Sex at dawn (Bent)

Like all great stories, this one begins with me. 

I was sitting by the coffee shop window pirating music and hacking gift cards when you drove into the drive thru.

The amount of hair spray needed to keep your hairdo in place seemed to me at least, extraordinary. So dark, rich and poof-ee. The air in your car was blowing your bangs back and I was enthralled. 

You crept by the window as you fiddled to put your card back, put the receipt away and keep the kids in the back from mutiny. Then you saw me. The tingling started in my toes.

That moment when I register, that you register that I exist. It’s gut wrenchingly delightful.

Those few seconds so pregnant with possibility and potential. The multitude of universes that could suddenly now become reality. A slow motion love fest of dreams and whimsical fantasy, all rolled into the small neuron firings in the back of our mushy brain housing for the length of not even one minute. Time bends and whatever sense one has of the moment, the real, the eternal, becomes evident. 

Its as if I am able to imagine sex with you in all its intensity and in every position I think I could put you into. The looks that your face might make when you orgasm and want at that moment for me to see you, know you, be one with you without fear or rupture between us. The feel of your thighs, the crease of your body bent. The warm crevice of your vagina and the luscious taste of your lips as I suck on them.

My sweat rolls of my tattoos and down onto your belly, which in turn roll around your waist and down the plump, fatty roundness of your ass cheeks.

I imagine the numerous noises you would make, the loudness of your moans as well as the attempt to muffle your own intensity. Hold back but-you can’t. The sudden flow of your juices and their scent. Beds break, headboards snap, Tables smash. Our clothes shed like they contained an ugly insect. They are still floating down to the floor as my tongue enters you.

A lifetime of smiles, encounters, sex in dangerous places is captured in the time it takes your vehicle to roll ten meager feet. I can still see your chest lift as you breath in. All that is good and wholesome in this life seems to rest in between your breasts and starched hair. 

You check both directions. Scan me over once more. Pull down your sunglasses and roar into what might as well be lunar orbit. 

Did you envision me as I you? Where did you go? Will you return to thoughts of me later, when time permits a moment to touch yourself and visit that other dimension that might have been? Hope springs eternal.

N.