Cracked Concrete

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This is a little different than my usual stuff. The idea hit me, and I ran with it.

*

That feeling of wanton desire hits the moment your eyes meet across the bar. Her. Younger, cute. Glasses. You. Older, less cute. Contacts. What you share, is the unmistakable face of hunger and desire.

Fleeting glances flow like a river across the polished hardwood. Blue eyes. Slightly crooked smile. Beer in hand. You can't stop the stirrings that start in your toes and spread up your legs and into your gut. Her eyes find yours as often as yours find hers.

Your friends notice you are distracted. Make comments on it. You brush it off and keep looking at her. Your focus could be nowhere else. Her eyes pull on you. Tug on you. The sea within them begs you to go for a swim.

The stirrings are growing, unleashing sparks all over your body with each glance. They become more than glances. Gazes. Flashes. Grow longer. Fill with longing. With yearning. With thirst.

Her lips on the lip of the glass beer bottle beckon you to come closer. Come in for a taste.

Before you are even aware of it, you are standing feet from her. The crowd of people that stood between you previously, parted as if Moses himself commanded it.

She watches with deep interest as you get a little closer but not too close. You turn to the bartender, order one more. For her and for you. You push a twenty to the bar keep, take the beers and turn to her. She accepts and smiles. Cuter up closer.

Somehow, you are now closer. Couldn't be any closer without sitting on the same bar stool. The idea of that, sends new sparks throughout you. The world around you dissolves. Friends say goodbye, you barely acknowledge them.

The phrase 'only have eyes for you' takes on new life as you sit talking to and watching her.

Witty. Adorable. Smoldering. Cute as fuck. Her hand on your shoulder. On your hand. On you.

Last call. She stands up. Taller by a few. Jeans. Legs that don't stop. You wonder what they would feel like wrapped around your waist. Wrapped around your face.

Walking out together, her car just over there. The wind pushes you through the parking lot. It knows where you are supposed to go. Zero hesitation as you climb into the passenger seat. Your phone goes off. Friends from earlier making sure you are okay.

Her hand moving higher and higher up your thigh as the street lights buzz by. You are more than okay.

She pulls you up the cracked concrete stairs. Opens one then another door. Inside, she pushes you up against a chipped plaster wall. The stirrings in your belly unleashed on her lips. Her hand reaches to remove your jeans. You've already gotten hers half off. Shirts hit the floor. The pile of abandoned garments grows.

The calendar on her wall shows March. Kittens in a basket full of yawn.

In a whirlwind of movements, she has you on the bed, on the edge. Legs hanging helplessly over the expanse. She's on top of you. Lips on lips. Lips on breasts. Torso on torso. The height difference a little more apparent as she displays her pussy to you. Glistening and ready. Her face buries itself deep in yours.

You dive in. This is your favorite meal. Pull her lips back, tongue cleaving the midline split. Caress her ass. Her thighs. Her.

Your mouth lapping...teasing. Your legs drape open, inviting her deeper. She's in control. What she wants is what you want. It can be no other way.

Your head swirls with the mix of her touching you and you touching her. The electricity in the air. The sounds of sex. The smell of her. The excitement of her. The thrill of tasting her. Being tasted.

Both of you racing to get the other to the finish line. Racing to send the other tumbling over a cliff. Down a void of pleasure. Who will win?

Your fingers push in her...deep. She moans under you. Your mouth sucks her clit in. Sucks hard. Then soft. Then hard again. Fingers curl. You seem to be winning the race. Letting go for only a moment, your own moans join hers in the thick air that surrounds you both.

She pulls ahead. Rubs faster but not harder. You feel yourself begun to split, forgetting for a moment about the delectable dish right at your mouth. Your favorite bits are waiting for your return.

The deep throaty moans that try to escape as you suck on her, bring forth legions of power from deep within her. The finish line is seconds away. You can see the black and white checkered flag.

You split and shudder together. Jolts and spasms rock you both. Heavy panting. Barely breathing. Even the smallest of movements set off more shocks. Tiny orgasm-like things flood you both. Bathe you in pleasure.

Bigger movements become possible an eternity later. She pulls you up to the pillows, moves to lay aside you. Kisses you. Grabs a blanket covering you both.

In the distance, your phone goes off again. It goes unanswered. Her arm falls over yours. Hand claims your breast. The heat of her breath lulls you to sleep.

The scene is repeated with electrifying, exciting, breathtaking changes over the next few days. You call in sick to work for three of them.

You move in with her less than two weeks later. She drives the U-Haul. The cracked concrete almost seems to welcome you with a smile.

Your friends have dropped off the face of the earth. You scarcely notice. Her bed is your bed. Her friends are your friends. Her life is your life.

Kittens in a washtub catch your eye. April.

Cooking for two is exhilarating. She smiles, you smile. She laughs, you laugh. She pins you up against the wall and plunges her fingers deep within. Pulls out pleasure you never knew existed.

You turn all of you, over to her. No questions asked.

She takes you shopping. Picks out your new clothes.

She crawls under the home desk you now share. Conference calls take on a new life. She makes you squirm with desire. With pleasure. With the thrilling potential of someone realizing what those sounds erupting from you mean.

Conference call over, she drapes your legs over the arms of the chair. Pulls you forward. Teases and tugs on you. Mixes her flavor with yours.

Sunday dinners. Saturday walks. Puzzles together in between. Your phone pings occasionally. You don't even look. She is the only one you need.

Life is better. You are better. Everything is better, with her.

Kittens with umbrellas on the wall. May

She's not coming right home after work. You smell a familiar scent on her when she finally climbs in bed behind you. Her arm doesn't drape over you. Your breast goes unclaimed.

Your mind pushes out what you don't want to see. Don't want to smell. Don't want to know.

You cook dinners. Go for walks. Build puzzles.

You can't ignore it any longer. Can't deny what you wish to disregard.

Lipstick on her collar. That isn't your color.

Vodka and Whisky.

Beer and stale air.

You can imagine the way her eyes look sitting at that bar. You know that look. You know the way those eyes pull on a person. Invite them in. Take them. All of them. Use them up.

June. Kittens frolicking in a garden.

You glare at those happy kittens living their lie.

Friends long forgotten pull up out front. U-Haul packed.

Cracked concrete doesn't smile goodbye.