Second First Impressions

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The car door slams behind me; the rain spills down my check as I shuffle into her apartment complex. The man behind the desk smiles at me, a familiar face. We don’t exchange names, but we know each other’s faces and that’s plenty. He asks me how the weather is; I crack a joke in return, and we go our separate ways. Like clockwork, he’ll see me again in the morning and back again next week.

I continue on my path; everything is muscle memory at this point. I take the elevator on the left, rotate to the right, press the fourth-floor button, and tip my hat at the man behind the desk just as the door closes.

The doors open, and I follow the aged floral carpet down the hall and to the right. Room 459, I’ve arrived. I knock twice, pause, and knock once more.

The door opens calmly; before me stands a woman, skin the color of a latte with too much milk. She wears nothing but this silk robe, black with red lace and a fancy garment beneath. Although I can’t see it fully, I recognize it; you have to respect our routine.

“Rose.”

“Hello, Johnny.” These aren’t our names, but it’s what we call each other; we find it easier to not exchange names. Some would say it makes it less intimate, but I’d disagree. There is something so erotic and passionate with having someone undeniably but not have them at the same time. It creates this craving, you want unconditional honesty, but nobody is willing to give it up, leaving nothing to requite.

Essentially, this is just like any other relationship. Nobody is ever fully honest with their spouse; I mean really honest. There is always that one thing you hate or the one thing from your past your partner didn’t need to know. For me, it was my name.

She calls me Johnny because it reminded her of some guy she used to date with hair like mine. Yeah, it was kind of weird to me at first, being compared to her high school boyfriend, but it was kind of fun knowing I held the power to destroy the memory of some guy presumably better looking than me. After a while it became a game of how I can fuck her better than he did. I never knew if I was winning but, in my head, I’d like to think so.

To me, she was Rose. This one wasn’t as creative. We watched the Titanic the first time we spent any time with each other. The movie was a classic, she picked it out. Getting her to invite me over without telling her my name was quite the predicament. My best answer was I didn’t.

Rose is the barista at the coffee shop two block west of my flat. Every morning I’d come in a quarter to nine and she would have a medium Americano, black, waiting for me. I paid 2.99 for the coffee and tipped her two dollars. She never asked my name and I never asked hers, just what kind of perfume she was wearing and her plans for the weekend. I never came in on Saturday and Sunday. She’d always be curious as to what she would do when I wasn’t “visiting” her.

I considered us close, but never friends. Friends knew each other’s names. She asked me once and I just smiled, winked, and told her “you decide”; so, she did.

She invited me inside her apartment after I placed a kiss on her cheek and complemented her robe. It was custom for us to always enter with a kiss and a compliment.

I disrobed partially, placing my jacket on the cherry coat rack next to the door; her grandfather made it for her when she was twenty.

“Can I get you some water, beer, whiskey… a blow job?” We chuckled.

“Is that the manners they teach in the finishing schools now? “

“Fuck off” she teased.

“Water’s fine for now.” She walked over to the fridge and poured me a glass, no ice, just how I like it. The water pitcher sat next to the whiskey bottle she got from the shebeen on south 7th street by the deli.

She carried herself in the most pompous of manors across the fake tile floor of her kitchen and handed me the frosty glass. I always thought that floor was tacky, but her landlord put it in, not her.

I took one sip and put it on the counter beside me. We stood on the edge of the tuzla escort kitchen beside her god-awful red toaster. I put my hands on her hips and pulled her close to me. Sniff.

“You’re wearing the one I got you.”

“I am, thank you.” She smirked and leaned into me. I kissed her softly, sucking on her lip to pull it back with me when we stopped. She smiled into my eyes. Her teeth were perfect. How weird it was, to find such beauty in a mouth, but her teeth lined up in uniform, never posing a single indelicacy.

Her bangs dangled over her eyebrows, partly covering her eyes. She leaned in again and kissed me, this time sliding her tongue between lips. She tasted like strawberries. Cliché, I know but she did. It made sense since she was always eating fruit. There was always a bowl of fresh fruit out on the counter.

It was hard to miss because the last time I came over I lifted her onto the counter and knocked the bowl across the floor.

“Go sit on the couch, I’ll be there in a second” This was usually code for something like “let me go check my makeup” or something like that. Naturally, I listened. I left her and sat on the couch. I reached over for the remote to watch the television. Click.

Below the television was the fireplace. Lined up, sat picture frames. All off which were turned downward. I never bothered to lift them up, figured they were down for a reason. I didn’t want to know why. Sure, I was curious, but I was curious what her name was too. It was a sin to pry, a sin only familiar to those who play with fire and expected not to be burned.

It was easy to speculate what or who they were; perhaps a dog, a dead relative, a sibling, a best friend, a husband even? Like I said I didn’t want to know. The least I knew, the better. I cared about her, sure, but not whoever was associated with her. There are rules to being emotionally unattached when sleeping with someone. This was one of them.

I turned the channel to sports. A tennis match was on. I never liked tennis, but it was this or some shit about the Kardashian’s. She was a simple girl, so her channels were few and far between. The television was always set to what I had last turned it too, I don’t think she ever used it.

I heard a door shut behind me. I looked back, and my vision froze. My eyes glazed over as I was left in a daze looking at her. The robe was untied and left open revealing a black brazier; in the middle was a tiny red bow. The garment held her perfectly. Her nipples poked gently through the lace.

“Baby-‘

“Shhh, come here” I removed myself from the couch and walked over to her standing in the bathroom doorway. I kicked off my shoes as I was walking; she smiled and laughed. “you’re a goon” she would tease me. When I got there, my belt was off, and my shirt was untucked. She reached down and pressed a button on her phone to activate a stereo laid the phone back down on the counter.

My hands held her waist like a bouquet of flowers. I pulled her close and her lips tasted like the last secret she had between the cracks of her daylily lips. Our eyes closed simultaneously, but still, in my mind, I could see her body. Her robe floated around her in a perfect orbit.

Without stopping for a breath, I pushed her body against the lavender wall behind her. We danced across the wall; bodies pressed against each other. I felt her tongue parting my lips, she was soft from her toes to her hair. Everything was creamy. I didn’t know who she was, but I had been here week after week and it was always this moment that felt like I was in high school again, about to lose my virginity all over again.

We stopped next to her door; I pushed her harder against the wall. My lips left her mouth and made way to her neck, sliding back her hair with my hand. I don’t know what it was, but something came over me. I think I was thinking about those picture frames again. I don’t know how I could be thinking during a time like this, but I was; and I was so fucking jealous doing it. All those people in her life, they all tuzla escort bayan have pictures. They all know her name. She could have had a boyfriend, or another lover and I wouldn’t know. It became overwhelmingly impossible to remain phlegmatic, so I squeezed my jaw around her neck. Something came over me and my territory was marked. She grabbed my hair, pulling me into her.

“Oh…” She ran one hand up the back of my shirt. Her nails were always well trimmed but just long enough to scratch me. She dug those nails deep into me; I sucked harder. My blood was streaming through me. My whole body was blushing. She held me close to her; I pulled her even closer. She slid my shirt off and threw it on the floor. I pulled back her robe and dropped it, leaving it to be snagged between her rear and the wall.

We rolled back and through the doorway, embracing the comfort of her snuggery. She laced her fingers between mine and ran to the bed with me following. We both jumped onto the bed, falling into a tangled heap. “This is great” I told her. She just grinned at me and winked. She took my hand and placed it on her breast.

“What are you waiting for?”

“I just like to tease you.” The truth was I didn’t know what I was waiting for. It was as if for once I wanted more foreplay; I just wanted more. I closed my hand around her breast squeezing. I could feel her nipples protruding through the lace once more. I let my lips return to her neck. Selfishly, I took over her skin with my lips. I wanted to mark it all. She knew what I was doing, she had to of, and she let me.

I spun us around, so I was on my back and she was on top of me. Her hair hung from her shoulders onto my chest. Swiftly, the brazier was removed and discarded onto the floor. She matched my lips with hers. My tongue wrestled its way beneath her cheeks. The taste of romanticism lingered beneath her.

“Now I’m going to tease you” she deviously said into my eyes. She slid down towards the bottom of the bed rubbing her flower across my skin. She stopped when her breasts laid across my lap. She unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down to my feet and onto the floor. We were both now naked, an even playing field. Except, she had the advantage considering she now had me in her hand. The abnegation of my flesh in her palms held me captive, begging for more.

She smiled at me as she stuck her tongue out and traced circles around my head. My body trembled. She played with me relentlessly, gliding her tongue across me, spitting on me, even stroking me, but she wouldn’t put me in her mouth, proving her to be the hardest tormentor.

“Please.” I pleaded with her.

“maybeeee.” She teased in return. She held so much power over me in this moment and it drove me crazy. We were total strangers in this incredibly intimate moment. It was overwhelming when she finally put me in her mouth. I was already dripping from her lips. My veins pulsed in her hands. Her mouth was warm and gentle. I could hear the sound of her gentle lips slurping over my body.

“Ohh” I can’t remain silent any longer. The sun comes shining in across the room and a slight glimmer catches her eye as she glances up at me. She smiles and a part of me drips from the corner of her mouth. Her tongue orbits her lips as she retrieves what’s lost and places it back on me and back into her mouth. Chills creep up my spine when it arches into the cold air from the air conditioner. At long last, all of me is in the back of her mouth. I drip from her lips. Grinning, she licks off the remainder of me from her chin.

She reaches over to the nightstand and takes a sip of water; some spills and a drip travels down her neck and down across her nipple. It’s hard and projected from her skin, cascaded by a series of goosebumps. My hand guides her chin to mine, and I part her lips with mine. Our bodies tumble like loose change in her sheets as I lay her on her back with my body pressed against hers.

“Johnny, what are you doing?” Her mouth released a giggle between words.

“I don’t know what escort tuzla you’re talking about.” She was selfless, the kind of girl who would gladly make you finish without ever asking it in return. But she knew I was not ever easily satisfied. I took the glass from the nightstand in my hand. I dipped my fingers in and placed one ice cube between my lips. The ice slowly began to melt as I took my lips and traced out paths across her skin. Frigged water dripped down her breasts, over her nipples, and into the creases of her slim waist.

A capacity yielded between the sheets and her back for my hand to carry her as her body began to lift from the sheets. Goosebumps kissed my lips back during their passage across her petite frame. My lips came to a holt just below the crease of her hips. Right above her flower, I paused letting the remainder of the cube melt across the tenderness between her legs evocating her into a state of erotic sensations. Her knees bent and opened wider. The sheets swam into an ocean of wrinkles beneath her clenched fists.

A flush of blood runs through her body when my tongue parts her lips, the ones she doesn’t kiss with. I spread with two fingers and enter her with my mouth. She tastes juicy, like a candy only few know to bear fruit too. I bow my head to reprise our song into her. Her body drips and paints my cheeks with her juices. Slowly, my soul enters her between her lips. Her fingers release the sheets and take hold of my hair. She pulls my head down as if to drown me in her.

The mood boils as my lips spread and my tongue begins to blemish the gentle skin of her body. The room is filled with heavy breathing and the sound of air collapsing beneath the suction of my lips on her body. My fingers part and enter through her. They bend and twist trying to reach deep inside her.

Keeping my fingers in her, my head moves up her figure. I stop every few inches to lay a kiss across her skin, stopping right between her breasts. When I’m there, I lay my tongue across her skin, still cold from the ice cube, and glide it up her chest, along the side of her neck, just resting on her jaw line, finally reaching her ear lope when I wrap my lips around and suck on it.

My fingers leave her, and I gradate another part of me into her. Music plays as my hips rock back and forth like the bow of a violin. My back tenses as I hold myself on top of her; her hand meets my shoulder blade and rests on my skin. The tips of her fingers rub across the scar from my surgery six years ago.

My hips move forward and further into her. She is warm inside. Pressing deep into her stomach, the feeling of one body’s interment into another is familiar and restless. We are still strangers, fully embodied in one another. I felt safe inside her, like her figure folded into a safe haven. Thrusting begat our cuddling. Filling her up until her breath went missing, this was the only form of communication we needed. But tonight, the allure was different- unfamiliar this time.

I kept pushing myself into her and her nails kept digging deeper and deeper into me. Her hair kissed the palms of my hands as I positioned myself on top of her. Her eyes were closed, and a tear kissed her cheek and she pulled me into her harder. Silence and screaming fought in the air around us. Her breath ran from her mouth and disappeared inconsistently like a shattered record still spinning. For a moment her eyes opened and met mine. She looked at me, glossy, colorful, and alive, eyes penetrated into mine. I felt her in me as I continued myself in her. My skin became warm as if I fell into an ocean of sunlight. Blood flushed through my cheeks.

“Marcus.”

“What?”

“My name, it’s Marcus.” She paused at first, waited for assurance, then saw it in my eyes.

“Emily” she said.

We smiled and laughed; I kissed her, and the room began to tumble. The air filled with pine and crescents. Our lips fell deep into one another, our tongues gliding through one another. A moan left her throat into mine and my body emptied one last time into hers. Still in her, I could feel myself dripping out of her and onto her legs. The juices soaking the sheets, our bodies warm and doughy, we laid pressed into one another, no longer strangers, but lovers.

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