On still waters.

Red was quixotic, but I couldn’t get a read on her. She implied desire in her text but seemed shy as we sat over coffee and wine one cold night. The conversation was pleasant, I drank in the interaction and coziness of the town I used to live in with gusto, but I was confused.

A week later, her desire was succinctly stated in sixty-eight characters on my phone- “I wish I’d pulled you into an alley and had my way with you. Round two?”

Yes, Red, round two.

We met at a dive bar close by, my personal favorite haunt in the area due to its unabashed schlock and propensity for Alan Jackson and Biggie Smalls in one playlist, along with its smoke-quenched air and scratched billiards tables. The perfect secluded spot for queers and beers. She strolled in and made her way over, caressing my thigh and sipping from my drink in one swift motion. Damn her, I was quivering already.

The texting had been fast and furious since that first one, about a week ago, and I was initially apprehensive until we got back to my apartment, drank half a bottle of Hendricks, and sprawled on the bed in a tangle.

“God, I fucking want you,” I breathed into her ear, tugging at her hair.

You don’t even know me,” she said, pushing me back. “I’m a stranger, you don’t know me. But I know what you need.” She stuck her tongue inside of me as far as she could go. I was open, ready, waiting, cracked and blooming like a night flower. She lapped the nectar from my bones and stared me in the eye.

I couldn’t look back at her, and I wasn’t sure why. Her gaze scored my eyelids and I wriggled, pinned for what seemed like an agonizing while. I absorbed us in segments- my hands knotted in the sheets, the crescent moons of her fingernails digging patterns in my wrists, and she moved while I shuddered. Her hands are larger than mine are and I can feel the difference palpably as they move across my face, contorting my lips to a forced sneer, pressure on the cheeks seeping from the pads of her fingers down to my bones, and when she is inside of me, pounding as though she were trying to beat something out of me from the inside.

That, that is when I shiver.

Red pauses momentarily to slap me across the face. She, I know, delights in the disgust I can unabashedly provide for her. The streams of words that flow from my lips seem babbling and insignificant as I say them, a small mantra of protection and puerility dribbling down my neck as she works her glass dildo between my teeth.

I stretch underneath her, my muscles taut against the fixed structure of my curved bones and joints, my legs grow and my mouth widens underneath hers and she still manages to swallow me whole.

I repeat myself, “I want you.”

She just shakes her head.


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