As She Winked.

[KB.]

He sat listening to the slow beat of a fast Blues song. All around him people were puffing on cigarettes like they were former or current Alcoholics Anonymous members. His cigarette was burning slowly down to his fingers and he was drunk; inebriated by the sight of lips as red as the sweetest wine and hair to match. He leaned close to whisper in her ear, “Are you having a good time?” She nodded and her ear brushed against his lips. He had nothing else to say, nothing important enough to interrupt a faster paced than normal version of “Crossroads” but he leaned in again, “They are doing a really nice job on this.” She nodded again, slower, and moved in close to him as she did so. He wanted to kiss her elegant neck but he didn’t.

The muggy night carried on and he took every chance he got to move closer to her. The bar filled up with younger kids, younger than them anyway, and they were a tolerated because they became an excuse to inch his way closer. She was wearing a red shirt that matched her lipstick, red heels that matched her shirt, and a pair of the most amazing jeans he had ever seen; or had ever been sewn. She looked like she would be comfortable to get lost in while exploring. Just a short jaunt or a long, slow walk. He felt combustible, any minute he was going to catch fire and there would be nothing left but dried out ashes. She was water though, cool and clear water. Sweet tasting water. She sat there waiting to put him out before he was consumed. Looking at her made him thirsty.

The crowd grew and tables were moved to make room for onlookers. He led her to the front of the room so she could see and he stood behind her as she swayed to the beat of a song about brooms needing to be dusted. The metaphor was appreciated even if the broom wasn’t. She stumbled backwards and he caught her as she fell into him. She was smiling, smiling like she knew something he didn’t know. Her hands took his and moved them in front of her; right above the waistline of those glorious jeans. When she let go he had a belt loop hooked in each thumb and his fingers were splayed across the front of her jeans, dangerous in their proximity. Trouble.

They moved together slowly, keeping time with the beat. Well, he tried to keep time with as little nervous awkwardness as possible and she moved like she had written the song. She turned to her left and looked up at him, her blue eyes clear and tempting. “Are your legs hurting you?” “Not too bad, just my left thigh as usual; I’ll be fine though.” She reached behind her and took his ailing thigh in her hand, she didn’t look back, she held his leg tight and worked the aches out like she was sitting at a potter’s wheel. She moved her strong hand along his thigh, up and down the length of it. He felt whole again.

The band was tired and hoarse. They had played for hours and played well. The night was cooler, still smoky and still saturated with drunken whispers. They stood there as close to each other as possible, eyes closed, moving silently to their own song. People watched them, smiled and walked away to give them room. The band noticed as well and decided to play one more song before they settled into their own whiskey drinks. “You know the night time, darling…” and she sang, “night and day” “is the right time” and she whispered, “night and day”. The band played, she sang, whispered; and he listened. People clapped and whistled.

When it was over he kissed her softly on the neck as he held her tightly, then took her hand to lead her off the dance floor as tables were replaced and drinks purchased by admirers were laid in front of them. Cool fire quenching drinks. He took his cigarettes out of his pocket and leaned in to light one up, but she grabbed him, strongly by his hand, pushed the lighter down and produced her own. He looked at her, smiling, as she winked and lit his smoke.

[koan]

That's probably the most erotic thing I've read in a long time.

I bet it's a true story too.

[KB.]

That was fiction when I wrote it but was truth soon after. Thank you for the compliments and kind words. I'll get back to you on your PM; it is 430 am here and I have been out with an amazing, glorious even, woman who deserves to have stories written about her. I'm tired and I smell like sin. It's wonderful.