Michael O'Mahony
(08/11/04)
Feels good to be drunk but not out of control. Just hitting that
perfect
place, inhibitions floating away so that you say the things you mean
without
feeling stupid and awkward. Drunk enough that you struggle to get the
key in
the lock while you laugh and look at her and feel that electric
anticipation
in your gut and don't fuck it up by saying or doing the wrong thing.
You're
tuned to her station. Everything is right. Just another night in
nowhere,
another couple falling like the rain, shining like the artificial
night. It
means nothing and everything. It's all you have and all you've lost and
all
that you can never leave behind.
Inside and kicking the door shut. Your mouth finds hers and she tastes
like
whatever the fuck she was drinking, sweet and female and good. Her body
feels warm and full and wonderful against you. You crack some joke and
she
laughs against your mouth and her eyes are beautiful in extreme
close-up and
your hand is sliding up under her top and skating over the warm
softness of
her skin, exploring the geography of the body you've been trying not to
think about all night. You're over the lacy cup of her bra and then
inside
and her expression is suddenly deadly serious. You're cupping her
breast,
your fingers are skimming over the dimpled flesh of her nipple and then
you're pinching its swollen tip and her mouth opens just a little, a
breath
that's like an echo of her laughter in your mouth so that you can
almost
taste her desire as she reaches back and switches the lights off.
Like a cue for her to let go, this darkness. Her lips are hard against
yours, her tongue pushing into your mouth. Her arms go around you and
you're
doing a drunken waltz towards the bed, not knowing where you're going
to end
up until the backs of your knees touch the mattress and you sit and see
her
taking off her top in silhouette while you undo her jeans and feel
relieved
that she can't see how your hands are shaking.
You kiss her belly and she laughs like maybe it tickles her, but her
hands
are going through your hair and her fingers are sometimes coming
together
and grabbing, like she's urging you on, jeans around her thighs and
going
lower, this clumsy ritual of undressing making you laugh and lose your
breath all at the same time, the heat you feel when you slip your hand
between her thighs making you realise how hard you are, how much you
want
her.
Then her jeans and panties are around her ankles and she's trying to
kick
them off and she still has her shoes on and it's ridiculous but you
know
she's pretty much naked and you can't see it because your eyes haven't
adjusted to the light, and when she overbalances and falls toward you,
you
welcome it because it's just another excuse to touch her, to have her
wrapped around you, her breath and her mouth pressed close once more,
her
naked skin beneath your hands even as you feel her unzipping your jeans
and
touching you, making a fist around your cock and stroking you clumsily
but
with feeling, lust over technique, making you want to yell, to tell the
world that this woman wants you this much.
Wrestling with her body and the bedclothes until she's on her back and
you're over her and the lights outside are touching her skin, tracing
her
outlines and slowly filling in the fine details as you quickly undress
and
go to her and she pulls you in, arms and legs embracing, face-to-face
and
you can see her features but not her expression.
Sounds of cars going by and her breathing and your heartbeat and
someone
shouting in the street outside. And the rain, constant and powerful,
hammering on the roof and the window, the rhythm of its falling so
quick as
to be nothing more than a hiss on the asphalt down there, a sound that
reminds you of an album finishing when you have the stereo cranked up
and
the last notes fade away and the volume remains like a memory of a
story
you've just been told.
Hold that moment. Let it stick in the mind. A clear and perfect image
to
remember her by. That final pause before you slide slowly into her most
intimate embrace, before the two of you are joined and she's murmuring
something you don't quite understand and it's okay because it's the
tone
that matters and not the words, the urgency that makes you kiss her
again,
that makes you move against her for that delicious friction and the way
it
makes her moan and makes your thoughts spiral away into incoherency.
Don't let go. Control. Don't disappoint her now. Pull out. Kiss her
some
more, slowly and thoroughly, taste her mouth and then her jaw and her
neck,
inhaling her clean, fresh sweat and her shampoo and her perfume.
Helping her
out of her bra so that she's naked and exposed beneath you, almost
helpless,
your tongue dancing over her nipples and her belly button, lips
brushing her
pubic hair and then kissing her cunt, overwhelmed by her heat, the
taste and
scent of her, the way she stiffens and says your name and then relaxes
as
though your caresses were a drug, stealing her strength and her
resistance,
giving her this rhythm she takes to immediately, her hips moving and
her
pleasure escaping her in lazy sighs you imagine you can see ballooning
into
the air like breath on a freezing morning, forming clouds that float
and
dance in the second-hand neon that struggles through the threadbare
curtains.
She pushes you away and she's gasping, closer than you realized,
reaching
out for you to push you onto your back, to swap these roles and take
control. You can see her now and she's so special in this half-light,
determined and excited and barely in control, naked without shame. She
straddles you and takes you into her again, this time with her weight
pressing your cock home as her hands grab your hands and pull them to
her
breasts. She moves her hips, slowly at first but then gaining momentum,
her
eyes locked on yours so that you can't look away even though you're
peripherally aware of her hand going down over her belly to her sex, to
caress herself as she rides you, even though you want to watch.
You're a little drunk on both alcohol and pleasure. It gets hard to
focus,
to pin down her beauty. All is motion. All is the way that light plays
on
her body. All is gasps and moans and sighs and the way your pleasure
spreads
over you like something liquid and the heat and desperation builds in
your
stomach and your cock as you listen to the sound of her cries reaching
a
crescendo and suddenly you're there and you couldn't stop it if you
wanted
to, this loss of control as your entire body seems to lose all feeling,
numb
save for your cock, which pulses with a life of its own as you feel
yourself
emptied inside her, every beat of this rhythmic release casting its net
wider, warmth rippling outward, reaching the skin of your chest and
your
face, making you dizzy and weak, making you belong to her.
She's tensed astride you, trembling muscles and trembling breath, her
hand
moving rapidly just above the place where the two of you are joined and
then
stopping as she closes her eyes and opens her mouth and reaches her
orgasm
and the world crashes back in as she falls onto you, as you hold her
and
kiss her and know that you'll say nothing, that you'll hope she hears
and
understands the rain that means more than you could ever say.
