lot of stuff on my mind. Things to do..." my voice trails off, deliberately stating all of the things you want to hear, striking the notes of sympathy that will give you temporarily relief... pause... comfort. I'm winding you up like the tiny springs and coils inside of an antique wristwatch.
Again, you begin to speak, voice soft and yielding, carefully, lovingly stepping across stones as you try to emotionally trudge you way through the overgrown path between us. I can see it in your eyes, a delicate pleading, that swirls around and around through the hazel haze, "help me.... please," it whispers, clinging to the golden green flecks of your eyes like tangles of moss on rotten branches and mottled tree trunks.
"Charles," I whisper softly, getting up from my tangled bed and crossing the room to your crisp twin. My palms roam gently over your cheeks, caressing your chin, squeezing your shoulders. Ruby red claws trickle down your back scraping gently over your dress shirt. I come to my knees, kneeling between your thighs and it's almost as if I'm standing at the edge of a dilapidated wall. Witnessing your body crumble, each cell collapsing and giving in as my hands continue to run down. Our bodies mingle, coalescing together into a muddled puddle of flesh and emotions, symbiotic... your yearning to be loved tears at my heart and I know deep down inside that if I dwell in this space for too long it will break.
"-----," you call my name softly, voice quivering as I pull away and the words continue to tumble-down, spilling from your lips in the sweetest of confessions but I can barely hear them over the rushing of my own heart. "I've been with a lot of women through my life, had a lot of experiences... I'm ready, I want to settle down," again those puppy dog eye's tugging as they beg for acceptance.
"So you. Are. A. Hoe!"
Strategically placed, my tongue clucks over each word, swiftly delivering my first blow like a balled fist ramming into your gut.
