#WankWednesday :: #Tilt
Just one breath. One deep inhale rolled air over my tongue and back, up through my sinuses and tickled down my throat. That was all the information I required. Beyond the silk blindfold warmed with my blood’s pulse tied lay the now deserted grounds of the county fair. No other place could hold that distinct meld of scents; cotton candy and stale beer, hot metal and crispy August sun seared grass. I curled my toes into the silky dirt beneath my feet, cocked my head and waited.
“First time I ever saw you was here,” she whispered. Far and near, locked away on the other side of blindness, hovering, a blood-thirsty mosquito, near my ear. My hearing buzzed for a moment, matching the hum and zap of one of those blue-lit bug zappers.
“I remember.” And I did, clearly. Standing in line at the Tilt-O-Whirl, laughing with friends, summer sun bliss-hot on my scalp. Looking up the line to find her waiting, attendant, faded blue flannel shirt tied below her breasts, tiny ring winking from her revealed navel, downy threads of torn off sleeves resting like eyelashes against the balls of her shoulders. Tanned skin pierced with ink and steel, dark sunglasses hiding her eyes, full lips curving in a knowing, mocking smile.
I flushed in concert with the self of my memory. My nipples poked at the thin cotton of my shirt. My tongue slid along the curve of my lower lip. My thoughts rang with the cacophony of the fairgrounds, music and voices and clanging machinery. All surrounded by silence. That echoing kind of silence that beats at you like wings of some great, unholy sacred bird.
My teeth dragged over my lip, tongue poked the split left by the bitch at the bar. A breeze picked up the filmy edges of my skirt and slid them against my calves. “Why are you here, Sunshine?” The nickname pooled want in the cradle of my hips and I settled my weight on my left foot, curling my toes through that fine dust. Heat caked and pulverized, the ground beat into submission by a week’s over-indulgence. Some tiny voice in my mind quipped with vicious accurancy, Just like you, Sunshine.
I picked at the wound that was my own psyche. Listened as a crinkle, click, and deep inhale preceded her prompt. “Well?” From behind my blindfold my mind’s eye rolled the film.
It was dark. I felt it. New moon dark, naught but tiny pinpricks of distant dreams lighting up the night sky. No lights on over the abandoned fields. Still I could see the curl of blue smoke lit from within by the red glowing tip of her cigarette.
“Fuck if I know,” I replied, my fingers twitching. Her laugh peeled my reserve away, sharp and sweet as spring honey. “Do you want me?” Her lips delivered the words flavored with the tang of Turkish tobacco and the bite of smoke. Some part of me stretched like a roused cat.
“Yes.” My heart served its most vital purpose; pump, pump, pump. Plump full lips met mine in the middle of that dark field and I sighed, letting her tease my mouth open. “Good,” she answered.
Do blindfolds matter in the dark? I didn’t think so until she pulled mine free. Dark hair against a dark sky and golden skin gone dusky like twilight. Somewhere between the first kiss and the skate of her teeth across my collarbone I asked her name. “Randy,” she whispered against my flesh and I laughed, a full, luscious, freeing laugh. It fit. “Perfect,” I added, threading my fingers into her short, spikey hair to pull her mouth back to mine.
I don’t know if I had any expectations of what it would be like to fuck another woman. Perhaps I did, because the ferocity of our passion stole my breath. The aluminum bleachers left for tomorrow’s cleanup pressed clean, cold lines into the back of my thighs and arms in stark contrast to her soft, slick heat. She tasted of summer; hot, salty, fleeting.
We fucked, rushed and frantic then slow and lingering. Somewhere beneath it all rippled the knowledge that she would move on with the fair and I would return to my small town life. That made it all the sweeter. I came with her fingers stroking deep inside me, painting me with a pleasure that danced up my spine like the lightning bugs that witnessed our lust. She came pinned against the locked up ice cream van glowing ghostly in the middle of that empty field.
“Don’t forget me,” I whispered into the sweaty curve of her neck, the plea and wish of a country girl doomed to a life limited by small minds. “Never,” Randy answered, drawing me out and away from the shadows. The night shone bright, then, bright with starlight and pleasure. Her eyes gleamed in the dark, refracting and shining for a brief moment like some wild, free animal. I followed her down to the ground, pressing lips and breast and cunt to hers one last night. We rocked and thrust and kissed until dead grass clung to our flesh and we expended ourselves against each other’s skin.
Panting we rolled apart. Touched fingers and stared up. On our backs we lay naked beneath the stars and counted meteors expending themselves high, high above. Fleeting, just like this night. Stunning, too.