i see you at the party, sitting quietly. pretty. listening to friend chat about something, i can’t remember what.
i lose track of you for a while. i have people to catch up with, news to get, give. broken promises to make up for, and more promises to make now.
i see you later, though. and you see me, you smile at me, i think. i hope. it’s a lovely smile, wide, friendly, genuinely happy.
it’s surprisingly attractive, your happiness, a break from the normal seriousness.
i sit down with your group. make the introductions. get your name.
we chat and folks leave to get more drinks, leave us alone. we deal with the small talk.
“i live most in ___ and come back here frequently, i’m more or less a ___”
“32″
“i know jake”
you tell a joke and we start laughing. i think it’s beautiful that i can’t remember who touched who’s leg first, who started to press our thighs together in a covert suggestion of attraction.
not subtle enough though. we get disdainful looks from friends as they return with stiff drinks. i think they’re directed at me.
man-slut. the one who ends up in these situations way too often, the one making out in the back of the bar, dark corners, what-have-you. already back at work after my hiatus in “monogamy and commitment”.
i am easy. i guess they haven’t forgotten that.
it reminds me to worry that you don’t know about me. but you make a quick joke about ass-fucking and how you like to get desires out of the way early on. early on like now.
i’ve decided we might be of like minds.
the little matter of the artist bears down me briefly, bringing damning guilt as my hand plays over yours. holding hands like school kids. school kids whispering about ass-fucking.
we can’t leave yet though, i have friends i want to talk to, and sex distracted as i am i’m aware of the rudeness of just leaving with you in tow. we end up holding court, friends circling by to talk to us.
we chat for hours and still we leave as soon as we can, late at night, hungry for each other. hail a cab because you live in queens.
queens. new lands.
first time sex together. awkward. dark. sounds of unzipping in chaotic orders, each of us prioritizing each other’s body parts in difficult orderings, each primaly needing to see the other. at least i’m not worried its not really mutual attraction.
i work your shirt quickly while you undo my belt, bending forward to work on my fly. i’m trying to finish the last of your buttons, dragging you back up – bending me down. you give me a quick look, eyes flashing, and throw my arms off, away from your blouse.
“time for that later”, laughing.
my pants fall down, i’m still standing back up from a bend, lose my balance and fall.
you stand still, biting your lip.
frivolity. it’s the funniest thing we’ve ever seen, me pants-less on the floor, you over me, until i pull you down on top of me.
giggling.
kissing. lips pressing. wetting each other.
laughing.
licking. tongue on cock, pussy.
chuckles.
we get around to fucking, but there’s so much laughter and chuckling its a bit slow going. it’s nice. sex has been coming out of a dark place in my life lately. this is different. happy, silly.
sex should be goofy silly sometimes. i feel more alive tonight.
later, i hold you a bit, but it’s not tender in any way. each of us keeps smirking and looking at each other until we can’t bear it and we laugh out loud.
the levity drops out when i leave. it was nice. no future. but i’m leaving a little bit of me behind with you. some of me existed in those special moments of laughter.
making my past more complicated when it should be cleaner and more nimble is becoming a habit – one that’s going to hurt me later.
right now i just not excited about restricting myself, not interested in fitting in my friends norms. though they may be right. there’s no future here, but it’s fun. and funny.
