His body was like a map to me. A car passed outside, and as the light played over his body, the beams becoming everchanging highways and detours. I was above and on top of him, he was below and inside of me. I was rocking back and forth, feeling him harden inside me, pushing, sliding out and in again. I used my hands as a counterbalance, pressing in on him, roaming over his chest, marking distance, measuring topographical textures.

I stepped into the shower and put my hand on the wall to steady myself as my head swirled. We had talked about him coming up to visit and stay with me awhile. I was almost struck down by the imagined vision of him standing in that shower all tanned and perfect… hair slicked, water dripping off his body and the come hither look on his face.

They left the bar, him going his way, and her going her own. As far as the road, anyway. At the juncture where they should have taken opposite turns, he slammed his truck into park, forcing the door open, striding back to hers where he yanked her out of the car, to fall up against him, crushing his lips against hers.

Meh. I can’t seem to write anymore.

He turned, and felt the flash of recognizance, that moment of knowing that you should know who you’re talking to, should at least act like you should know who you’re talking to, but you just can’t… “Uhhh…”

Throatily and slow, she laughs. “It’s me, Erica” You blush, make motions of order a drink, of grabbing your wallet, of making sure your hair is smoothed down. “Don’t worry darling, I wasn’t exactly expecting to see anyone I knew here, either”.

You take a moment, trying to look her subtly up and down. She looks… tighter, stronger, more assured… but still ultimately Erica. You can’t pinpoint anything, and you’re still staring when the bartender delivers her drink, and she places a ten in her hand without flinching.

“So the last time I saw you here, you were working some… personal things out. How are they going?”

You twist your hands around your glass, and the flash of your wedding ring catches both your eyes. “Ach, I see” she says. “Congratulations are in order, then” She waves the bartender over as you mumble your protest. “Two shots of your best whiskey, on account of my good friend’s wedding!”

“..two years hardly deserves a toast…” She doesn’t hear you, as she’s caught the eye of another of her acquaintances. For a woman who wasn’t expecting to meet anyone here, she sure was ready…

“Sorry about that. My cousin was wondering what the hell I was doing back in town. Now, where were we?” Grabbing one of the pair of glasses off the bar, she raises it to eye level. “Is it my toast, or yours?”

“Uh, yours I think” being unable to remember the count.

“Here is to the women we love… and the men that we love… and fuck all that nonsense, heres to the whiskey in the glass!”

You both take the shot. She licks her lips while you shudder. She looks at you and laughs, and you try to shoulder it off.

“Sorry, whiskey, I’ve never been able to handle it”

A silence, then.

“I’d call you on that, but I’m here only for a visit, not to cause any trouble. Anyway, dear, if you’d excuse me…”

You look down at your glasses, empty, and motion the waitress over. In the time it takes her to deliver your drinks, you ponder the trouble that could be caused.

Your neck, buried in her, your cock ready to plunge, as she asked you if you’re sure, and when you murmur your assent, she releases her legs and you dive deep in her, the name of your god forcing its way past your lips.

Her head, turned away from you, your teeth tearing on her skin. “Stop” she says. You know you doesn’t mean it. You push her back on the grass, her skirt pulled up to her thighs. “Stop what?” you dare. Pushing into her, you hear her scream out the name of her god.

Hands, both of your hands play over each others body. Cars pass, changing the perspective of the light. Tentatively, fingers play over the light. It’s almost as if one is waiting for permission from another. And ultimately, it doesn’t matter as hipbone meets hipbone.

Waking up, you find an unfamiliar body next to you. You roll over, bringing the blanket with you, as you know you shouldn’t be where you are. A body follows the warmth, and you stick your elbow out. The body apologizes profusely, tugging a bit of blanket with her. You try to fall back asleep, and unconsciously your arm follows the blanket, touching her side. Both of you jerk back as if on fire, but draw back together as fire does.

“uhh, would you like your tab?” The bartender asks. You glance at your watch and find it shortly before closing time. “Yeah, please.” He delivers it, and you pay, stumbling out the front door.

You try to figure out where you parked, shaking your head slightly. You must have parked behind the building, and as you turn to walk that way, along the road, there she is. “Ehm, want a ride?” you ask

She presses her lips against yours, hips grinding, you could feel her heartbeat against your own chest. “I asked for that long ago. I have my own ride, now”

She turns away, stumbling. She had no idea what hit her.

(forgive the second part, I still have massive editing to do)

Daylight savings had past, it was dark in the parking lot at six, with the first snow flurries of the season falling

It was dark in the office, too. I followed him in, and shut the door behind me. Turning around, he had seated himself already. Closing the door had cut out the light completely, so I reeled in the darkness, trying to get my bearings. I fumbled my way through the chairs over to him, and kneeled down next to him.

It was verbal banter that had drawn me to him, there was exicitment in someone that would argue with you. Strange that it turned out how much he liked the quiet.

My hands ran over the fabric of his rough, cheaply bought work pants. Fingers ran up his legs unti I found the bulge in his pants and began to move my hands over it. He settled back, and let out a sigh.

Leaning forward as I was, my shirt draped open, and he slid his hands down, underneath my bra, kneeding my breasts. I reached underneath my shirt, and undid the claspe of my bra to assist him.

My fingers undid his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. I rubbed him through the thin cloth of his boxers, letting him get used to the intensity. I lowered my face and took him into my mouth.

It never took long. He would stiffen, and then push me away, never letting himself finish, mumbling about guilt and how he couldn’t do this. My eyes had adjusted, I looked up at him, framed by the parking lights filtering in. Hair that look dark in the shadows, slight smile on his face, stublled, shoulders broad in his jacket.

We stood up, readjusted ourselves. He hugged me, tight and long, as if I was a friend and this was therapy to him. We left, him home to his family, and me to my empty apartment, and this bottle of vodka, this pen.

I brought him home later in the spring. It was something that had built up, hidden moments in the office, sitting next to him and pretending to show his something on the screen while our hands struggled to reach each other beneath the desk. It was only in the office for the longest of times. I think this was his way of controlling things, trying not to admit to the word ‘affair’. It only came about because I was impatient, and frustrated. I never wanted a relationship from him, only an admission of attraction.

He followed me home in his car, and I led him in my apartment. He laid down on my bed, stretching out, saying how tired he was. That was another thing he hid behind; he was always tired, his defenses were down. I climbed on top of him, stradling him, kneeding the muscles in his back. I let my hands drift, under his shirt, untucking it. I pulled my own off, and dragged the front of my body over the back of his. I felt him tense again. Always there was a point of his retreat.

I slid off the bed, and offered the ever present bottle of vodka. He agreed, but only to as much as I would have. I walked into the kitchen, pulling two tumblers off the shelf, and filling them both half full. He took his, and I watched the entirety of the liquid slide down his throat. I was a little more careful with mine, and he watched me as I finished it.

“My turn” He followed me back into the bedroom. Without turning around to look at him, I removed the remainder of my clothes, and climbed back onto the bed, face down. I could almost see him gathering his courage before he joined me. His fingers were ever so careful, running over my back, down my thighs, but no place that could be considered trespassing.

I rolled over on my side, looking at him. The vodka was beginning to cloud his eyes, and he looked slightly confused. I moved closer to him, pressing my hips into him questioningly. At least one part of him was sure. Enough so for me. I got back up to pour us more vodka.

The next few hours were a blur of alcohol and skin. We had moved to the living room at one point. He looked at me, asking if I liked him. I looked down at my own naked body and laughed, asking him if he thought so little of me that I brought everyone I didn’t like home with me. He submitted me to a lecture at how wonderful, how beautiful a person I was, how he had always thought so. And then he asked me if I thought he was a good husband. I raised my eyebrows at this.. I could hear echos of another time, another man, me issuing the invitation in, stating ‘welcome to a sembelence of domestic bliss’, and he asking me what I meant by a sembelence of it..”you’re here, arent you?” I had asked. I let my thoughts drift back to the other picture of domestication in front of me, wedding ring still on his hand. “I dont think I the person you should be asking” I said gently.

I was the one to talk him out of calling his wife. He wanted to make up some excuse why he couldnt come home, slurring his speech. I think he knew I would talk him out of spending the night. He believed I could draw a line where he couldnt, even through he rationalized to himself that I was seducing him, that he had no choice in the face of my decisions.

The conversation, and the acts turned away from such seriousness. We had put on music, and were smoking a cigarette when he pulled me up and pushed me over my desk. The rhythm of the bass turned into the rhythm of him thrusting into me, and I could hear him singing softly behind me…”I’m afflicted.. you’re addicted.. you and me..you and me”

He came into me, not shuddering, but pounding, like he was trying to push through me. He laid his head down on my shoulder, and sighed. And almost as quickly, it was over. He pulled out, pacing around the room, swearing, trying to right what he felt he had done wrong. He was paranoid, and stating that he had to shower, to get the smell of me from him. I watched him scrubbing his body, moaning softly. He had his clothes on before I could gather my thoughts together. He was out the door before I could hand him his watch.

I was glad enough to see him at work the next day. Glad enough to slip his watch into his coat pocket. Glad enough to hold my tongue later that day when he left as his wife had just gone into labor. Glad enough to smile with my head turned everytime I pass him in the hall. Glad enough to pull him into a dark conference room now and enough. Glad enough to look around and be happy with the emptyness of my apartment.

It was too hot to sleep. I had tossed and turned, repositioned the fan, cursed and raged and finally headed downstairs to pull a bottle out of the fridge. I set it on my bedside table, and was about to turn the television on when I saw the rivlets running down and pooling around it.

Kinda like that night on your front porch. We sat there, drinking beer, talking, letting it get warmer in our fists. I had set mine down to light a cigarette, and you came over to settle yourself into my lap. You grabbed my hand, the one with the cigarette in it, and lifted it to your mouth, wet on my fingers as you took a drag. You laid your head back on my neck, making your neck stretch. Tendrils of your hair were sticky against your skin.

I laid my head back then. Laid my head back against my mattress, closing my eyes. Reaching up, I let my nails cross my collarbone, gently dragging. It wandered down, inside the top of my nighty, across the expanse of my breast, pinching at my nipple.

It was you that made the first move. It always was. I had looked down at you, and you looked back up. I felt you breathe in softly, and then your mouth was on me, crushing. I opened my mouth, and felt your tongue dart in, hungry and anxious.

The hardness of your cunt pressed against mine, pushing, thrusting, our clits connecting on the upswing, making me shudder and making you smile wickedly. “Do you feel how hard I would be fucking you if I had a cock?” she asked. “Do you feel how hard you’d be coming on my cock?” I bit my lip, and tasted blood.

We fell in and out of the bed. Sheets flying, hands grabbing, mouths sucking. I was over you, under you and then my fingers were inside you, tongue on your clit and I could feel the heartbeat from your chest down between your legs as I suckled and cajoled and finally was rewarded, first with your legs tightening and then your breath coming faster and the surprising moistness against my lips, your hands tightening in my hair and the silent words of praise or curses as I flicked my tongue against your clit.

You had your hair up, at the beginning of the night. By the time you let it down it was full of body, floating around your head and you were the perfect picture of a starlet, or porn star. Full, bruised lips, cheeks flushed and a look promising both heaven and hell, depending on how much I begged.