With Purpose

She walked into the office and shut the door.  It was smaller than she imagined.  A wrap around desk, facing the door.  Metal filing cabinet beside a large recliner that seemed more appropriate for a living room than an office.  Book shelf.  And the largest aloe plant she had ever seen.  It stood nearly 4 feet tall, with branches that were as wide as the newspaper she collected off her porch every morning.  There was a small rectangular window, that let in just enough morning sun to remove any need for artificial lighting this early in the day, just enough to be a bit dark, and unsettling.

It was quiet.  She could hear the sounds of people working in the other offices and it both comforted her, and made her incredibly afraid in rapid cyclic thoughts that shifted back and forth from running to relief.  It was yearning to have someone take control that brought her here, to this point.  Not even sure exactly what she wanted, or how; but that was in fact THE point.  For her to be taken, however, whenever, wherever, by him.  Him that she barely knew but for a couple of random interactions in public with a host of mutual friends, always brief, always proper, properish anyhow.  They weren't so high class that they were above drinking Coors Light while playing shuffleboard at the Legion.  But this...taboo...this kind of sexual deviance...she wouldn't dare talk about that to her sister, let alone her friends.  But for some reason, she had suspected that about him.  Maybe she could see it in his eyes, because on some level it was as if the glances from him offered her an opportunity to look into herself, and see her own darkness looking back.

Whatever it was, it kept her there.  Standing.  Waiting.  Both looking at each other in silence until finally he rose from his seat after what had felt like 30 minutes, and walked over to her.  She nervously fumbled with her keys in her purse.  Twenty years ago, she would have walked in here and thrown him in that chair and ravaged him.  Her confidence now shredded by years of going through the motions.  Now she was afraid.  Insecure.  Vulnerable.  And she did not like being vulnerable, and the will to stay was broken just then by the young girl inside who lost her nerve, and was crying to run away.  She turned to the door, but as she reached for it he simply said "wait".  And somehow, that was enough.  That one little word, so softly from his mouth, that perfect mouth, put her arms at her sides, her purse sliding off and landing on the floor.  She turned to him, her heart racing, and fell with her back against the door.  He walked to her, took her hand, put her finger to his lips, pulled it down, and kissed her with his hand on her face.  He turned her around, and she pushed against the door and thrust her ass firmly against his groin.  She could feel him, and that made her bite her bottom lip in a grin.  Seeing that, he put his hand to her mouth, and put two fingers in it, squeezing her face with the rest of his hand, and putting the other around her neck, not to hurt her, just to show her that he would dictate how much fun she would have at his expense.  She touched that hand, as if to ask him to stop in a feeble attempt to defy him, but he quickly removed it, and placed it in her crotch instead, pushing her hand in place with purpose.

The truth was that he too was nervous.  She took him back to the boy who she ignored in youth.  He needed to dominate her now, or he would never be able to make love to her later.  It was his was of leveling the playing field.  Of knocking her off that pedestal that the world had put her on then.  And dominate her he did.  First by blindfolding her, then tying her hands behind his back, and finally by slipping his tie off and putting it over her head and through her mouth like a gag with the end behind her so he could pull on it with her long hair.  Then in what felt like one swift motion he forced her face down onto his desk, spread her legs with his feet, ripped off her thong that he had insisted she not wear, and stopped.  He looked at her there, holding her in place with one hand.  Her breathing was so heavy that her body rose up and down like the sea.  Her vagina literally dripped in front of him as her legs shook.  Now she was afraid.  How big was he?  What was he doing to do?  Fuck she never cheated.  Fuck fuck fuck.  Kelly what the fuck did you do?  You gotta leave, how can we leave?  I don't want him to hurt me.  All that erased in one soft, slow, beautiful touch of his hand, removing the blindfold, looking at her, and slowly sliding inside her until he felt his cock touch the very back of her pussy, and heard her sigh acknowledging how incredible it was.  Fucking perfect.

He realized right away this was too much power for her, put her blindfold back in place, lifted her skirt, and shoved his two biggest fingers from his left hand right up her ass, no warning, and no hesitation.  Once there, she was at his mercy, and he used that leverage to pull her back as she tried to move away.  Initially she fought, but quickly she realized the more she did, the more it hurt, and the harder he would pull her back.  The pain, while intense, wasn't horrible.  It was more the shock than anything else.  He used those fingers now to pull her to him, like handlebars on a bicycle, while he fucked her there on the desk, her tits rubbing against the stapler and pens that she had fallen on.  Her face pressed against a lap top.  He whispered to her, be quiet, and she did.  She stopped moving, resisting, he hadn't spoken so she had no clue what to expect.  And then she felt something different, and as he leaned in close to her he dropped something by her face.  It smelled of latex and was wet.  "Count down from five" he told her.  "Starting right now, while I talk, and know that when you get to one, I'll be cumming inside you..." and just as he said that final word, she felt him erupt in her.  He had broken that one rule she had insisted on, did the one thing she told him not to, and in that moment he won.  He had her heart, her mind, her body, his confidence he needed, and she immediately felt sexy again knowing that for once in her life, she was finally fucked like she had always wanted to be.  And rather than feel the anger for him that she had warned him of should he break that rule, all she could think of now was how badly she wanted to make love to him, in ways she had never allowed herself to with anyone else.  

Unlike the rest

I don't know why I went out.  I normally do not.  I have too much to lose there, and too much keeping me at home where we play and read books.  But something about it was different and I felt like I couldn't say no.  That's not true.  I could have.  I almost did, actually.  But I didn't want to.  

And it was a little odd at first, uncomfortable.  Probably growing more so with being thrown together without having heard each other's voices let alone share such a small space.  The wine helped a lot.  By the time our food came, something was different, she was softer, her eyes were like pillows wanting me to rest on.  At one point I said something to her and she paused, touched her heart, and it was like she had wanted someone to say that very thing since she was a little girl.  I can still see the look on her face.  It was like I ripped the air out of her lungs, and was dictating how much of it she could have back.  The remarkable thing is, it was unintended, and that look on her face expressing stolen breath, stole mine from me.  And just like that, she was ready to leave.  I took care of the check and we were gone.

Walking. 

No pressure.  It was comfortable.  She talked to her boss, and had her arm around mine.  I told her the history.  Pointed out blue lit buildings.  I watched the other people while she rambled on about interviews and meetings for Monday.  I was planning my move, and the second she said ended her phone call I spun her to me and kissed her like I planned to.  She was tall, and it was nice not to have to bend over to kiss someone.  That awkwardness from earlier was gone.  She was smiling, telling me about her life, and I was telling her about mine.  It was like we had been together for months.  She rambled on about her gay friends she travelled with, and I went on about my own adventures and the dichotomy that is my life as a redneck backstreet boy.  She said her body hurt, and I offered to rub it for her.  

At her bed I was like a child.  Intimidated.  Her body was amazing.  When I was rubbing it I was like a map maker, wanting to study every contour, every rise and fall, every valley.  I wish I had paid more attention to her bra, and her panties.  I was so struck by her skin that I couldn't focus on anything else.  Touching her was like putting your hands on cooling lava.  I wanted to breathe her in, all of her, and save it for little hints to remind me of it in the future.  I wanted to shove my hand into her chest and massage her heart, being able to feel that it was so cracked and hurting.  When she climbed on top of me I had to ask her time and again to slow down, and for brief periods she would.  Even when I sat her up, she fought back by pushing off the way, insisting on leveraging her will to fuck me over my persistence in requesting she make love to me.  I can still hear her ask that I not cum in her, and remember feeling like I wanted to so badly, and feeling like if I had she wouldn't have minded. 

I freaked out.  I hadn't felt a closeness like that with another woman in a really long time.  I had, in fact, made sure not to, and executed certain parameters to insure it.  Response:  flee.  And so I did.  Only to regret it, deeply, ever since.  And long for nothing more than to be back under that blue-lit building, waiting for her to hang up so I could spin her around, kiss her with all I had, and wait for us to go back to her room where I would stay until breakfast.  She was, you were, different, and unlike all the rest.  And I miss her, as crazy as that sounds.

I miss you.

defined as

I hate to argue

syntax

but meaning is so crucial

isn't it

Deliberate movements

of the mouth

in a private room

clothes thrown

everywhere

or in a darker restaurant

where I can watch you

undressing me with your eyes

watch you swallow hard

and pause

before you tell me 

it's really good

that I can choke you

two thousand dinners like that

I could have in a year 

on tour

one time I wanted dessert

I would walk by you now

like a stranger

you

who's aches I massaged

and who dug her way inside me

just to leave out the back

while the front was still open

and the cold win was blowing through

Anonymous

I think that sometimes I speak too much

and other times not enough

Now, for instance, I feel suffocated

by my own breath

too scared to breathe

or whisper 

I can see you there

across from me

your brain flying 

wondering

curious

Standing beside 

bedside

What the fuck am I doing

You said you liked me

I said a lot of things

all of them broken now

does she fuck every guy who buys her dinner

is she running

am I

is this best

why do I care

what's the point of trying

of looking at her 

of wanting her to write

to give a shit

That body, though.

I know one thing

no other guy will ever kiss you 

by a blue lit building

the way that I did.

Fuck Texas.

And Fuck you too.

I will not eat them

I lost my dog

ya know

somewhere in the vodka

and the carmenere

You probably wouldn't recall

your mind working too fast

he's a writer

he's probably good in bed

am I gonna sleep with him

I wanted to stay

there

in the red sea

you said would be so bad

be unprotected

but I sought shelter

instead

and now I can't go back

You see I had this fear

that I had shared

too much, way too

much

blue buildings

words

History.

No erotica,

Sam I am.

My words are true

and I will not

eat them.

We sat up.

Your hand on the wall.

We sat up.