And then he kissed me

We talked about random things.  We talked about silly things and got to know each other.  He was nice and kind and inquisitive but not creepy.  He was equally interested in knowing things about me than he was talking about himself.  He wasn’t secretive or evasive.  It was a great first conversation and I left it smiling.

Then we talked about what we were doing.  What we like to do and where we’ve been.  We talked about the past and things we’d love to do in the future.  Some of the things he’s done that I’d love to do.  We joked about doing the same thing but at different times in the same place.  We reminisced and fantasized along the same plane of existence.

After that we talked about our actions.  Things we do and ways we act.  Various likes and dislikes and how we can’t understand how other people don’t share our likes or dislikes.  We came up with cutesy nicknames for each other based on these and teased each other based on others.  The words adorable and cute were bandied about in my direction and I told him to stop making me smile so much because my cheeks are starting to hurt.

Eventually the conversations led to something slightly more risque.  It was hot and I was hot and he seemed hot.  I was more empirically hot in the sense that I was sweating from the heat, while I found him more and more appealing with every conversation we had.  I looked forward to them.  When he would text me and say hello I would light up.  I had to contain myself slightly because I didn’t want to seem too eager and come off as desperate.
He asked what I was doing and I told him, purposefully, that I was folding laundry in slightly more than no clothing.  His attention was always readily available but his tone changed.  His words went from fun and flirty to flirty and suggestive.  I suggested just as much and we suggested each other doing very suggestive things.
We slipped back, comfortably, into our usual conversation of silly and fun to goodnight and in bed.  A smile permanently plastered on my face as I drifted off to sleep.  

Soon after we decided to get together to test the chemistry and physics, to see if the pull was just as strong and the reactions at the same intensity.  We met and we shared a drink.  We smiled and laughed.  The laughs were genuine and held in reserve for fear of looking too comfortable.  I don’t know why.
The drinks turned into more drinks which turned into a bit of food.  I can eat in front of him?  Wow.
Hours might have gone by, or just a single one I’m not really sure.  It was a great time, just as good as our texting and then better on top of it.  Better because I could see his blue eyes behind his glasses.  I could watch his smile when I did something dumb that he said was adorable.  There was even that moment I got to feel his hand along mine while his fingers dragged over my palm to see if he could make me shiver.  It was amazing and I didn’t want it to end, but it had to.

We got to my car, because he walked me to my car.  We smiled our goodbyes and hugged our regrets behind them.  We stood under the streetlight which, itself, was under the stars.  The busy, warm night was all around us and even though it couldn’t have gone any better I wish it wouldn’t have stopped and was a little sad that it was ending.  Would this be the best night we had together and it only just began?  I’m always so negative.

And then he kissed me.

Chirality

There are two sides of me and I find it fascinating how far apart on the spectrum they are.  You’re responsible for one of them, the world is responsible for the other.  I’ve indulged in both and fed them until they’ve grown into separate entities.

They’re ravenous.
They both hibernate.
There is little that can stop them when the scale is tipped in their favor.

Despite the appearance of one, they are both extremely passionate.  One shows it in a traditional way, while the other in symptoms.

I want your skin in my teeth.  My fingers should puncture the still plains of your skin and press a white knuckled intensity into them.  You should feel how I want you in the palms of my hand as I grip every fleshy part of you to take as my own.
Fuck you taste good.  Just a little bite?
The indentations of my teeth along your shoulder won’t fade as quickly as the moments of lust I drive into you.  That little stare you gave made my eyes squint.  The brush of your hair behind your ear caused my teeth to grit.  The side glance and head tilt was the on switch.  The rest belonged to me onto you.  So Mr. Hyde feasted.

The other side is not subtle, if Mr Hyde can be considered it.  Where Hyde uses his teeth Jekyll uses his mind to fuck the submission away from the dominant.  It all leads to an explosion of want and greed without gratification.  A turn of keys and cogs to push everything in me further and further to the pinnacle.
Ask of me what you want and it will be done.  Push the limits of every listed limit.  Find limits that were hidden and break them.  I’ll worship your steps and burst with praise.  I am yours, always.  So Dr Jekyll indulged.

When one is awake the other’s asleep.  They do not cross and they do not meet.
One up high and the other down low.  One side tells and the other side shows.

Buy me a drink?

“So, what is it?  What’s got you staring at me across the room without a word to say until now?”

Oona took a sip from her drink as she waited for the man’s answer.

They had been bantering for a short while.  She approached him and asked if he minded some company.  He didn’t object.  Men usually don’t when she approaches them, although it is a rare occurrence.

The conversation was odd to her.  There were no pleasantries or introductions.  No attempt was made inquiring on her availability or current activities, but at the same time he was pleasant and inviting.  He seemed to enjoy her company and was quick with a response to anything she said.

“I’d venture to guess you’re used to men staring at you,” he smiled and hovered his drink below his  lips.

“I am,” she smiled with her lips on her glass.

“And often, I’m sure, they’ve lost to ability to form words.”

Oona raised her glass and nodded slightly before resting it on the table.

“But I don’t care about them.  I want to know about you.  The man who has yet to introduce himself.  The man who doesn’t make eye contact the entire time, but not because he’s shy but because he’s somewhat over confident.  The man who has yet to offer me another drink, a night cap in his room or breakfast the next morning.  I want to know something about this man, in particular.”

He nodded and smiled as he rested his drink next to hers, “and if he answers that you’ll have to tell him what brought you over here to sit next to that man and carry on a conversation with him for this long.  He doesn’t think that happens often with you.”

“He’s right, it doesn’t.  And she might answer that, if his answer is intriguing enough.”

The man smiled and dipped his head slightly in a soft laugh to himself.  He shifted his weight and position so it was facing her in an engaging way.  His left knee bent and resting on the couch with his left arm leaning over the back of it.

“This man.  Me.  I’ve been here a few nights this week actually.  The first night was Tuesday.  On Tuesday I sat over there,” he pointed to a table in the corner of the lounge against the wall.

“And while I was sitting over there on Tuesday around 10, I noticed a beautiful woman come in and sit down at the bar.  She ordered a drink and had conversations with the men sitting next to her and the bartender.  She had a roaring laugh.  She was captivating and I tried my hardest to keep my eyes from burning a hole in her dress.”

He picked up his drink and threw back a quick gulp of whatever liquid remained in it and rested the glass on his knee.

“On Wednesday night I took up the same seat at the same table.  Partially out of my penchant for not wanting to be noticed, and partially out of superstition.”

“Superstition for what?”  Oona asked.

“Whether she would come back or not the next night.”

“Did she,” she smiled at him and leaned forward slightly as if he were telling her a secret.

“She did.  She absolutely did.  My budding obsession wasn’t helped any either.  That night she was wearing a red dress that was made from material which was close relatives of some of my favorite lingerie pieces.  She looked as if she had come back from a fancy art gala or awards ceremony.  Only there was a problem,” he lowered his head and leaned into her lean and played on her whisper receiving position.

“What was it?”  Her voice played along, almost by accident.

“She didn’t sit at the bar.  I couldn’t see her after she walked in.  Being a man who doesn’t like commotion and being noticed I thought that getting up to move to have better viewing of this goddess of a woman would be too much, so I accepted my fate and took the glance that I was given and turned in early that night.”

“Poor you.  That must have devastated you, not being able to ogle her all night again,” Oona’s voice was mockingly sympathetic.

“I was crushed,” he nodded back, “but I survived.  Although it took an extra day to feed the survival.  My Thursday did not lend itself to ogling and I was unable to look upon this beauty for the third day in the row.  I had to wait until Friday to see her again and she did not disappoint.”

“Was she dressed in a royal gown, tiara while brandishing a scepter this time?”  Oona tilted her head in a crook while staring into his eyes.

“No, no.  She in a skirt, a blouse and some elegant heels with her hair done in a tight and professional manner.  A business woman, a princess and bawdy laughter.  She was a dream.  I took this couch on Friday night, the one we’re sitting on right now.  It has a better view of the entire lounge and, if she were so concerned, it seems a bit more inviting than a table in the corner.”

“True.  Pretty girls aren’t drawn to dark tables in corners with men they’ve never met.”

“Her demeanor was more reserved last night, Friday night.  She seemed tired.  Perhaps from the day.  Maybe from the week.  Her smile was still bright but she was subdued.”

“Poor soul.”

“She seemed to fair well.”

“No, I meant you,” Oona placed her hand on his knee, “you waited an entire extra night to see her and she wasn’t putting on her show for you.  It must have been tragically disappointing.”

The man smiled at her and bit his lower lip.  He shook his head and then looked Oona in the eyes.

“I survived.”

“Again?”

He nodded, laughing softly to himself once more, “again.”

She stared at him, waiting for the story to finish.

“So, she never joined me.  I don’t believe we exchanged a glance at all really.  She left early that night and I did shortly after her.  Which brings us to tonight.”

“Which brings us to tonight,” she repeated.

“What time is it?”

Oona pulled her phone from her purse to check, “nearly midnight.”

The man pointed at the bar, “do you see the woman with the blonde hair in the black dress?”

Oona turned to look at the bar and noticed a beautiful woman sitting at the bar carrying on a conversation with two men, one on either side of her.

“She came in at nearly the same time you did.  I watched you both sit down and order drinks.  I watched you both get comfortable and carry on with whatever purposes you have being here.  I watched you both, carefully, for about fifteen minutes when my initial intention was to stare at this blonde woman at the bar for the entirety of my night.  As time went on my attention turned more and more to you.  Your dark hair and your green dress.  Your blue eyes and your red lips.”

He paused and stared at her for a moment.  He was waiting for a reaction.  She didn’t want to give him one because if she spoke she might have cracked.

“Mmhmm?”  This was all she could muster, with a slight head nod.

“I’m not comparing you two woman.  You’re both beautiful.  Stunning in your own way.  I don’t find her any less enthralling tonight then I did the previous nights.  But you, you make me want to let you notice me.”

Oona cleared her throat, “and then what?”

“I’d ask you to be my muse.”

“What does that mean?”  She shook her head gently.

“To let me stare at you and your beauty.  To let me use the inspiration you stir in me to create my own beauty with words.  To embody every passionate, lust-filled, craving of your sexuality in each drop of ink I spill.  To immortalize you as desire.”

Oona didn’t know what to say.  She wasn’t sure how to respond to something so intense and personal.  All she could do was stare at him with her hand still on his knee and try to keep her lip from quivering.

“I’m sorry if that answer was a little forward.   I hope it was intriguing enough though,” he smiled again.

“Intriguing enough for what?”

“For you to tell me what brought you over here.”

“Oh,” she laughed a little to herself, “I was just hoping you would buy me a drink and I’d see where it went from there.”

“How’s it going then?”

“A little awkward now,” she gave a tight lipped grin while holding her empty glass.

“Is it?  Is that a no to my question then?”

“What question was that?”

“Would you be my muse?”

“What is it I have to do?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he took her hand in his and stared in her eyes, “just be yourself and let me witness it.”