It hadn't always been that way. The ritual. The coldness. The heat felt in the moment, that left just as quickly as it, he, came. Even the ritual itself was lazy. He'd play a record they bought one afternoon at the shop where he'd always spend too much money. Turn on the lamp they had found at a thrift store that was too funny not too buy. It hadn't always been wishing he were living another moment altogether. Not even another life altogether. Just parts of lives he had lived. Places where the bridges to get back were razed as soon as he'd left. It wasn't even that she was that perfect of a girl, she wasn't... not really, she was just the last she in a string of shes. Women that had left him. It wasn't that she was the one. Hell, at one point they were all the one. They were all that special. She was just the last one.
She was stolen glances. She was the girl across the room. She was bummed cigarettes. She was the reason he'd linger when he shouldn't. She may or may not have been the reason he ruined a perfectly good relationship. She was a cliche. And he wanted her. She was hours of conversation. She listened to about half of it. She was vapid, or pretended to be. She was sexy. Jeans always too tight in all the right ways. She was low cut shirts. Plunging necklines. Heaving cleavage, a promise of perfect breasts. She was all of a hundred pounds, taking pulls off a bottle vodka. She was the coy smile in an almost cinematic silence.
He'd asked for her cell phone number, rushed. He turned just in time to see the excited smile spread across her lips as she got in her car. He would think about that smile all night. Nothing else would matter. Not the bar, the drinks(of which there were far too many), the bands, the fist fights. The sexy little asian girl that he'd danced with hadn't mattered, he checked his cell while she was grinding on him. He would check it again when she dragged him outside for a cigarette. And again as slipped her hand in his pocket for a lighter. And his lips were unresponsive, at first, when she pushed him into the corner.
His mind was distant when her hand found it's way into his pants. He felt numb falling onto the couch in the club, the music too loud. She was on his lap and grinding. The front of his pants still unbuttoned. He nervously eyed the bouncer, who looked on jealously too excited to stop the scene unfolding. She was drunk and staring into his eyes. He just looked right through her. She was tight. Too tight. She had said something he couldn't hear, some hip hop song was drowning out everything. He nodded, atleast six glasses of whiskey and however many beers in him. And she was fucking him. On a couch, in a club. She was fucking him. Some cute asian girl off to college in the city. Her parents were probably proud. She was probably a straight A student.
She was cumming before he was even really fully aware they were fucking. People were watching. Her dress was long enough to leave things to people's imagination. Her exagerated movements did not. She was trying to kiss him and tasted like cheap tequila and cigarettes, his brand. Then he thought about that smile. What was it? What did it mean? The asian girl's mouth found his again. He imagined she was this other girl. He imagined he was kissing the lips that held that secret smile. His hands found her breasts, small with hard little nipples. He pulled her away from his face, his hand full of her hair, he kissed and licked her neck and collar bone. His eyes closed tight, his cell vibrated. He came, inside of her. This was the first time he imagined her while fucking another girl. The next day he got his first HIV test.
She was stolen glances. She was the girl across the room. She was bummed cigarettes. She was the reason he'd linger when he shouldn't. She may or may not have been the reason he ruined a perfectly good relationship. She was a cliche. And he wanted her. She was hours of conversation. She listened to about half of it. She was vapid, or pretended to be. She was sexy. Jeans always too tight in all the right ways. She was low cut shirts. Plunging necklines. Heaving cleavage, a promise of perfect breasts. She was all of a hundred pounds, taking pulls off a bottle vodka. She was the coy smile in an almost cinematic silence.
He'd asked for her cell phone number, rushed. He turned just in time to see the excited smile spread across her lips as she got in her car. He would think about that smile all night. Nothing else would matter. Not the bar, the drinks(of which there were far too many), the bands, the fist fights. The sexy little asian girl that he'd danced with hadn't mattered, he checked his cell while she was grinding on him. He would check it again when she dragged him outside for a cigarette. And again as slipped her hand in his pocket for a lighter. And his lips were unresponsive, at first, when she pushed him into the corner.
His mind was distant when her hand found it's way into his pants. He felt numb falling onto the couch in the club, the music too loud. She was on his lap and grinding. The front of his pants still unbuttoned. He nervously eyed the bouncer, who looked on jealously too excited to stop the scene unfolding. She was drunk and staring into his eyes. He just looked right through her. She was tight. Too tight. She had said something he couldn't hear, some hip hop song was drowning out everything. He nodded, atleast six glasses of whiskey and however many beers in him. And she was fucking him. On a couch, in a club. She was fucking him. Some cute asian girl off to college in the city. Her parents were probably proud. She was probably a straight A student.
She was cumming before he was even really fully aware they were fucking. People were watching. Her dress was long enough to leave things to people's imagination. Her exagerated movements did not. She was trying to kiss him and tasted like cheap tequila and cigarettes, his brand. Then he thought about that smile. What was it? What did it mean? The asian girl's mouth found his again. He imagined she was this other girl. He imagined he was kissing the lips that held that secret smile. His hands found her breasts, small with hard little nipples. He pulled her away from his face, his hand full of her hair, he kissed and licked her neck and collar bone. His eyes closed tight, his cell vibrated. He came, inside of her. This was the first time he imagined her while fucking another girl. The next day he got his first HIV test.