Wednesday, May 04, 2011

A Taste of New York City

This is the contest entry that was read at Whistler's as part of the CWHC Erotic Fiction Contest

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I sat at the bar, late night, the last Friday night in New York. It was quiet; the music played; the bartender and I discussed wine. New York had been oppressive. I could not recall ever feeling so alone in such a large city. Without trying I was isolated constantly.

I sat at the bar. I ordered a bottle of wine, trying to console myself, to celebrate being able to flee the big unfriendly town.

She walked in and sat next to me. She was all bright red lipstick and dark hair, sun kissed skin, big warm eyes. I offered her a glass from my bottle and we began to talk.

There was sunshine in her smile, in her smell, and I couldn't help notice that I sat closer to her without meaning to. I wondered why she would want to be so close to me, so near me, but as the wine warmed me up and soothed the nerves that have been on edge for weeks I found her charm enticing, alluring, memorizing. She touched my hand sending those sunny vibrations through the air, through my arm, through my mind.

I touched her back. Warm skin, warm hand under mine. The conversation was friendly with a touch of darkness, sharing. Real conversation in a quiet warm bar, conversation that wasn't just small talk with a bartender trying to make a tip. The summer evening around us buzzed low key. I reflected on the city's sudden intensity in my conversation with her.

I was enchanted.

I offered to walk her home as the bottle finished. She said it's not too far. On this late night walk I noticed the city. The lights, the enchantment. I felt like I could suddenly understand what fascination it held for so many people. I found myself holding on to her as we walk. It’s her, I thought. She is New York city and enchantment.

I walked her up to her apartment. We stood by a window and looked out on the view. New York, her slice of it, a slice I can appreciate. The buildings twinkled into the distance, an abundance of color and flashing light. I watched the cars move below. I felt her standing next to me. Aware of her, her breathing, her hand at her side so close to mine. I wanted to turn, and I was afraid to turn.

Was I being foolish?

Was she really interested in my being here, in the thought of our hips entwined?

Or was I just a nice girl giving a nice girl a walk home in the big bad city?

She stood next to me and we looked out over New York. The city glittered beyond the window. She stood there. She said something. I looked at her.

All I could think about was my desire for her.

I looked at her, into her, into her sweet red lips. She tasted like wine. Our shadows were on the window like wine-tinted stains, blending together into a puddle to block out the city. Her lips are red. Her hands are warm. I wanted to lose myself in her, in the scent of her, in the sweet taste of her.

I kissed her back and took only a moment to be flip, to air my self-doubt, to wonder if she was being sincere. And she smirked and smiled, and pulled my shirt off of me, taking my hand and leading me to her big bed as she disrobed me.

I wanted to be in control. I wanted to lose control in her. We paced each other, trying to disrobe each other with speed, with surety. Who would win, who would lose? She won.

I lay naked as she kneeled above me. As she kneeled into me, as her lips and her mouth found me, as I thrust against her lips, as I warmed into her mouth, her tongue, her fingers, the pulse of her, the sweet fast pace, bringing me shaking, wet, wanting, over and over again. Her mouth was the compass, steering in a direction my body wanted to go. Her finger probed deep and I could feel myself close to the surface, release, solace, wanting, desire, abandonment, fulfillment. In a moment I was nothing and everything on her tongue.

A month of pain and anguish and sorrow washed away in a sweet moment of her lips working over me. I came, again and again, finally begging her to stop. We struggle, never a fight, a minor wrestle, I wanted her. I wanted to taste her, to lap at her the way she had at me. She fought me, wanting to keep me pinned on my back.

It had been so long since anyone desired me as strongly as I desired them.

She was sweet on my lips. She was everything I desired. She came faster than I did, but this didn't upset me. The wake of her body’s spasms against the bed, her fingers in my hair, her knees playing my cheeks, her wet, soft flesh. My fingers, her mouth, my breath, her soft breasts, we rolled over and over again, a cascade. Lost, found, desire, ending and beginning.

I drank deep from her lovely wine-tasting mouth. I sated myself on her and sleep. And I awoke wanting her more in the morning.

3 comments:

gryffan said...

have you posted this before?

Saradevil said...

Yes and no. The opening was required from something I had written previously. The ending is being posted for the first time.

Saradevil said...

Acquired not required, although it was required to make a complete story.