[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he doors to the elevator close. And you try to say something. Try to make your tongue sing for its supper. Try to use words to bake phrases rich with meaning. But what comes out is something like a drunken slurring. Your words spill forth out of order. There’s stuttering and stammering. You erupt into giggles. It’s useless. You smile like the village idiot. Beaming. Cheeks flushed. There’s no point. You can’t form logic in this state. Your brain is mush. Your tongue won’t cooperate. It’s official. He’s fucked you stupid.
He came up for your birthday. To celebrate this huge time with you. Your 30th. He offered to go to Vegas with you but with so much going on in your life you really just wanted to do something low key. So low key in fact that you asked him to come up the weekend before. So that you wouldn’t have to share. Wouldn’t have to worry about trying to entertain your friends and him at the same time. You’re selfish like that. So is he. Wanting you all to himself. Though you still couldn’t totally give him that.
There’s a party you promised to go to. And you wanted to go, so it’s not like that. But it means you have to share each other. Take those greedy hands and keep them to yourselves for a couple of hours. Maintain a sense of decency by holding your lips as far apart from each other as you can. He feeds you a cupcake when you both think nobody is looking. It turns out they are. And in that moment you’ve become that cute couple at the party. That everyone hates. Even though you’re not making people uncomfortable by making out or anything equally inappropriate but your banter. Your witty repartee. It’s just as bad. People can see it. Everyone can feel it. This thing between the two of you. The back and forth. The tit for tat. The ebb and flow. It’s like foreplay. And it your face hurts from all the smiling.
After the party you go back to the hotel. The hotel he got because he’s not from here. This out-of-town boy of yours. Making your heart flutter. And fucking you stupid. The room is dimly lit. He takes off his dress shirt. Stands in front of you in a white t-shirt. Wraps his arms around your waist and uses his hips to push you back towards the bed. His arms are smooth and warm. He kisses you. Passionate kisses. Flawless kisses. Done this a million times kisses. We fit right into place with each other kisses. And he tastes like icing sugar and chocolate cupcakes. He tastes like you can’t remember why you’re not together anymore kisses. He tastes like I really do love you kisses. He tastes like the flavor of licking this exact moment. Where you’re both so happy. And he’s about to fuck you stupid.
Fuck you hard. And long. Slow. And soft. For an hour or two. This way. That way. This way again. Hold you close. Kissing. Kissing. Kissing. Your tongue in his mouth. His tongue in your mouth. Sweet things. Dirty dirty things. All the things you can think of. Until you just can’t think anymore. And when it’s over. And you both fall back in the sweaty sheets. You’re content. Satisfied. At ease. Snuggling in his nook. This strong man. Keeping you safe. Until someone asks are you hungry? and you both throw on some clothes and go out to get some food.
The doors to the elevator close. And you try to say something. But you can’t. It’s official. He’s fucked you stupid. And it’s amazing. Even if only for this very moment. This weekend getaway. This luxury of feelings. The ability to have these amazing temporary experiences. And then go back to your regularly scheduled single programming on Monday. Because for the moment. It works. And you’ll continue to do it. Until it doesn’t anymore.
Or…ya know…at least that’s how it happened for me.