Writing has always been a sort of therapy for me. Not a therapy of what is, but an exploration of what could have been, what might still be. A glance from a stranger is enough to send my imagination off into the darkness. And being who I am, it usually leans towards the pleasures of the flesh. I know not everyone is interested in that sort of thing, but for those who are…
(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.