8am.

I promised myself that I wouldn't let you keep me out past 12.
Well, that was my mindset when our evening began.

A quick drink afterwork? ...you inquired
Oh, you mean get tipsy and hit on strangers? I'm down ...I replied

What began as a cozy sit down at the downstairs bar turned into a hike to the Village and countless tequila shots.
WE danced. WE drank. WE swore. WE laughed. WE vibed.
It was around this time that our drunk asses set out into the streets, braced by the chill of the night air.

Holding hands and supporting each other's weight, we walked.
No destination in mind, no regard for the time.
You leaned back against the side of a building just to gain your composure.
I stood in between your legs, leaning my head against your shoulder.
Our breasts hovering just above the point of contact, our diaphragms rising and falling simultaneously.
My arms went from hanging lifeless at my sides to pressed against the wall on either side of your head.
As I moved my head in attempt to stand upright, you brought your head forward from leaning back on the wall.
By chance...by pure unplanned, unintentional chance WE KISSED.
When our lips met and we froze, neither of us sure of what to do next for fear of insulting the other.
Our eyes popped open, and we found ourselves spiraling in a mental typhoon of whiskey breath, warm flesh, and frozen time.
We slowly parted, and stood there for a moment or two reading each other's faces, in search of a single trace of understanding.
You spoke first, two simple words that somehow seemed flawed to my ears...I'M SORRY.
I smiled and told you to shut up, it was an accident, shit happens.
Noticing the calming change in your taut demeanor, I balanced my weight and stood upright, taking a step back.
You straightened up against the wall and adjusted your coat, avoiding my glance as best you could.

Again we walked, a haze of silent contemplation hung over our stale conversation.
Yet again, you stopped and hunched, cursing your shoes and hinting at a need to sit.
There were no benches or steps nearby, so you simply slid to concrete and slipped your pumps off.
I sat cross-legged in front of you, placed your left foot on my lap and began massaging it.
You let out an appreciative sigh and ran your fingers through your hair, your eyes closed.
In the silence, I hummed and kneaded the soles of your foot with care.
You asked, "do you find me attractive?"
Without hesitation, I replied, "uh duh. You're fucking gorgeous"
Silence again.
You exhaled and told me something that altered the state of tension...I'M NOT SORRY THAT WE KISSED.
I didn't immediately meet your gaze, I put down your left foot and took your right one into my lap first.
When I finally looked up, I could barely make out your face in the darkness; your eyes however, glinted with what could only be described as longing.

You spoke while I worked on your right foot. Sometimes on topic, sometimes off, your eyes watchful of my every movement.
Convinced that your toesies were good and loved down, I put your shoes back on your feet.
Using whatever momentum I could muster up, I swung my legs and rolled my body so that I was now kneeling, my legs straddling your shins.
I paused here momentarily, taking stock of your body language before advancing; all signs pointed to a resounding yes.
Crawling up to your face, I let my plump ass rest on your lap before slipping my tongue between the slits of your perfectly pursed lips.
You responded with such enthusiasm, proving the validity of that look of longing that I perceived.

Not sure how, but with some hasty maneuvering we managed to find our way from the floor to standing; your back to the wall, my hands on your ass, yours around my neck.
Our pelvises melding, winding and grinding in tune with the passion of our kisses.
Enthralled in that good ol' fashioned inebriated lust and with a sudden sprout of power, I lifted your legs around my waist.
There you slowly rode my hips, as my fingers expertly found their way past your zipper, to the side of your panties, and into your seeping wet nectar.
At this point it was very evident, that my single finger was not going to be enough to satisfy what you craved.

....

And so I find myself, laying in your bed while you at my side.
Admiring the glorious curves of melanin that I so recently blessed in kisses.
Your breathing is heavy yet serene, as I silently wonder of what you are dreaming.
Pumped up on adrenaline and pure fascination, I try to force myself to sleep.
Upon the inside of my eyelids, scenes of swaying flesh and clenched fingers dance about, suggestively.
My eyes pop open, the stirring in my loins making my tongue dry with thirst.
Sliding beneath the cover, I make my way stealthily to the wonder between your thighs.
Time to wake up, baby.

Labels: longing on dark streets, memoirs, wordplay