Inspired by a Bonnie Raitt song by the same name.
*
It's one of those heavy, restless summer nights; even the magnolia leaves look listless. She sits on the porch in her thinnest nightgown, hoping to catch a nonexistent breeze. The chirping of the crickets sounds dull, torpid. She fans herself and gazes longingly at the flashes of lightning far in the distance. Counting, hopefully, but knowing the rains won't be coming here.
Her thoughts are buzzing, her body burns. She has that itch for him again. They've been apart for too long. First it was angry days, then sullen weeks that slid maliciously into a month and a careless second. It always plays out like that, this nasty waiting game. Each time she's the one who breaks first. She knows she should fight it. She knows this is the path to pain and self-destruction, but her need for him is beginning to overwhelm her pride...again. In her mind she steps onto that treacherous ledge.
*****
They had met at one-or-another barbecue at someone's home. Friends of friends brought her along, insisting she needed to get out more; she had been alone too long. She talked to folks she knew for a while, then wandered off to a less boisterous spot under an arbor laden with jasmine. As she tapped out the rhythm to the music the band was playing, she heard a rich, deep voice in conversation nearby. His tone was urgent, insistent. The answering voice was shrill, angry. A woman in short shorts and some sort of shiny top stalked off along the corner of her eye, her staccato heels not quite in time to the song. An earnest string of cussing followed in her wake.
He walked past her without even seeing her, but she drank him in; worked-in cowboy boots of indeterminate color, pressed dark trousers kept in place by a plain dark leather belt and a silver-and-turquoise concho buckle; light blue shirt with standard issue silver bolo tie. He had short dark hair and a lived-in face, at least in profile; nothing remarkable but he was neither ugly nor handsome. Put it all together, though, and he looked absolutely male. There was no other way to describe him.
She must have made a soft sound of appreciation. Something caused him to look in her direction. The flickering lighting off the patio revealed that he had rich, deep brown eyes. After a tongue-tied moment she managed to croak a quick "Hiya!" just as he began to turn away. She could tell that he was caught in the moment, set to pursue Shiny Shirt until he was interrupted.
After a second's hesitation he settled on his heels, turned back towards her, and replied, "Hi, yourself."
"I'm sorry," she started, "I didn't mean to eavesdrop; I was just watching the world go by."
His eyes crinkled as he made a genuine try to smile. "No problem, just one of those things."
The sound of a sports car revving in the distance made him sigh softly.
"Was that your ride?" she inquired.
"What?" he looked startled, then shrugged, "Well, probably not anymore."
She tried to sound consoling, "Oh, dear," but it rang false even to her own ears.
He ended the awkward silence by offering to get her a drink. She asked for a bourbon and water. After an appreciative glance he promised to return.
The rest of the evening passed quickly. They drank and chatted together; a friend drew them into a small group where they talked and joked. He sat a little closer to her, then put his arm around her as the late-evening air grew chilly. As people began to say their goodbyes she glanced at her watch and made the decision she'd been fiddling with since the sound of that car peeling out of the driveway.
"Do you need a ride?" she softly inquired.
He looked at her sharply and winked. "You don't even know if I'm going your way, ma'am."
"That's Miss, to you," she laughed. "Unless you're headed clear to the coast, I can probably manage."
He gave her an address that was on her way home with only a slight detour.
She held out her hand. He took it and slid his arm around her, real smooth.
She didn't get home that night, or the next. He had invited her in for some coffee, but somehow they had ended up all over each other in the parlor, never even making it to the kitchen. She'd woken in his bed, his arm wrapped around her as if to keep her from running off. They'd spent the day nibbling on various foods, talking about this and that, and fucking their brains out.
The initial romance lasted about 4 months before they had their first blowup. He ignored her; she sulked until she couldn't stand it any longer, and called him with pleas and apologies. She was a moth to his flame. He irritated her again at some point (or maybe she annoyed him that time) and they flew apart again; and again.
The good times were filled with pleasant conversations, parties with friends, quiet weekends, and hot mornings and evenings. He was a skilled lover, tender, patient; discovering with delight that he could bring her off again and again with his tongue and fingers as well as his cock. She was eager to please him in the same ways, giving him intent, intense blowjobs and enthusiastically matching his thrusts.
They crossed paths with Shiny Shirt not long after patching up the third or fourth break-up. The woman's eyes spit at her like a cobra's, but she held her ground. Shiny uttered something about temporary promises, wished her luck, and stalked off. He shrugged and they just walked along as if the whole thing hadn't happened. But, in the back of her mind, it bothered her.
Not long after the following Christmas, she unwisely remarked their time together as 18 months, more or less; he seemed to get a scared look to his eye that he quickly blinked away.
That eye soon started to wander, almost as if in in self-defense. Another fight, another separation, and yet another earth-shaking reunion ensued. The fights were mean, dramatic, awful; the make-ups were mind-bending with their passion and intensity.
