The Precipice

“A curtain of stars, miles of them, are scattered, glowing, across the sky and their multitude humbles me, which I have a hard time tolerating. She shrugs and nods after I say something about forms of anxiety. It's as if her mind is having a hard time communicating with her mouth, as if she is searching for a rational analysis of who I am, which is, of course, an impossibility: there... is... no... key.”  

 

 

 

   It was the third time I have seen her this week. Same spot, same time. She stands in line, directly in front of me. This time, it was a little different.

   "We have to stop meeting like this", she coyly stated. This hit a nerve since she is a stranger, and I want her to be so much more than that.

   "I know. They are going to start thinking we are casing the joint", I smiled through my response. I've never been good at initiation. This is where I get nervous and stammer.

   "I have a feeling this place won't make us Bonnie and Clyde."

   "I know. Just sad. I have a feeling they don't even have enough money to get us to the border", my mind has already wandered into "undressing her with my teeth" territory.

   "Let's be honest, neither of us would last ten minutes in a border town", she's got a smile on her face that I would love to turn into delightful anguish.

   "Speak for yourself sister. If need be, I'd just use you as a bargaining chip anyways", I can see her on her knees, mouth filled. Her large brown eyes, wide, and tears ruining her makeup.

   "Hahahahaahah, oh really? What's to say I wouldn't do the same to you", practically laughing at this point.

   "Please, I'm an Americanized Mexican. I'm worse than a lazy gringo. I can't even mow a decent lawn. I'm the worst bargaining chip you could hold", she is laughing almost hysterically. I can't stop smiling.

   "I guess I should stop thinking about this convenience store robbing fantasy and order my sandwich", she giggles.

   "Oh, yes, without a doubt, because I am a notorious "cutter". I was like a cat burglar in elementary school", she laughs, steps up in line, and smiles back at me.

   At this point I have done things to her in my head that would make her cry in a shower for days. Luckily, any physical manifestation of my thoughts can not be seen. She has laid in my bed and smoked cigarettes, while I read her Chaucer. We have made love in an alleyways, in Paris. Like Henry Miller, and every single prostitute that held on to his coat tails. She has laid on a Chaise Lounge, let me fuck her mouth, while her best friend tongued her, and yelled Satan's name in proper Aramaic.

   She turns and bids me farewell with a grin. My esteem tanks. My fantasy withers. I order my sandwich, and make my way back to work, throwing open the glass doors.  

   "What's your name?", with my head down, it could be anyone's voice, but I know who it is.
   "Robert. Sorry, I know I can take things too far. Especially in public", I extend my hand. She shakes it. Yes, as a matter of fact I am still picturing her moaning on top of me.
   "I'm Chelsea, don't worry about it. You're hilarious. We should go get a drink sometime. Do you work around here?"
   "Yeah, I work right up the road............", the conversation trails off into what she does. What I do. How we wish we had the rest of the day off. I'm letting the "We should get a drink sometime" sit out there. This is not going to be the ending I had hoped for, but it's the one that needs to happen.
   As we trail off to go to our respective places of slavery, she reaches inside he car, and comes out holding a business card.
   "Call me sometime. Maybe we could go see a show at a "real" comedy club. You know, instead of just making each other laugh", she winks. I accept the card.
   "I'd love that. I haven't been in a while, actually."
   "Do you have a card?", she rightfully inquires.
   "I do, but we just changed locations, and my new ones haven't come in yet", all the while my cards are trying to eat through my wallet. This is literally going against every fiber of my being.

   She leaves.
   I walk with my head hung even lower.
   Morals suck.
   Her card goes in the trash.



 

 



You Know Who You Are.

“There are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature.”
― Henry Miller

 

 



It Has All Taken a Turn

   It really has. There is this incredible amount of anxiety and nervousness that goes with change. No matter that you like to tell people how versatile you are. You exclaim that you are used to altering yourself, or instability. No matter how liberal, and willing, you are to accept change. It is still different, and with that difference comes an amount of wariness. Discomfort.
   "I don't like this, at all", I stared up at her.
   "Shhhhhhhh. You are mine. Let go. Stop trying to control everything", she vampishly stared into my eyes. Her dark eyeliner highlighting a confident, secure look.
   "Seriously, this really isn't my thing. I've never done this before." Now, I was talking through a nervous half laugh. It didn't accent how absolutely serious I was. I was laying underneath her. She had started to wrap my wrists with my leather Brooks Brothers belt, above my head. The head board and my arms had become one.
    "I.....I....really....can't...", I stammered as she kissed her way down my stomach. Usually, anything soft, caressing that part of my body would cause me to kick and squirm. This was not the case. Looking up at me smiling, she could see me struggle. Testing how well she had tied my hands. It was tied extremely well, and quick. I was impressed. The loss of control. The inability to take my angry urges out on someone else. The small bit of helplessness, with someone you know, wouldn't truly hurt you. This has all the makings of sad, disastrous sex.
   With my eyes, and the feel of her breath moving farther down from my lips, the feeling of something different has set in quickly. I am the one that uses my hands. I use my arms on you. I use my belt on you. I whisper dirty things in your ear. I use my mouth on you, while you are tied helpless. This is not the way, sex with me, is supposed to go. Others have tried this. Why am I letting this go? Without any other classy description, this is where I go soft.
   I can feel her mouth enveloping me. The undesired result, of this loss of appendage use, has shown me the opposite. I can't get enough. I need more. This change has caused something. Something deep in me that I've never witnessed. Something I have struggled with has been broken. I can't stop feeling warm. My breath releases like it hasn't ever released before. She has me. All of me. Deep within her mouth, but for me it's also mental grasp. 
   "This is how this is supposed to feel," my mind says to my cock.
   "Oh yes it is", my cock excitedly says to my mind.
   "Now what do we do?", my mind inquires back to my cock.
   "Looks like you don't really have a say it what happens next", my cock is rarely right.

   This time it hit the nail on the head.