It never really mattered who was taking my shirt off. It never mattered who was putting their hands roughly on my skin. It never mattered whose tongue it was dancing over my flesh. I was never the one that wanted to disrobe my partner. They got to me first. I’m a chicken shit. There’s always an exception. If there were no exceptions what would life be? My exception, my one exception to my chicken shit self, turned out to be someone I never would have expected otherwise.
I felt her eyes on my back from the corner of the room. I didn’t see her right away when I turned around. The only thing I had was the impression of intense color digging into the back of my neck. I can tell you that I wasn’t expecting a girl either. Like I said, it never mattered who, it only mattered that I got what I wanted out of it. I never thought a girl could want me as much as I knew she wanted me.
I can admit that she made me nervous. I got butterflies when I finally got my friend to introduce me to her. She had the most intense hazel eyes I’d ever seen and the most gorgeous, pin straight, reddish brown hair. I wanted her. For once my mind was going crazy with fantasies of doing something to her instead of her doing something to me. It had never been that way. We ended up leaving together.
The car drive was quiet. She was just a quiet person, or maybe it was the wine. I don’t know. She wanted to go to her place, and I let her choose. It didn’t matter. I was obsessed with the thought of getting her skin under my hands. Her apartment was small. I watched while she went to the sink and got a glass of water. She turned and leaned on the counter, one arm grasping the back of her own neck like she was in pain. I remember how sad her eyes were, but they were so beautiful. I was completely enraptured.
She let me approach. I took the glass out of her hand and set it on the counter behind her. Memories flashed of something similar, but it had been fast and full of lust. This was different. I was so close to her that I could smell the sweet red wine on her breath when it gently caressed my face. She was shorter than I was, but not by much, and that did nothing to detract from the sheer power her form held. Putting it into words will always be hard. I guess she was Atlas, holding up her own personal world, trying hard not to crack under all the pressure and trying so hard to be happy.
The lack of words didn’t disturb me. I don’t think we really needed it. I reached up and clasped the hand she was holding her neck with. For a moment she seemed to shake, quiver with an emotion I couldn’t grasp. Looking away from her powerful sad eyes, I stared down at her smooth wrist in my hand. I could feel her pulse. It was quiet, like it didn’t want to disturb anyone, but it was racing like a thoroughbred. I tried to resist, but it was like telling a bear not to hibernate.
I bent and lifted her hand at the same time. My lips connected with the fleshy part of her hand below her thumb. I felt the shivers shoot up her arm. I pulled away, but only enough so I could see her skin. The feel and scent of her skin was absolutely intoxicating. For a moment I felt high, but then I moved and gently slipped two fingers inside her shirt sleeve. I pulled the soft fabric up a bit, waiting to see if she resisted. I stole a glance at her face and found her head had dropped onto her chest, her eyes closed, and she was gripping the counter like she would fall over if she wasn’t.
Pushing up her sleeve to her elbow, I kept my fingers on her cream skin as much as possible. I could still feel her shivers. I could feel the tension in her body, in her stance, in the power that was slowly taking me over. The corners of my mouth turned up the slightest bit when I kissed her wrist and arm. My fingertips soaked themselves in her skin. I just couldn’t get enough of her.
When I stopped briefly, I noticed the instantaneous change in her. She wanted it back, but she knew she might not get it back, so she didn’t set herself up for disappointment by hoping for it. For a moment, when she lifted her head to meet my eyes when I straightened, I realized that she was the most vulnerable she had ever been in her entire life. It seemed to me that no one had ever taken the time to get drunk off of her. No one had seen enough of her to know that was what she wanted. I couldn’t figure out how I knew, how I knew what she wanted me to do, or why she was suddenly the first favor I ever returned. I knew all the details, yet she had told me nothing.
Her eyes rolled back in her head when I let my hands drift up her shirt onto her stomach. Her hair shimmered in the soft streetlight coming in through the window above the sink. Even though it didn’t have the color, it reminded me of water. It flowed, and her eyes were made all the more radiant with the locks on her sharp face. I did nothing but stand there and watch her face with my hands resting on her stomach. I could hear her breath, thick and quick. Everything about her seemed to carry its own pull of sadness, a heavy sadness one has to work at to bear properly.
I watched as her eyes opened. They were pleading with me through the sadness. What I thought she didn’t know was how hard it was for me to resist stripping her naked right that second. Her eyes changed for a moment. She looked away for a split second, but they returned to my face. I felt them trace my features, leaving their impressions like a finger smeared into a puddle of paint. They lingered on my lips. It seemed to be a cue. I felt my fingers dig into her stomach when I leaned forward and tasted the softest lips I had ever encountered. I swallowed her gasp of pleasure at my tensed fingers.
Her body was begging me. Her eyes, her hands twisted into my hair, her constantly tensing and relaxing muscles, her racing heart and her ragged breathing. All of it was begging me, waiting for me, wanting me. I slid my hands upwards, taking her shirt with me. She sagged into me, whether it was with pleasure or relief I couldn’t tell. I automatically put my arm around her waist and held her to me. She pressed her cheek to mine. I listened to her breath, hot and damp on my neck. I continued pulling on her shirt until it was resting just below her chest, the fabric clinging to her skin like sweat on a humid day.
It seemed to torture her that my hand just rested on her rib cage. I could feel her quivering. I could feel her heartbeat and her arteries pumping. I could feel the air rushing into her lungs. I marveled at the wonders of a human body as I never had before. She should have been a spectacle behind glass to stare at in reverence instead of curiosity and worshipped like no god or goddess ever had been worshipped before. I felt a burning surge of jealousy at anyone that had ever been this close to her before, and was determined to ensure that she would be mine and only mine forever.
She didn’t say anything. I merely knew her lips had parted and she was about to beg me. I didn’t want her to beg. I didn’t want her to be like a whore splayed on a bed begging to be fucked. No, this was different. I wanted her to know I knew. I tightened my arm around her back and lifted her off the floor. My other arm went behind her knees. I gently laid her down on the cold tile floor. She gasped when her skin touched it. I wanted her sensual lips part and her eyes open with the shock. I was surprised at my own strength after I sat down between her legs and realized what I had just done.
I leaned forward and pulled her towards me, placing her thighs atop mine so she was sitting on my lap with her legs stretched out behind me. I looked back was suddenly disappointed I couldn’t see her toes curl with pleasure. One hand was all it took to remove her ballet flats. I turned back to her, to her water hair and her fire hazel eyes, and stared at her staring at me. Her cheeks were flushed. Sitting on my lap, she was only a bit taller than me. It was a strange reversal of roles, but I didn’t mind.
Her hands twisted back into my hair. I felt her writhe for a moment while a thought passed through her mind. Her tightening fingers brought me to the brink of pain, but not over the edge. I rocked into her. Then I dragged my fingers up her spine. Her eyes shut again, her lips parted in a soft sigh of pleasure. I found I was in no way disappointed that she wasn’t moaning. It wasn’t what I wanted. It was the tortured gasp I was looking for. It was a different kind of want that brought gasps rather than moans.
I felt her head fall forward onto my shoulder. She turned and buried her face into my neck. I could barely feel her lips touching my bare skin. Her breath danced over me, making me forget my quest for a second while I basked in the glow I could feel emanating from her soul. A quiet drop of fear, fear of her and her power, jolted my stomach. I forgot it when I found the fabric of her shirt and pulled at it more. Her skin was a drug that wormed into my blood and trekked to my brain in a matter of seconds. The world didn’t even exist. I had no knowledge of anything but her breath and her lips faintly brushing my neck and her skin under my hands.
It took her a moment to realize she needed to move or she would never be free of the fabric confining her. She leaned upwards, holding on to me like she was going to pass out, and I finally dragged her shirt over her head. Her hair was pulled forward and tickled my neck and shoulder before flooding back to shelter her open face. Before she could fall back into me, I unhooked her bra and dragged it down her arms. She squirmed with every touch of my fingers on her skin. Even after that, I could not allow her a reprieve. I pushed her gently backwards by her bare, elegant shoulders until she was lying on the cold tile floor.
Her eyes were closed, her back slightly arched. I studied the curves of her waist, her hip bones jutting out of the waist of her dark jeans, and the desperate rise and fall of her chest. She seemed to feel content only when I shifted so I was hovering over her. She felt my presence, the weight of my soul resting on top of hers, but I wasn’t touching her. Rather, I had my body propped up and my hands on either side of her shoulders. Her eyes opened. I realized she was in a cage she would never want to break.
My arms quivered with the effort of holding myself up. I slowly collapsed on top of her, pressing her lower back down onto the tile floor. My hands retreated to her sides where they constantly moved, caressing her beautiful skin. It kept her on the brink of pleasure and torture, but it didn’t frustrate her. Nothing I had done did. I knew. My lips touched hers. She didn’t immediately respond. I wondered for an instant, a painful instant, if she was refusing me, but it turned out to be a symptom of delirium and she allowed me to kiss her. Every touch, every kiss, every glance was a privilege she granted me. I knew, but still I wondered if she would let me keep her for an eternity.
I watched her eyes open. They were glassy but still heavy with that same sadness. It was something I would never understand, but I didn’t mind much. There was time to explore her brain like I had just explored her body. Her eyes told me there would be. I felt her shiver and shifted to carry her elsewhere, somewhere warmer, but she threaded her arms around me and held me there on top of her. I could feel her heartbeat on my own chest. It thudded, a drum that would never cease being played. She was immortal.