Draped

There I sat, draped in her and the dim blue-green light. The light was fluid. It saturated everything it could touch, and jealously coveted everything it couldn’t. It coveted the cracks and crevices. It coveted the nooks and crannies. It coveted the spaces between us. The light soaked and languished in the spoils of its work. It was proud of everything that it illuminated and exposed, as though it had discovered these things first and brought them to our attention. In her tremendous length of thick, curly, red-brown hair, the light and I got lost. Together we shared in our good fortune.

Unexpected Good Day

The unexpected good day presents itself all of its own accord, because you never expect it. Why would you? It’s a bullet that was meant for you but missed. It’s an accidental stay of execution. The unexpected good day is the top step that was anticipated but wasn’t actually there. It leaves you stumbling in your wasted effort. It throws open the blinds and reconnects you with the world outside. The unexpected good day breaks apart your nightmare and reminds you how to smile.

The Women’s Room at the Tuscany

I’m not sure whose idea it was to fuck in the bathroom, but it wasn’t mine. I didn’t offer much objection, but I wasn’t exactly excited either. My wife and my girlfriend’s husband went in there first. They were gone for a few minutes and came back giggling. It was encouraging to see that it had gone well. It’s not an easy thing to fuck in a bathroom. I guess they had locked the men’s room door, and he had just bent her over sink and fucked her for a bit. I believe that was more or less the extent of it. Next I took my girlfriend (his wife) back. The men’s room was locked. So she quickly dragged me by the arm into the women’s room, which immediately made me uncomfortable, like I was trespassing, like I was about to do something very inappropriate somewhere that I wasn’t supposed to be in the first place. I understand that that’s the whole appeal of the thing, but it takes a lot of conscious effort for me to get past that. Anyhow, she’s a very petite little woman who was wearing a loose skirt and no panties, so we ducked into the stall and I just picked her up, held her, and we fucked standing upright. Neither one of us was drunk, but we were slightly buzzed. It was good. She was already very wet, so I slipped right in. We kissed deeply, and screwed for a bit, as best we could in our enclosed space. It must have looked hilarious from outside the stall, as I’m a full head taller than most bathroom stalls, and even in the weird sort of slouched posture in which I was standing, I could still see over the stall door. Neither one of us could cum in that uncomfortable environment. So we conceded that we’d just stop for now and finish up at home later. I pulled out and tried to manage my hard-on back into my pants, and as she straightened her skirt, the door opened. I ducked. A woman entered and started fiddling with the sink. My girlfriend lit up. She was so excited, so proud. We had a spectator! I was filled with a bizarre mixture of pride and horror, and tried not to look weird as we emerged from the stall. My girlfriend was beautiful and beaming. I didn’t look at our audience. It’s a magnificent thing when a woman is proud of you. It doesn’t matter what woman, or for what reason. It’s just incredibly validating when a woman gives you her approval like that. I tried to enjoy that esteem through the shame I felt for the judgment that I believed our audience was certainly projecting upon me. I felt guilty, like I had just done something wrong. Even though I knew that I hadn’t. I was proud that I had done it and overcome my inhibition. We returned to the table. My wife looked at me with big happy optimistic eyes, and asked how it had gone. She only wanted for my happiness. She can be wonderful that way. I appreciate that. We finished our drinks and left. When we returned to the house, we finished other things too.

Cock-Chafing Devil Snatch

One morning after a vigorous night of screwing, my girlfriend saw me rubbing lotion onto my limp dick after we got out of the shower. It wasn’t exciting or sexy, just habit. I think it’s a healthy thing to do. It keeps the skin supple. Apparently, she had never seen me do this before, and shrieked, “That sucks!” Terrified, I asked “Why?” and she replied, “Like I’ve got some kind of cock-chafing devil snatch?”

PA Turnpike Arby’s at Harrisburg

On our way back home from New York, we stopped at an Arby’s for dinner. The girl at the register was short and chubby with flaming red hair. She looked to be about 19. She had prison-style tattoos, done very poorly and very likely with a sewing needle and India ink. They were comprised of lots of little dots all strung together into letters and shapes. “BOO” in the center of her right forearm, in letters approximately an inch and a half tall, all caps. She had the following collection of shapes in the same spot on her left forearm: “$,” a small outline of a heart, the letter “M” on her left hand, and a smaller heart on the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. My favorite was on her knuckles, though: “MATT” on the left hand. I wonder about Matt. Where is he right now? What is he doing at this moment? Is he okay? Is he dead? Does she still feel the same way about him? Is he an asshole? Has she ever punched him with those knuckles? This girl was a sign that told me I was getting a little closer to home.