It seems like an eternity that I stand poised in the hallway, hand raised to rap against the door panel. I could be paranoid to be seen here outside your hotel door, but this is the first time I've been to this city, and probably the last as well. And anyway, I could give a fuck what strangers think of me. No, the true cause of my trepidation is the unknown that lies beyond this door. And funny thing is, I don't know whose expectations I am more afraid of, yours or mine.
One slab of metal stands between us, like a, well...like a doorway to another existence. Woot, go analogy girl. Yes, that late night flight was an excellent idea and has not dulled your cunning wit one iota.
Brain must focus.
Choices are at hand. Life altering choices that cannot be reversed once embarked on. Cartoons and flirting, a 3x3 picture on a flickering screen maybe do not translate well to the stripped down bare face of reality. And all of this has built up to this moment. Am I going to bring these knuckles against this door, or am I going to flee like a chicken shit. I bring my forehead to rest against the numbers of your hotel room and start to pray. I need a sign. An omen. A burning bush or a baby in a basket, anything because all the times I've practiced it, that terrific speech I've been working on has just flown out of my head.
Is that my heart pounding in my throat? Is that even anatomically possible? Was that my fist that just thumped softly next to my head? My brain has exaggerated the impact until surely they can hear it all the way down in the lobby, but realistically judging by the shaking hand, it's possible you haven't even heard it inside the room. But the clicking of the mechanism, the rattle of the knob takes even that daydream away from me. It's go time.
And I'm frozen, staring into your eyes...inquisitive...hopeful? Your lips pull up into a smile, familiar to me because I've imagined it, written about it a thousand times. And that sigh as you caress my name, the syllables of your greeting tumbling out in reverence and longing. You retreat slightly and the door swings soundlessly wider. I couldn't turn around now even if I wanted to, I slide past you, turning my head to keep your gaze as our shoulders brush. If anything is going to turn the course of this evening, it will have to be you. I've gone too far to pull back now.
I twirl with my back to the room, still keeping your face in my sights. "Rene," you say again as your strong back leans until the door thunks back into its frame. Confronted by your breath, your warmth, and your energy so close... I'm assaulted by the need to touch you for real this time and liberate you from the fantasy I've created in my head. But I'm afraid to move.
My hesitation creates an opportunity and you step forward with intensity, hands coming up to grip either side of my face. Angling my face upwards, our mouths are slashing against each other in seconds, needy and desperate until all doubt and reservation are burned to ash. My palms flutter uselessly to your elbows, continue a journey up along the outside of your arms. Yet I'm bolder as your tongue snakes between my lips, parting them and stealing my breath directly from me, and my grasp is fierce when I wrap my hand around the nape of your neck, pulling you in . I can taste the bit of mint lingering, blending with the herbal tang of the tea I drank in the cab on the way over. And as my hold on you changes, your hands descend, thumbs drawing two perpendicular lines down my torso, dissecting my nipples as your fingers encircle my ribcage to eventually reach my hips.
