Sunday, March 9, 2008

The Last Time

7:35

She was already 35 minutes late. She's never late, if anything she is irritatingly early. She is smothering and smouldering. The only thing that's kept me slightly interested in her for the past few months is the carnal energy that she brings to the bedroom. Even toe curling orgasms can't erase the unease I feel by her constant drama and incessant neediness. 45 minutes late, maybe she knows this is the last time.

I am 33, she is 24. Her soap opera style life has been a series of mistakes and miscues which feeds her need for chaos. When we first met last spring I was taken by her spontaneity and sexuality. I can still smell the lilacs that hung over the outdoor bar where our lips first met within minutes of seeing each other across the dimly lighted deck. Within an hour we would be grinding violently against her car, skirt up to her waist. She was just the right remedy for a man rendered helpless by a recent divorce and loss of identity. I immediately got caught up in her chaotic lifestyle. Her mini-dramas kept me entertained and made me feel useful, a shoulder to lean on. Since my divorce most women took pity on me and listened to me whine and cry about losing my one true love and never feeling that again. I rewarded their pity by allowing them to erase my pain with passion and pleasure. At first I felt empowered, being the shoulder to lean on. Now I just want her to go find another shoulder.

She knocked lightly on the door and I let her in. She had brought over a bottle of wine which she put on the kitchen counter. I led her to the bedroom and threw her down. I figured that I would make the last time as memorable as possible so I could easily recall the evening when I was lonely, without company. She, with no prompting, took off her clothes leaving on her purple camisole and pantie combo. Her skin was a creamy white which was such a contrast from the golden tan she had that first night against her car. She was going to Cancun in a week with some friends so the tan would be back. When she gets back I'll be gone.

We started in slow as usual. I love to tease women. They are so used to men being instantly aroused and desperate to get inside, that when a man is slow and deliberate it inspires them to new heights. As I eased slowly inside, I felt at home. Her familiar taste and smell was comforting and for a few minutes I forgot that I would never be in this position looking at her again. I got to the brink and backed off. She thought of this as more teasing and pulled me in, tighter; I was just trying to prolong my own pleasure. We moved effortlessly from front to back and to the side in a dance that we had done so many times over the past ten months that it might appear choreographed to someone watching. When she shuttered and pulsed her muscles, pulling me in as deep as possible, I could no longer hold back. I lay on her, exhausted, propped up slightly on my elbows as not to crush her with my full weight. I could still feel her pulsing as I was still inside. I would miss this feeling of control and conquest. I would not miss her.

I got up to get some water and clean up. When I returned to the bedroom she was getting dressed. "Where are YOU going?" I asked with a hint of sarcasm. "I told you that this was going to be a quicky, I have to go to my friend Stephanie's, her boyfriend just broke up with her and I am the only one she can talk to." Co-dependant, crazy drama. "Oh, yeah, I forgot". I had become so exhausted trying to figure out what was real drama and what was manufactured that I just started tuning out everything she said. "I'll give you a call later, or tomorrow". "I'm going to bed early, so make it tomorrow" I said with a yawn at the end for emphasis. "Are you OK?" she asked as if a light bulb had just appeared over her head. "Better than ever" I said smugly. "Are you sure?" she said. Please don't stay I thought, hoping that she would not pick up on my elation. "I'm fine, go to your friend, sounds like she needs you". "OK, see you soon" she seemed placated, redirected toward helping her friend. I kissed her on the forehead and she headed down the hallway. I watched her wiggle until she went out the front door. I went over to the window and watched her get into her car. The snow was falling lightly in big, giant flakes that danced slowly to the pavement. I was tempted to open the window and say something to her, but knew that there was nothing more to say.

I sauntered over to my refrigerator and got out a Guinness. It felt like Opening Day or hearing the ocean first thing in the morning. I sat on my sofa and turned on my lap top. I checked my itinerary.

No changes.

All systems go.

7 comments:

Sojourner G said...

Man if that wasn't real, it was certainly Memorex (I hate it when I show my age). Nicely written.

BloggersDelight said...

A fascinating introspective piece.

David Sullivan said...

Pure fiction. I was listening to this song "Crazy Bitch" about a woman who is "Hey! You’re a crazy bitch,
but you fuck so good I'm on top of it.
When I dream I'm doing you all night,
Scratches all down my back to keep me right on.".

There was some autobiographical elements, but it was mostly me imagining trying to get rid of a "Crazy Bitch".

Sharon said...

Damn that was cold...cold and calculated! So far I don't think I have that in me, but sometimes I'd sure like to find out ;)

What must one be made of to be that intimate with someone that they are proactively planning to leave...dayum, makes a sistah wonder what if anything she can ever be sure of...

Nice pacing though!

CapCity said...

Dang, Sharon - stop reading my mind... hee hee;-). I also love the pacing & flow of this, David.

Maybe I'm a cold chick - but I've felt like this more than I care to admit: got mine, u can go now! LOL!

Mizrepresent said...

Hey Dave, so glad u graced us! Loved it!

David Sullivan said...

Thanks for all the feedback.

Miz: I have been reading all of you guys work during my writing absense. Real life has not allowed me to write. I've neglected my own blog to the point of posting less than once per week. I'm back!