Go to, glut thy heart with this thy insolence – Sappho, Lobel-Page 3/Diehl 23
It’s there in the stairwell. I become intent and brutal desire. There’s her graceful climb before me, the trail of her scent. My eyes are level with her skirt hem, but that’s ridden up high as the cotton at the crotch of her tights. She unlocks the door. I follow her inside.
She danced like she knew how tonight. Something in her cut loose and she was up on the bar for a while. Knee dip, knee dip. Kick, kick, shimmy. My shy little filly put her hands on her knees at one point and squatted, did a bump and grind. Seeing her made me feel like a sex offender. My shy thing opened her legs completely there on the bar, just as the song ended and the bartender told her to get down.
“Get down,” he said.
“I am getting down,” she said, glaring like a peeler after a drunk’s last cash. “Can’t you see? Watch me, baby. Watch this.”
She stood, shaking her ass hard and fast as an earthquake. She smiled slowly and then found her way off the bar down to the dance floor. She moved in among the girls and boys, the bass pumping her into slow motion filth. Her modest dress clung to her, perspiration mixing with thin cotton to form a textile condom. She was missing one shoe. I spotted it, flat and forlorn, on the bar. I retrieved it, bent down carefully in my short skirt so as not to expose myself to the rest of the dancers, and put it on her foot, in rhythm to her reverie. Twist, dip, fist pump, swivel, swivel and I was Prince Charming, replacing my Barbie Cinderella’s slipper. She was new, lost, and found. I returned to our table and our purses. I ordered two more drinks.
The other men, mostly my friends, couldn’t stop looking. She’s a walleyed wallflower, but she’s nearly young enough that it doesn’t matter. She’s just young enough that there’s hope. They see that possibility in her. I’m old enough that any hope has manifested into abject reality, and her hope is still there in her chest.
They didn’t know that for them, tonight, it was hopeless.
She’s here in front of me now, walking through the front hall. Cotton tights zip where her thighs meet in little hills of baby fat, and have a caught odor of dance floor sweat and the manufacture of hours of uncleanliness. I think she might be menstruating. I don’t care.
Moments later, down in the softness of her legs, I taste metal and urine but something far sweeter, too. A tang and a stoic kind of sweetness; one that can’t be moved by any element. Her cunt tastes like a mixed drink special at a bar. It changes nightly, and though I prefer whiskey I pull the cherry into my mouth and tie her into little knots. It parts and then swells around my fingers; one first, then two, then three. My hands are small but well taught. I’ve had good lovers. I store their skills, deep in my skin, for later use on other lovers. I summon the ghosts of those lovers tonight, like the inky sky brings on starlight, and bring them to her little bed for an a priori gang bang. She has no idea how many of us are present, unfolding her little moans, exploiting her.
When I turn her over, she’s spent like a national budget by the war based economy of my mouth. I tell her that watching her dance tonight made me feel like sex offender.
“I felt like a minor criminal peeping tom, a flasher, an aspiring date rapist, a pimp, a john. A stalker. I felt like I was filming you masturbating so I could blackmail you. I felt like I’d slipped you a mickey.”
“Gross.” Her eyes roll and she flops away, feigning disinterest.
“Okay,” I say, strapping on the dildo. It’s her favorite one. Not too big. Not too small. Just right for my Goldilocks. “How about a sidewalk drug dealer on a late summer night? A 39 year old granny pushing rock at drunken real estate agents leaving the club with hookers, right before she gets roughed up and robbed blind by a gangbanger or a cop?”
“Fuck me then, Marie,” she said, lifting her ass up into the air. “Fuck me like a sex offender. Fuck me like you’ll go to jail for it.”
I reach down, stick my fingers into her mouth, and commit. Outside the window, the sun violates the sky, warning of a new day.