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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.
