Work

*read at Holiday Dirt 12/17/09*

I met her on a Thursday, pants low slung on her ass. Denim broken and faded like a woman who knew how to work.

We’d met eyes in the corner store; me practicing my femme glare as we passed silently over dirty chipped tiles, electric in our distance. I was getting better….

I was on my way to meet Becca, a girl I’d known for months, but had just realized her want of me. I didn’t know until she leaned too close in a bar one night and let her fingers slip through mine as we parted ways. I was disinterested in general but exploring the possibility of casual sex. But as I maneuvered that cramped corner store aisle, as I slid past that strong jaw and those blue eyes, I knew my sex could never be casual. Knew I could never spill over for could-be-attraction or for Becca. I needed a heat I could taste.

Six pack of bottles and a bag of gummi bears in hand, I found those jeans, that swagger, climbing the same stairs I was meant to. My would-be date introduced us. “This is Jess, we grew up together”. Her hand slipped into mine, firm but not harsh. She smiled, broad, like her shoulders, and a flush came over us both. “Nice to meet you”, she said. And I did well not to mention how I’d felt her gaze wash over me just minutes before. Or how I watched her hands as she flipped through bills and dug deep for change. I just glanced from her to Becca and knew there was nothing to be done. Not that night. Not until any lingering desire had fallen away from that childhood friend of hers. “Nice to meet you”, I said.

She found me again in that dark dance hall. I was high heeled, moving past her, when she reached for me. Hand grasping fingers. I threw a look over my shoulder and found her, leaning, elbow on the bar, cocky but gentle. I paused. We smiled. “Hey”. Her eyes were on me again. Moving over my bare shoulders, the soft cloth of my dress- pause, stay- then thighs, calves, the heels. “Love that dress”, she says. Code. “Thanks”, I say. We’re pushed closer by the crowd and there is contact, her knee slipping beneath my dress, between bare thighs. Pause. Pulse. Smirk. “I’m on my way out”, she says, “but I couldn’t let you just walk by”. She stands. “I’m glad you didn’t”, I say. Our eyes lock and I can smell her, feel her just inches from me. I tilt my chin. “Hope to see you soon”. Code. “I’m sure you will”, she says. And I watched her walk out, felt my cunt pull after her. Felt that want soak through everything that was trying to hold it back.

Weeks later the phone rang. “Hope you don’t mind”, she says. “Becca gave me your number”. I laughed. “That’s a good friend”, I say. Then there was a date in the daylight where I studied how her mouth moved, wondered if her breath would catch the first time I slid into her and reveled in each moment our skin met and stayed. Palm on knee. Elbow on forearm. Shoulder on shoulder. Coy. Charming. Restrained. Our eyes skipping from face, to sky, to body. Shying away from the sex that settled between us. Our desire polite in public.

But then there was dusk. And caresses that warmed as the air chilled. And we found ourselves in a room that sang of her. Sheets undone. And our gaze lifted. Locked. Pause. Pause. Pause. And then there was no code. Just her hand and the small of my back. Her full lips, that mouth, meeting mine. My fingers gone to flip, click, slide at her belt. That faded denim falling to the floor, finally. Her chest kissing my nipples. My hair in her hands. Her breath caught in her throat. My cunt open and spilling. Those hands a part of me. And she proved that she knew how to work.

--------------------------------------------

Here is the other piece I read that night.