Steele Night Foreplay

Peter Steele, sounds like a porn star's name, I thought giggling to myself. I'm alone in the darkness of a forgotten alley waiting. Waiting for you to take your usual shortcut home from the bars down this abandoned side street that the poor and desperate won't even go near. I've been waiting for weeks for a chance alone with you; and if nothing else, I AM a patient person.

In the distance I hear an ambulance siren screaming as it faces frantically to its next stop and I wait. I must have nodded off propped up against the alley wall because I'm startled out of a half sleep by the sound of footsteps nearby. I check my watch; it's 3:48 a.m. I feel a chill run up my spine that has nothing to do with the 50° weather and everything to do with the unmistakable sound of your footsteps.

I try to draw a steadying breath to clam my nerves. It comes and goes as a poor, ragged attempt that you obviously heard because you stop suddenly in the alley looking around cautiously. If you ask "Who's there?" I swear I'll...Well, I don't know what I'll do but this just wouldn't be you. We both know it.

You cock your head a little to the side trying to figure out what you heard if anything. A small self-mocking smile forms on your sensuous full mouth as you come to the faulty conclusion that it was just your imagination working overtime. I stay in the deep shadow that clings to my body shielding me from discovery. You pass by smelling of beer, too much smoke, and some cheap knock-off perfume. My knees weaken at the sight of you again.

Your long black hair restrained in a ponytail hangs down the back of a well-worn green military jacket. Your long legs, encased in faded, ripped jeans, stride down the alley not as surely as they had on previous trips that I had watched you. Your black leather combat boots make a muffled sound as you ease your way cat-like through the alley. I caught a quick look at the green and black T-shirt you're wearing; it's my favorite. It fits your body like a glove, revealing broad shoulders, well-defined pecs, a concave stomach. You had been ill lately, withdrawing from society and the limelight. It showed in the gauntness of your face, the darkness under your eyes, and the new lines etched between your nose and mouth. THAT MOUTH!

I gather my courage and push off from the wall; I follow. My footsteps went unheard by you as you start to whistle a tuneless melody. We're blocks from the alley and you're not leading me to your home. It's as if you're looking for something that can only be found in the darkest, stillest part of the night. Are you looking for me? Would you recognize me for who I am or simply as a near-mirror image of yourself?

Where your long black hair is straight and confined, mine is slightly wavy and loose flowing down the back of my Marlboro jean jacket. Where your eyes shine with an almost otherworldly pure green, mine are flecked with amber and topaz and rimmed in a blue-gray. My lips are full and sensuous too, but riddled with nervous teeth marks and tinged blue from waiting in the cold. My high cheekbones, winged eyebrows, and strong jaw do not make me pretty, but men look twice. I too have broad shoulders, but my collarbones stand out in relief and my heather gray T-shirt clings to my 36C chest like a second skin. At 6' 7" you may have a foot on me but I'm well proportioned and my long denim-clad legs start above dainty feet shod in black shit kickers and end at my womanly hips and curvaceous ass.

During my musings we've gone another three city blocks and are heading to some deserted lot. It looks like something the neighborhood tried to recover in the form of a garden maze complete with benches and modern art statues, but failed. You walk bristly into the maze as though being chased. Did you notice me? Should I turn back or skirt around the edge of the lot til you come out the other side?

Indecision costs me precious seconds as I plunge into the maze following the sound of your whistling. I try to move quickly and quietly, but things get in my way. I stumble around looking for some clue you had passed by when I realize I can't hear you anymore. "Oh great!" I think to myself, "The only thing I could possibly follow out of this forsaken maze and it's gone!" I listen closely and don't hear a thing. You must have found the exit and continued on your way. Another chance wasted! When will I learn?

Resigned to a long walk home, if I ever found my way out of this place, I turn the corner and find the maze's center. There, leaning on one of the sturdier-looking metal benches that surround a broken fountain filled with brackish water, was YOU.

You stare at me as though you could see right through me and for a split second I think there's hope of escaping unnoticed. Just as I'm ready to make a run for it, you say in your deep resounding voice, "You're not what I expected to be following me...or are you an equal opportunity mugger?"

Frozen in my tracks I stare at you with eyes suddenly too large for my face as air rushes out of my lungs in a whoosh. I try drawing a steadying breath with the same results as the first. Your eyes narrow slightly, "It was you in that alley. Why are you following me? How long? I don't remember seeing you at Dirty Charlie's tonight."

How long? Does he want the honest psychotic answer? Maybe he does. Maybe this night is not wasted after all. My body tingles at the possibilities.

To be continued...

This is my first attempt at writing. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.