L S, A Love Story.
Written while heavily inebriated.
Her lips stained darker than wine
We were already in too deep. I could feel her lips on my neck. I didn’t want it to begin like this. Not again. It was too late. I should’ve stopped to think. Then again, I should've just stopped. How could I, when she swung in like a wrecking ball through a battered building; I needed her and she gave me all she had. I started kissing her hard, teeth et al. She had a way about her; a magnetism I hadn't found for years. Well, maybe months. Maybe days, I forget now. Her clothes came off like the last thread holding together a cheap dress. I melted in her arms, she in mine. I knew it was bad, but I needed this. I needed her, and she was willing to give me more than I asked for.
Maybe it didn't begin like that. It certainly didn't have to end like that. I keep looking back thinking it could’ve gone another way. Maybe there was no other way than this- a half-assed excuse at love. Not even love, certainly not intimacy, not pure. It just was.
Her hair, once tied neatly in a band was flying everywhere and I just didn't want this to stop, Gods please don't let this stop. Let me live here for a while if not a moment longer. Her breasts on my fingers felt warm like an ice cream on a summer's day, melting slowly but letting me have the best parts.
See I'm not one to think a lot, I'm not a person who would harm a soul, but the way she moved caught me unawares. Caught me in the middle of a long sentence just so I could go up to her and say “wow”. Now i slowly move down below; she hid no secrets from me; we were destined to be here and I would not like to think twice before i had my way with her; soft, slow , smooth. I don't remember her saying no; no, I don't remember her saying anything, I just remember the experience of her, the joy of contact, the joy of feigned intimacy. It was her fingers that got me. Pink and petite like jewels at the bottom of a cove. I knew when I held her hands, that I’d want to hold them forever, if not tonight. She started moaning.
An average night. I'd been stuck at my place for a while now, counting the moments till tomorrow. They said they wanted to drink with me tonight; I'm not one to say no to an amicable offer. We got there at rush hour, the crowd mashing into a collective throng and my only fear was the wait till i got my beer. I wish i could tell you it was a love story; it isn't.
“No i said five, not live, FIVE”
“Oh five, gotcha bud, i’ll bring em out for ya”
I stood there waiting amidst a group of what I can only assume was a group of fresh graduates; their excitement gave them away. It's been a while since I felt that fire in my body, the excitement of an entirely new world waiting for me to dominate, to conquer. “The world is your oyster!”- unfortunately most of us have got seafood allergies. Most of us are meant for mediocrity. Most of us won't make it past that rush of graduating. I knew my place, sure.
I got my beers and headed back. I forgot to tip the girl. I'm mostly an asshole, though I try to maintain a facade of decency. It just doesn't cut it sometimes. The sound of camaraderie is what I live for, in any form, especially the drunken kind. This is where I thrive. Conversations started flowing left, right and center. Voices overlapping each other and as the rounds went on, the voices got louder.
I didn't see her at first. This isn't a love story, really, is it? No, I didn't even acknowledge her existence. I was here for a good time with my gang, and looked forward to crashing in a small apartment with more people than capacity. I saw a couple of real beauties, and as the conversations lulled (for whatever small time it did) i imagined taking them home. My daydreams were cut short by the realization of having to make bonds deeper than I am comfortable making. It's not that i'm distant, the effort just feels like it could be better used elsewhere. A good opium session perhaps. The almighty “off” switch. I digress.
It was around the seventh round, the crowd had inevitably died off; we stayed. The drunkenness apparent on all our faces yet the desire for more, overpowering our sensibilities.
“This is definitely the last round.” And so on.
She started biting my neck. I dug that. I dont have any apprehensions about sex, but unless its special i dont pull my pants all the way through. One of those sick little nuance that make me, me. She mattered though. Naked, we were feeling each others warmth and our bodies were tied together like a triple knotted rope, stuck together. We weren't making love, this is art.
“The girl on the stage? She just plays here fridays. Don't know much about her, she doesn't talk much, gets here, plays her music, drinks her beer and fucks off”
It was the tattoos. No it was her eyes. Or no, it was her hair.
Her. It was she. She gave me a sense of elation, just to be able to see her. I zoned out of the conversations and listened to her rendition of Rhiannon. Nightingale, i thought. Mellow, with a lot of soul. I was blatantly staring now. I contemplated sending her a shot of tequila. How much money does a shot of tequila cost? More than I could afford certainly, I haven't paid rent for a long enough time that I wouldn't blame the landlord for throwing me out. But there was just something about her lips singing the words that gave me goosebumps.
I sent her two shots of tequila, with a note- “Stevie Nicks would be proud”. She went on playing through the quiet hours of the night.
She pushed the shots in a single bout, and prepared herself for another song. I was sold, I was bought, I was done. I needed to talk to her now. I counted the seconds till she would get off of the makeshift stage. I was counting all of my lucky stars. She seemed worth the effort.
The first tattoo I saw was on her neck. A hummingbird.
I got up. It was now or never. Six of the most anxious minutes of my life. My friends were gunning for me. They sniggered and cheered. Where would I be without them.
Her soft voice moans into my ear. She whispers sweet-nothings into my ear. She says “more, more, more” and i wanted to give her all i had. We were sweating now, the bed taking the brunt of our journey into each other. We started laughing in between. We were friends finding each other off the playground after decades, kids having fun. Man, did i dig her. She was it. And it went on and she breathed right into my ear, each gasp of breath sending shivers down my spine. I grabbed the spaces between her fingers and held them tight. I kissed them and her body started shaking all over. There were tremors from places I hadn't even heard of.
I struck out. Typical.
“Three shots of tequila”
“You gonna tip me this time?”
“Give me the booze and you'll know.”
“You gonna tip?”
“Would you for the sake of all that is holy bring me the booze?”
“Do you like getting served spitballs?”
“What the hell”
“You gonna tip me this time?
I pulled the already dwindling stack of bills from my pocket and lay a few in front of her.
Did I do something wrong? I never know. She looked like a million beautiful sunsets, a billion twinkling stars. She could've had my heart on my platter. Maybe it was for the best.
“Hey have i seen you somewhere before?”
“Where could you possibly have seen me?”
“If I knew i wouldn't be asking you wise ass”
She seemed to like the tip. My friends had long since gone, wandering the dead of the night like a gang of merry pranksters.
“Nice to see you with all your friends”, gesturing the glasses in front of me. She had a sharp mouth.
“Better than the other side of the counter at least”
“Ouch,was that supposed to hurt me?”
“Its all for nothing sweetheart, me and my “friends” know this already”
“Hey man stop getting yourself in a rut. These pretty girls, they like their booze like they like their men, bitter and with a fistful of sting.”
“Are you really consoling me?”
“Hey i'm just killing time till we close- I don't know what your deal is but that girl, she got her own way of working guys. You're just another wasted victim”
She didn't seem so bad anymore. We started talking. We didn't stop talking.
I helped her close up. She was thin like a stick; beautiful beach blonde hair, and glasses that hid her true self from the world. Rings on all her fingers. She wanted to know if I was on the down-low with the down-low. I didn't even come close to understanding what she was asking me about. She spelt it out clear-
I bounced off her body and spun her around. I would have my way with her body, all night and tomorrow too, if it took me that long, but I would know her body. The body hiding mysteries behind it.
See, close enough, is close enough. I've stopped looking for love. I've stopped looking for anything even halfway near meaningful. I've stopped wanting the pillow talk. I've stopped thinking that there is another half for me out there. I haven't stopped my quest for close enough. We walked the short road up to her place. Close enough, man, close enough. I drank the last drops of her whiskey. I've stopped looking to get drunk. Close enough, man, close enough. I started browsing all these books spilt carelessly across her studio. I found a book of poems by Jack Kerouac. I read half of one, before she traipsed in, fresh makeup on her face. She missed a small spot on her lip. Close enough, man, close enough. I've stopped wanting plastic women with plastic faces; if i want that I've got that ready for me day and night. I've stopped wanting makeup and blurry conversations. Close enough, man, close enough. I bought some cheap wine from the store next door. I got a fifth, i wanted a bottle. Close enough, man, close enough. I poured her the wine in a plastic cup. I've stopped wanting vessels to drink from. She insisted I use a glass and at least pretend I'm a gentleman for her sake. Close enough, man, close enough. We laughed a lot. We talked about the guitar lady. We talked about death. We talked about our fears. Or what we were pretending was our fears for that evening at least. I've stopped wanting to show my real self to anyone. I've stopped wanting to see the real side to anyone else. Close enough, man, close enough. I took her by the hand and danced to a broken record on her dusty turntable. I wanted to play a song, nice, and long, and slow for her. I wanted to serenade her. I want her to know me, yes i really did. Close enough, man, close enough. I picked her up and carried her across the studio. Close enough, man, close enough. I dropped her on the bed. I started kissing her fingers, her rings. I've stopped wanting minty fresh breath for my kisses. I've stopped thinking that someone is going to come out and save me, my salvation, my dying light, my saving grace. She is my salvation for tonight. I've stopped wanting to smoke pot and get high and get lost in my own world. We got high and she spoke and I paid inattention. I've stopped wanting to feel like I'm a worthwhile piece of a story in someone else's life. She went on; I nodded in unison. Close enough, man, close enough. I've stopped wanting to make love, I've stopped wanting to make art. We were one, we could breathe for the other, we were going to hide and give each other love all night. We were not in this for love, we weren't even in this to dispel fears of loneliness. We were just there. Close enough, man, close enough. She was mine. I was hers. She wasn't Her. I wasn't Him. Close enough.