Chapter 2: Swing Set
It has been a while since I have been in this part of town. The fall air feels refreshing as my friend and I walk into the patio of this funky little place. We find a table near the pond where the mannequin now sports a stylish scarf to ward off the chill. The red lights glow warmly in the branches of the trees. My friend Gina goes to the bar to order our drinks. I settle in for an evening of music and remember the last time I was here. The guy, sweet smile, shocking blue eyes, his warm mouth on me, the shudder as we ... A chill goes down my spine. It is the air.
Gina returns with two cold beers and we each look over the patio for very different things. I know Gina is looking for her boyfriend. I am pretending to not look for anyone. I am enjoying the band, the beer, the fresh air, the crowd of people moving here and there. A woman leans into her companion and laughs, the fall air wisps by, he shifts his stance.
I feel the chill of the air on the back of my neck as I see soft brown leather loafers, perfectly pleated pants that are the same sandy color of his hair. He is here. Tonight the polo has been replaced by a crisp white button down and the deepest red silk tie whose stripes are the exact piercing blue of his eyes. My breath blows away with the breeze.
I love a man in a shirt and tie.
I watch him put his lips to the rim of his beer. I can feel them on my neck, where that first button of my blouse starts. The breeze comes through again and he is gone, replaced by the chiseled figure of the man walking toward me.
Mark is an old friend. We have had our share of drinks and satisfying encounters. He grins his stupid lopsided grin and pulls a chair up along side me. His hand brushes the edge of my skirt and my body shudders a little with an old memory of him.
"God, you look good," Mark has a way with simple words. He also has a way of moving me to the exact place that he wants me. He grabs my hands and pulls me to the dance floor. We move to the rhythm of the music, the band doesn't disappoint.
I look into his big brown eyes. For a second the air feels warmer. I can see myself reflected briefly. Do I look that hungry or is it Mark? Our bodies mirror the rhythms of the music, of each other, of our past. I catch our movement in the mosaic on the wall and the memories move through my spine, memories of movement -- standing, kneeling and lying beneath him. He can do more than dance.
Thoughts of the red silk tie with the bright blue stripes drift away in the fall air.
We return to the table. Gina has found her boyfriend and they are off chatting up another group of couples. Mark leans in. I want to be kissed. He grins and I feel like he knows what I want. "How about another beer?" he asks.
OK, I was wrong.
I watch him walk to the bar. I ponder Mark's sweet smile, his chocolate brown eyes. He is a t-shirt and denim man with a closet full of canvas shoes. I find that I am enjoying the hole in his jeans just below the pocket on his right hip. I know there is tight nylon running briefs under them. The breeze is getting warmer and it pushes desires around in my head as it clears my line of sight.
He is still at the bar. His tie is loosened and the collar of his white shirt is open. I hear the whine of a guitar and it reminds me of the shudders he sent through my being. Mark is standing beside him and I feel like the world has stopped; Mark's longish, messy brown hair next to his sharply trimmed, sandy blonde hair. They briefly touch shoulders and glance at each other. The "oh, sorry man" glance that only guys can manage passes between them. Do they realize they share so much more? I watch, unable to turn away. There is a look that they share. It shakes me to the core.
He turns in my direction. The breeze is gone replaced by the warmth of a flush in my cheeks. The crowd shifts and I can see nothing.
Mark returns to our table. We drink and talk. We catch up on life without really saying anything. I try not to look past him. He is doing everything he can to keep me with him. I laugh at a silly joke I have heard a hundred times and as I peer into his eyes I realize I have this man. He is here hoping that he can charm me into an evening of fun, sex, an escape from the boredom of everyday life.
The band starts up again and he takes my hand. He leans in and whispers "dance with me." We start to move on the floor again. I hear the strains of a Van Morrison song, one of my favorites. The breeze is warm again.
He spins me away from him and I feel the room move out of control. He pulls me back to him and stops. His arms are tight around me. I look into his eyes and see a longing in his face that the warm fall air can not move.
"Dance with ME." He repeats. Webster did not include this meaning in his dictionary. "Let's get out of here," the breeze whispers.
We glide past Gina and her group. Her boyfriend gives Mark a thumbs up. Idiot. I turn to wave once more and I see the crisp white shirt and red silk tie looking my way. His eyes take in everything, Mark's arm around me, the flush in my cheek and the desire for something physical washing over my posture. He knows where I am going. He nods his head slightly. Then he is gone in the crowd the fall breeze blowing cool.
Mark pulls me close. His mouth is cool on my lips from his beer but his breath and his tongue are warm. So are the hands that have found my ass. He pulls me even closer and I feel the metal of his zipper and beneath it the thickness of his flesh presses into me.
I let the fall breeze blow through me. It is moving me somewhere unexpected tonight. I have no choice but to let it.
We wander the sidewalk to Mark's gate. He has one of those fabulous old brownstones with the rickety fence. He opens the gate and I walk into a jungle. Trees, vines, flowering plants scent the fall air. A small brick patio offers a pit for a fire. The lush grass offers a place to start one.
He stops again and pulls me closer. He starts to say something then stops. I lean in to kiss him. I want him to know he has me, for tonight
"How about a picnic," he asks with that goofy grin.
I nod and we run like two little kids to his back door. I go in and grab the wool blanket from its place. He tosses me the bottle of wine. He grabs two glasses and flips a switch on the way out. The yard is warmed by the glow of crazy parrot lights.
I spread the blanket and pour the wine while he starts up the CD player. I smile when Van Morrison begins to croon again.
He returns to me. We each take a sip of the wine. We have nothing to say. I look up to the fall sky. The breeze is slowly undressing the moon, modest behind some flimsy clouds. Mark sits the glasses on the step of the deck. The silence begins to feel heavy when the breeze returns to earth and his hands move to my neck. They slide down my shoulders and begin to undo the buttons on my blouse.
He pushes the fabric away and then looks up. I have on a red lace bra with the look of a corset. My breasts threaten to spill over the top. I was thinking a man might like this as I dressed tonight. His grin has changed into a leer.
"Wow, do your panties match?" He asks while his hands explore the fabric embracing and now exposing my breasts.
"Wouldn't you like to know," I smile. He stands and pulls me to my feet. Van is singing about his wild nights.
Mark is sliding his hands up the outside of my thighs and under my skirt. He drops to his knees and disappears under the folds. "Wow" he exhales.
The panties do match.
I wait for the obvious move. I want to feel his breath and mouth warm against my skin. I am very aware of the lace against me and the beginning dampness I have no control over.
But instead he stands again and looks into my eyes. His hands are against my ass, pushing me close to his hips.
"That was him, wasn't it," He asks, "The guy at the bar with the white shirt and red striped tie? The guy that did you on the couch upstairs at the bar."
