After the Party

I slam the cupboard door. It's an accident, but also not totally an accident.

"For fuck's sake, can you just remember to get the olives next time?" I say.

You roll your eyes and sigh.

"I told you, I thought we had some. It's fine. I'll text Bob and tell him to bring some," you say.

I nod and turn to the cutting board. I'm slicing lemons and limes and placing them in little bowls for the cocktail table. People are coming in half an hour and I still need to empty the garbage in the bathroom and wipe down the sink, light some candles, and get dressed. I'll be lucky if I have time to put on some lip gloss.

"Are you going to be okay tonight?" you say, and I nod. I've been annoyed with you all day. All week, actually.

"Are you gonna be okay?" I say, a slight edge to my tone. You have turned your back to me, busy with something, and you nod.

It's not just the olives, although as with any argument in a long relationship, the olives sort of stand in for something else. It's the lack of attention, the miscommunication, the small disagreements that add up over time. It's the stuff of everyday life, piling up.

I'm running a brush through my hair and lamenting that I haven't had a decent hair cut in a while when the doorbell starts to ring. Soon the house is full. People mill around, seeing who is here and catching up with some awkward small talk. It feels for a moment like we mixed the wrong crowds and the chemistry isn't there. But someone has made a great playlist and after a couple of trips to the cocktail table, people are feeling loose and the noise level creeps up. There's a friendly patter punctuated by laughs and cries of "What?" and "No!" Someone spills a drink on the carpet in the living room.

"God, isn't the state of the world crazy right now?" a woman asks me at the table where we've set out the crudite and bowls of nuts, and I nod, chomp on a carrot, and think about a way to excuse myself so I can find my friend in another room. Everyone knows things are crazy in the world, but the whole point of parties is to find a way to have fun without thinking about the state of the world, or your relationship, or the shittiness at your workplace, or the fight you had with your brother over what to do with your parents now that they have aged so much.

I make my way around the rooms of the house and smile, and laugh, and nod, and talk about where we bought the super comfortable couch in the back room and who did the painting in the living room. There's a group having an interesting conversation about books, and I join in for a few minutes. I haven't read any of the books, but I've heard of some of them. I ask for recommendations, and make a note in my phone.

I finish my martini and head to the cocktail table. But we happen to be out of olives, so I pick up the bowl to refill it. Bob brought a few jars, luckily.

I turn the corner into the kitchen and see you leaning against the counter, drink in hand, talking to someone quietly. "Look at that handsome man," I think, before I recognize that it's you. Your eyes are narrowed, focused, and you're nodding, listening carefully. You've got a cocktail in your hand and every so often, you take a deep drink from your glass.

I stand and watch you for a minute, forgetting the bad feelings of earlier today and remembering the first time I knew I loved you. It was at a party much like this, I recall. Your hair was a little longer then, less grey at the temples, and you had fewer lines on your face, but you were listening carefully to someone - engaged, interested, sincere - exactly like you are now. I looked over at you and thought, "I love him," and it felt right, just like that. I said it to you when we left the party that night, for the first time, and you said it back to me, kissing me so softly on the sidewalk outside.

You meet my eyes now and smile, a small smile meant just for me. I smile back at you, and take a sip of my drink. Behind me, the party carries on, but for a moment, it's just you and me.

I close the door on the last group a couple of hours later, thanking them for coming. I can hear them laughing and talking down the driveway to their Uber as I turn towards the living room to start picking up cups and stacking plates. I can hear you in the back room turning off the music and throwing things in a garbage bag.

"Keep the music on," I call out to you, picking up some cushions that someone tossed down in a circle in the living room, and placing them back on the couch. I blow out a candle that has burned down to the wick.

You appear in the dimly lit living room, a full bag of garbage in one hand and a fresh drink in the other.

"It was a good party," you say.

"It was," I say.

You come a little closer to me, set down the bag of garbage, and offer me the drink. I take a sip; it's gin and tonic, poured a little stronger than usual, with a healthy slice of lime. It's my favourite.

A slower song comes on the playlist and you hold out your hand for the drink, and take a sip. Then you set it down on the table next to us, and step closer to me, putting one hand on my waist and taking my hand with the other. We sway for a few moments, and then you pull me closer. The music changes key and the singer's voice soars.

"Okay?" you whisper to me.

"Okay," I whisper back, and lay my head on your chest. You're wearing a soft sweater in shades of green that I've always liked on you. You kiss the top of my head.

The song changes. You stop moving and I lift my head.

"Can we leave the rest until tomorrow?" you ask me, and I nod.

You kiss me, gently at first, and then with a little more intensity as I respond. Your mouth is so eager for mine, and we sink into a deep and sensuous kiss. I know your moves. You know mine.

You break the kiss to step away from me, and lift my shirt over my head. I lift your sweater over yours. The silver hairs on your chest glint in the candelight, and I twirl through some of them with my index finger, brushing your nipple. You shiver, and I lower my head to your chest to lick it. There's a soft sigh from you as you bring your hands to my back and pull me closer. I lick your nipple and brush it with my teeth.

This is a dance we've done many times, and while it's never boring, it's not usually surprising, either. There's comfort in knowing what you like, in knowing that you will do what I like.

"Baby," you whisper to me. I straighten and you kiss me again, reaching behind me to undo my bra. I'm wearing an older one, serviceable and plain, but you take the time to fold it before you set it on top of my shirt. You bring your hands to cup my breasts and brush the smooth pads of your thumbs over my nipples.

"Oh god, babe. That feels so good," I tell you, but you already know by the way my hips start to dance and my breath comes faster. You reach down for the glass and offer me a sip before taking a long drink yourself. You set the glass down again and touch your tongue to my nipple, rolling it and then closing your cool mouth over it. I moan, loudly. You hold my back and you play with my stiff nipples for a few minutes like this, using your fingers to squeeze and pinch too. I am getting so aroused; I can't keep my hips still and I lean into your mouth, throwing my head back.

You stop and stand up, letting go of me with one hand. With the other, you fish an ice cube out of the glass. You hold it to my nipple and then glide it over the rippled surface of my areola. I gasp, and feel my pussy tighten and swell in response. Then you take the ice cube away and blow warm breath over my nipple, grazing it with your tongue. The sensation is intense. You do it again. I feel my pleasure building towards release now, and I let you know that with my whimpers.

You take the ice cube to my other nipple, running over it in circles and making it wet, and then put your warm mouth to my nipple, sucking and rolling it with your tongue. Waves of heat and electricity roll through me. You bite my nipple gently.

"Oh, fuck," I say, and come, my knees buckling. You hold me tight and keep tonguing and sucking my nipple as I shudder.

When I'm through, you lead me to the couch nearby, and I sit. My legs are still a little shaky. You unzip your pants and pull them off. I reach out and touch the shape of you through your underwear.

"What do you want?" I say.

"I want you, under me," you say.

I lay down on the couch and you unzip my jeans, pulling them down over my hips and off. You run a finger over the groove in my damp panties before you take them off, too.

You pull my hips down on the couch. You lower yourself on me, kiss me deeply, and guide yourself inside me. You groan softly at the feeling of me, and say my name.

You take my hands and raise them above my head, weaving your fingers through mine. You roll your hips, moving inside me in long, slow strokes. I look at your face, peering into mine so earnestly, and think, "Yes, it's you. It is still you."

I curl my pelvis up to meet yours, and your hands grip mine, and our bodies are warm and comfortable together, and this is lovemaking like we haven't had in a while. Maybe a long while.

Your damp chest presses into mine, and I feel the weight of your stomach against my soft belly. My breath quickens as my climax starts to build again. You begin to moan and gasp as you move, so I know you're close too.

"I love you," you say, as you empty yourself inside me, pulsating. A minute later, I strain against your hands, closing my eyes and arching my back as I come.

Neither of us moves for long seconds, panting, still holding hands. Your weight settles on me. My heart pounds in my chest.

"Where did that come from?" I say.

You laugh. You shrug, and let your head rest on my neck.

"I love you," I whisper into your ear, and put my arms around you. I rub circles on your back, feeling you soften and slip out of me. We lay there until I hear your soft snore, and then I shake you awake. We clean ourselves up in the bathroom, and stumble down the hall into our bed.

"Do you think we should have more parties?" you say as you turn out the light. "I promise to never forget the olives again."

"Yeah, baby," I say. "I know you'll remember," and find your hand to hold in the dark.