In My Mind

In my mind, you’re already mine. We’re laughing over some shared joke in a Paseo coffeeshop while an aspiring disenchanted plucks a heartbeat from his guitar. The nine o’clock news drones out from the TV, but my attention is on the way your hair accents your eyes, and on the beautiful curve of your smile. You reach for my hand across the table and run one warm, soft finger across my wrist. The newscaster says they’ve contained the fires; I’m sure I can see them captive in your eyes. God, I love your eyes.

Back in the club, I turn mine away, lest you sense that residual warmth. Techno tribal drumbeats thrum their rhythm through the walls, but you and I exchange views on The Prince. It is better to be loved, you state, still smiling. And my opinion? Like Odysseus, I’m lost within the seas. My heart echoes bass percussion, trapped by the Charybdis of your gaze.

That evening, back at home, we slow dance to a woman’s lonely voice. I’m taller than you, just an inch, and your head is on my shoulder. You smell of soap and skin and feminine wiles. My arms around your waist sing praises; my hands seek out and memorize the curves of your hips. Should I ever be Pygmalion, your porcelin visage I’ll create. I can’t help but pull you closer. I feel your lips caress my neck.

Distracted? At the club I lower my eyes again, trying to hide my blush. You laugh as I make up something witty, tell me I’m a charmer. I’ve always had a silver tongue. You stop the waitress for another margarita: strawberry, the hue and taste of your sweet lips. Nothing for me, thanks. Do coy brunettes come in bottles? Y ou’re still smiling at me, but you look intrigued. Am I hiding something? Just thinking? I waylay your curiosity with another gilded phrase. Merriment curves your lips. I’m a brat, you say, but your eyes still regard me. Would I like to dance? With you?

The pressure of you against me is indescribable and inhumane. Your body guides mine, riding the waves of primal beat. The lights paint your face in urban warpaint, fierce and feral. Inviting. Dangerous. I pull away with an apology and make an excuse to go home. My words are cut off by your lips against mine. You taste like honeysuckle and wildfires and all seven deadly sins. I’m not going anywhere; your gaze demands I stay. Someplace more private, you whisper, and I follow helplessly your lead.

Suddenly you are with me again, against me, around me. I am against the wall, crushed between you and delirium. Our hands frantically cast off the confines of civilization and catching our breath becomes a battle; our lips feast as if starved. Blood thunders over the music as my hands lay claim to your flesh; your thigh between mine and my nails in your back. My jeans are no match for your fingers, and soon you are inside me as well. We rock together in harsh, gasped breaths; the demand to fuck me lingers in the air without a speaker known. It’s all I can do to stay standing beneath your assault. We crest together: I fuck you, you fuck me. We crest together again. Teeth draw blood to further fan the flames. Your mouth against mine, flesh to flesh, wildfire. We crest. Again. Again.

In my mind we entwine together, sweat-slicked with sex-scent. In my mind later will be gentleness and slow, soft possession. In my mind you already love me.

In the club, though, your girlfriend has returned from the bar. I say hello to my best friend.

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