Last Words

I heard her come in. I felt her.

"I thought," I blurted, still angry, desperate to have the last word. She placed three fingers over my lips before I could finish.

"You think too much."

I sat down, frustrated. She sat at my feet. I cried as she nestled her head near my need. Her flame red hair was splayed across my lap, half covering my cork board colored thighs. She looked up and genuinely smiled. I stroked her face with the tips of my slender fingers; her smooth alabaster skin was as flawless as the day we met. I needed her. She knew and without a word, obliged. She stood, shed her coat, hat and clothes, everything but her underwear, and beckoned me to our room.

My hands trembled as I slid them from her frigid neck to her breasts and belly then to her warmth. Long lingering kisses followed the invisible path my hands had created. Caressing her heightened my desire and I became eager and clumsy. She guided me to her breasts. I rested there; eyes closed and listened to her heart beating. She smelled like summer, fresh cut grass and wisteria. I thought about the argument; I thought about what I did to force her out into a snowstorm. I just wanted us both to forget and begin again. I knew that would not happen. I wept and she kissed me, a deep passionate kiss that caused temporary amnesia. I tasted cigarettes and mentally cursed myself for driving her back to the habit. Her weakness made me angry. I hated her weakness.

"Thinking again?" She teased.

She forced my face down to her belly. I kissed her there and my anger subsided. I worked my way down to her hips and pawed roughly at them.

"Take them off," I ordered

I watched her ample body jiggle as she slipped out of her underwear. I got up and stripped off my clothes. I hung my bra on the bedpost and I watched as she looked away. Predictable is what she called it, I argued practical. My little routine drove her crazy. I like to put things where I can find them later. She is the artistic type; neurotic, messy and high maintenance and I knew that our relationship would never work. I slept with my ex-lover and told her, out of obligation and maybe just to push her away; she screamed that we were through, three years gone, a waste, over. I slipped between her legs before I could convince myself that I had fucked up yet another relationship.

I spread her wide. I wanted to look at her, to remember when nights become lonely and I become nostalgic. Her private patch of red hair was still captivating. Instead of weeping, pride propelled me. If she was going to leave, she wasn't going to forget me. I began at her feet; she giggled, and nibbled my way from there to her sturdy calves, the backs of her knees and then to her middle. I traced the scar on her right thigh with my tongue, recalled the story of its origin and held back my tears. The combined scents of summer, of fresh cut grass of wisteria and woman hung heavy before me. I was drawn to it and drank it in from its core. My tongue swept passed her coarse red fur and to the pink beneath. She cleared her throat as I began massaging her folds with my tongue. Damned cigarettes, I thought, her coughing and late night snoring pissed me off. Despite my annoyance, I focused on her clit intently, keeping my movements steady and strong. She responded, groaning, giggling and becoming stone silent during the moments that she was close. I had to do something different to keep her here.

I longed to kiss her face and hold her, to take her into my arms and apologize. It was easy to believe that this was better, that licking and sucking would automatically regain a place for me in her heart. I worked harder; I began to suckle and twirl my tongue in ways that made her flinch and groan. I slid a finger deep inside her. I thought about a baby, and winced at the pain of knowing that it would never happen now. She moaned, placed her cold hands against either side of my face and guided me. She wanted desperately to finish. I never wanted this to end. Her legs tightened around my back.

I closed my eyes then opened them again, taking a mental snapshot of her. I laughed at such a childish thought. It is all I had, a mind filled with memories like these and a lifetime of last words.

She left.