I let mine wander back from her hips to the top of her ass. As I rubbed her there I felt no line, no impression, and knew that she was wearing nothing beneath the dress. She put her arms around my neck and pulled me tightly to her, and I pressed my pubic mound into hers and felt her rhythm, her slight thrusting. She kissed my neck and my cheek, and my cock was hard against her. The song ended and she gave me a little kiss on the lips and led me back to the bar, then excused herself.
I could feel the pulse of the bass in my eyes now as if I had become a part of it. In the mirror behind the bar I watched the light from the spinning ball cascade down over the dancers and dapple their faces. When the reflected lasers, riding in on the rails of the Quaalude Express, struck my retinas, they seemed to pop in my head like little fireworks and left me blinded to anything but bleeding spreading patches of color.
She came back and sat close beside me. I looked at her until she looked back and smiled, then I looked away. I felt her fingers on my arm again. She leaned over and said, “It’s okay.” I nodded but I did not know what that meant.
“I’m really hot,” she said, and took my hand off the bar and put it on her thigh. “Feel?”
“You are.”
“I need ice.”
I sat for a moment before I got it, then reached into her drink and took out a piece. When I touched it to her she jerked and gripped the bar with both hands, then turned toward me as I moved my hand in little circles above her knee.
Her legs were pressed tightly together and I could feel the water gathering there in the valley they formed. I got a fresh sliver and slid it along her leg. The burn must have increased as it moved up but she seemed to relax into it. She turned toward me and let her legs spread slightly so that the water ran down between them. I pushed up beneath the hem of her dress and higher still until she made a noise, a kind of exhaling, then turned away.
“I’m leaving,” she said.
“What?”
“For Florida, I mean. We are.”
“Oh.”
“We’ll be gone through the holidays. It’s too hot in here. I need some air.”
I put on my jacket and as we walked along the bar and down the hallway she held my arm. She got her coat and we went out into the moonlight, and the delicious night chill burned my wet neck and armpits. I lit us both cigarettes as we walked across the gravel lot toward the 280Z, which she’d parked far out away from the building.
I stopped and watched her. In that moment in the cold pale light on that gravel in that field I thought of the weight of her, of her experience, of her jadedness, of her damage, and I wanted terribly for her not to leave me there. I say this as if it came upon me suddenly, but it was not sudden. I had begun in some measure to care about her, to contemplate her, to invent her for myself, from that moment in the ICU when she took my hand.
She unlocked her car door and said, “Are you okay?”
I went over. My head felt light and the breath came hot and dry through my lips. She looked up at me. Her eyelids were heavy and her mouth open. I thought I knew what she did not.
She said, “Thank you, Syd. It was nice.”
“Don’t go yet.”
“I have to.”
I leaned into her and waited and felt her breath on my face coming as hard as mine, then opened my mouth against hers. She put her arms around me and I pushed her against the car and ground into her and she spread her legs a little to let that happen. She turned her face away and I kissed her neck.
“Oh,” she said.
I pulled the coat away and bit her on top of her shoulder.
“Oh, god,” she said. “Stop.”
I stepped back.
She said, “I’ve got to go, sweetie,” and got in and started the car and closed the door and threw me a smile. As she drove away I felt the aching already radiating up through my pelvis.
In the morning I came down to find Brigman as I usually did now watching television, but on this morning he looked
I could feel the pulse of the bass in my eyes now as if I had become a part of it. In the mirror behind the bar I watched the light from the spinning ball cascade down over the dancers and dapple their faces. When the reflected lasers, riding in on the rails of the Quaalude Express, struck my retinas, they seemed to pop in my head like little fireworks and left me blinded to anything but bleeding spreading patches of color.
She came back and sat close beside me. I looked at her until she looked back and smiled, then I looked away. I felt her fingers on my arm again. She leaned over and said, “It’s okay.” I nodded but I did not know what that meant.
“I’m really hot,” she said, and took my hand off the bar and put it on her thigh. “Feel?”
“You are.”
“I need ice.”
I sat for a moment before I got it, then reached into her drink and took out a piece. When I touched it to her she jerked and gripped the bar with both hands, then turned toward me as I moved my hand in little circles above her knee.
Her legs were pressed tightly together and I could feel the water gathering there in the valley they formed. I got a fresh sliver and slid it along her leg. The burn must have increased as it moved up but she seemed to relax into it. She turned toward me and let her legs spread slightly so that the water ran down between them. I pushed up beneath the hem of her dress and higher still until she made a noise, a kind of exhaling, then turned away.
“I’m leaving,” she said.
“What?”
“For Florida, I mean. We are.”
“Oh.”
“We’ll be gone through the holidays. It’s too hot in here. I need some air.”
I put on my jacket and as we walked along the bar and down the hallway she held my arm. She got her coat and we went out into the moonlight, and the delicious night chill burned my wet neck and armpits. I lit us both cigarettes as we walked across the gravel lot toward the 280Z, which she’d parked far out away from the building.
I stopped and watched her. In that moment in the cold pale light on that gravel in that field I thought of the weight of her, of her experience, of her jadedness, of her damage, and I wanted terribly for her not to leave me there. I say this as if it came upon me suddenly, but it was not sudden. I had begun in some measure to care about her, to contemplate her, to invent her for myself, from that moment in the ICU when she took my hand.
She unlocked her car door and said, “Are you okay?”
I went over. My head felt light and the breath came hot and dry through my lips. She looked up at me. Her eyelids were heavy and her mouth open. I thought I knew what she did not.
She said, “Thank you, Syd. It was nice.”
“Don’t go yet.”
“I have to.”
I leaned into her and waited and felt her breath on my face coming as hard as mine, then opened my mouth against hers. She put her arms around me and I pushed her against the car and ground into her and she spread her legs a little to let that happen. She turned her face away and I kissed her neck.
“Oh,” she said.
I pulled the coat away and bit her on top of her shoulder.
“Oh, god,” she said. “Stop.”
I stepped back.
She said, “I’ve got to go, sweetie,” and got in and started the car and closed the door and threw me a smile. As she drove away I felt the aching already radiating up through my pelvis.
In the morning I came down to find Brigman as I usually did now watching television, but on this morning he looked
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