4am girl

Did you ever have that 4am someone? That person who was just yours? They felt like four in the morning when nobody else in the world was awake and the entirety of civilization belonged to the two of you.

I did once. She was magnificent.

We spent the days trading stares and notes. They weren’t love notes though, they were lust notes. A message of what I wanted to do to her and a reply with how her body would react. We were chemistry.

All responsibilities were eschewed. Our employers paid us to talk about how we would have fucked if we were in the same room. There’s no way we could have stayed employed if we had access to each other’s bodies though. I would have made her scream and she would have pulled beautiful obscenities from my lips, at least when they weren’t glued to her.

At night we pulled away from the world and lounged in purgatory. She would straddle my lap and pin me happily beneath her as her arms were lazily draped over my shoulders. The living were acknowledged, but we pushed past them to get lost in the abyss together. The clocks never worked right. Everything felt like that magical point of time where it all stopped and there was no sound aside from our lips smacking against each other.

Her tongue weakened me. My strength waned in her presence. She pulled the life from me and all I wanted was for it to never stop. I wanted to die at her touch.

We never made it to 4am, but whenever we were together she silenced the streets and quieted the crowds as if it were.

A constant interest

Circling back to you.  Over and over again I’ve been coming back to you.

I need to feed.  I’ve got a hunger and looking won’t satisfy it.  I need my hands and mouth to get involved.  Squeezing and pulling.  I want sounds and touch.  I need that shiver.

The jolt has got a hold of me.  The curiosity.  The pounding of my heart and the laser focus of my brain.  Nothing else is going to be good enough until I’m full of you.  Until I’m satiated.  Until I’m wasted with a drunken look on my face having indulged too much, yet not regretting a thing.

I’m inching closer to jumping in the pool.

I’ll have my eyes open.

There won’t be a smile on my face, but I will be licking my lips.

Let’s go.

88 mph

I want you against the wall.

I want you on the bed.

I want you wrapped around me.

I want you pressed tight into me.

I want you when you look at me right before you kiss me.

I want you freshly out of the shower when your hair is still dripping wet.

I want you when you fall asleep in my lap watching movies late on a Saturday night.

I want you to look at me while your dark hair hangs down over half of your face.

I want you when you stare at me when I’ve said something stupid.

I want you when you’re crying because you’re upset.

I want you when you’re crying because you’re happy.

I want you in your shoes.

I want you in your dress.

I want you in your lipstick.

I want you with your rabbit ears and fake eyelashes.

I want you all around everywhere and in between.

I just want you.

When you have no thoughts for thinking

Let’s make this about a girl.

What better motivation is there than the kind of girl that takes over your mind and won’t let it go?  It wraps around her wrist and swings along with her walk, taking you for the ride as long as you can hold on.  Everything she does is noteworthy and you don’t have to strain to find magnificence in the way she bats her eyes or hums a tune.

She doesn’t need you to force it, either.  It’s natural.  It’s not something she tries to do or you try to do, it just happens.
It happens when you see her face for the first time in the morning.  It happens when you’re missing her at night.  It happens when her legs are wrapped around your waist and your lips are finding new ways to press against her skin.  There is nothing unnatural about the way you fit with the girl.  You’re a circle spinning on top of a circle.

You can dance.  You can sing.  You can do things you never thought you could before, and even if you can’t do them well you lose the fear of looking like a fool.
Why?
Because she doesn’t care.  All you need is her smile and when she points it at you all of the dumb things you’ve done are just there for laughter and dammit if he doesn’t have the best laugh around.

Let’s make her everything.
It’s dangerous and rarely ends well but while you’re in it, its worth it.
She’s worth it.

 

Under The Table

I like to dabble in the different points of view and perspectives.  Writing from the view of a man and a woman, so from time to time I’ll write something from first person perspective in a female characters voice.  I often find myself using first person perspective more often because I like how you get to put yourself in that person’s shoes and be a part of them and their experiences.  I don’t like to restrict myself to only a male view point in this way.  So, if you ever read I and its referring to a female character, that’s whats up.

And now, what I was talking about:

You made me feel safe when you did that.  When you touched my leg under the table.  I don’t know if it was what you were trying to do but it’s what happened.  It’s what you caused because I was nervous and shy and I felt out of place.  The table was loud.  The whole room was loud and it was overwhelming.  Your hand on my knee grounded me and I can’t thank you enough.

Well, I think I did thank you enough but you could have asked for more and I might have tried to pull the moon down and escape with you away on its swing.

At first when I put my hand over yours and gave it a squeeze it was because I was trying to say thank you without words.  Without turning my head to you because if I did I would have started to cry and that would have been horrifying.  But when I felt your hand in mine and the feeling of the moment something came over me.  I don’t know what it was but an urge of exhilaration charged through me like bird soaring through the air and in all of my anxiety and nervousness I wanted you right then and there.

We couldn’t leave.  Of course not.  It would be rude to disappear and then rip your shirt off right outside the door.  Surely someone would coming looking for us and find our bodies in half undress and then where would we be at?  I’d be in a state where no mere hand on my leg could bring me back from.  So I pulled your hand between my legs.  Well, at first, I pulled it up my thigh and you paused.  We both paused.  It was risky.

My dress came with our hands and you felt the softness of my thigh, the part that’s usually hidden by some a fabric of some kind in polite company.  But I wanted your company and I wanted it as impolite as possible.  So I pulled your hand up my thigh, dragging the hem of my dress with it until you squeezed my hand.  I squeezed back and tilted my head downward and whispered a soft, “shh.”

With that whisper I slide our clasped hands between my thighs, only parting them slightly.  Just enough to make it a tight fit.  We weren’t going to go all the way, we were just going to have some fun.  A little excitement.  A little naughtiness.  A little thrill.  This wasn’t going to be the night when I met your family in a loud restaurant and nearly cried because of how awkward I felt.  It was going to be the night we played a risque game under the table and between my legs.

Maybe that’s where I got my sense of thrill from.  It always was amazing how I’d like to speed down empty roads and peer over tall buildings and cliffs, but people scared the hell out of me.  Maybe it was always with me and I needed someone to let it out, or maybe its just you that does this to me.  Either way I’ll never forget that night.  The night when you put your hand on my leg and made me first think I loved you.

 

 

Cowboy Boots

“He’s wearing his cowboy boots again.”

Lydia looked past Sam to take a look at the tall man at the counter.  He was buying a coffee to go.  She knew his order.  Coffee with a pinch of sugar for a bit of taste.  He had a twang in his voice on the word taste.

She continued staring at him.  Sam did two.  The two women were obvious about it and didn’t try to hide their gaze, although for different reasons.  Sam wanted to ogle the oddball that still wore cowboy boots and white t-shirts like he was living in the old west.  Lyida was mesmerized by him though.

This rugged man came into the coffee shop every day and ordered the same thing, a coffee with a pinch of sugar.  He paid the barista with a little extra as a tip and gave a quick glance Lydia’s way.  She was never an egotistical person but she always had an idea that he gave her the look instead of Sam.  It was ego or hope.

She loved the idea of a secret romance with a tall, mysterious man.  A torrid affair with a strong, outdoorsy type.  Something to escape her life with for a while.  She imagined his white t-shirt being ripped off of his ripped chest and his hands grabbing her body and lifting her in the air.  He would carry her to the bedroom and they would spend the night having sex.

Lydia stared as he paid and turned to give her a look.  She stared and this time he looked right in her eyes and gave her a wink and smiled.  She shook her head in shock at his brazen look to her before smiling shyly back at him.  It was an innocent exchange between her and the man wearing the cowboy boots.  It could be more.  It could be less.  It was something.  But she watched him and his cowboy boots walk out of the coffee shop and wondered.

Black Sweater

I miss that black sweater you used to wear.  I think you called it a cardigan or something.  I’m not good with fashion and I don’t know all of the specific names of all the little pieces of clothing, but I loved that black sweater.  You wore it perfectly.

It would hug your sides.  It showed off how amazing your hips are, the way they hour glassed down your frame.  Every button would be fastened from top to bottom and it would squeeze around your waist closer than anything else in the world.  That sweater was perfect.  I miss it so much.

The fabric was so soft.  It wasn’t new or anything but it was soft.  I loved unbuttoning it slowly.  Do you remember the way I used to fiddle with each of the buttons when I was undoing it?  Looping it in and out as I circled my thumb around before finally letting it go.  There were six buttons.  I remember because I would sometimes count them out loud as they finally slipped free of my fingers.

I remember the last time I saw that sweater too.  You’re the reason it’s gone.  You decided to surprise me.  I stopped into your place on the way home from work.  It was late and I called you and asked if you were awake.  You said, “barely.”

“I’m coming in.”

“I’ll be asleep,” you said.

“Either way.”

You weren’t in bed though.  I went into your room and didn’t see you until you came out of the bathroom.  All you were wearing was a pink thong and that soft black sweater with the six buttons.  The V-neck cardigan that sloped down your chest and hugged your body the way I liked to at night.  The piece of clothing that pressed up right underneath your breasts and seemed to hold up your cleavage and dare me to dive into them.

I ripped that black sweater off of you.  I didn’t bother with the buttons.  I didn’t bother with the fabric.  I just ripped it off of you.  I picked you up and carried you to the bed and we had some of the best sex we’ve ever had.

I really miss that black sweater.

I’m stuck

I wish the way you used to look at me was a drug I could overdose on, then I could get lost in the only world I want to be a part of.  The world where your stare was the reason my body could move.  The world where your lips was the reason I could breathe.  The world where you were the reason I lived lives and spoke words.

I wish I could over dose into your stare and never come back.  Don’t ever keep your eyes from me, the withdrawal could destroy me.

Hey

I’m in bed with you.

Again. Because we always end up in bed.

It doesn’t matter if we argue or feign indifference, we always find our way out of our clothes and against each other’s skin.

I’m going to drift off to sleep in a few minutes but I wanted to capture this moment. You’re asleep, freshly fucked until my legs burned with quit but I refused. I never tap out first.

I wanted to save this moment in my mind at how beautiful you are and what I would give to be lying next to you, just like this in 30 years thinking these same thoughts. Hips worse for wear. Legs would be burned out long before I’d want them to, but you still there next to me to watch sleep afterwards.

So goodnight, gorgeous. I hope your legs are as sore as mine will be in the morning, and I hope you never leave my bed.