Chapter Text
I went into the club that night thinking that I needed a smoke. It was all that had been on my mind since the morning. I want a cigarette. To inhale, watching the orange glow of the burning from the corner of my eye. To feel that hot, raspy air at the back of my throat. To hold it there and take the hit. To then blow it out slowly. To deposit the ashes on the tray in front of me while I take the glass of whiskey with my other hand and take a sip.
Oh, that wonderful drink, amber, cold, tingly.
I wanted a cigarette. A cigarette and a drink.
But life was there to mock me. For, what I found at that bar, was not a smoke, and it was also not pleasure in liquid form. It was an Italian woman drinking wine. One that curiously wanted to talk to me.
I never wondered why she went to that bar. She is a doctor, and Joe's bar is always filled with them. Surgeons, baby surgeons, anesthesiologists, pediatricians, general doctors. Not nurses though, they like the bar at the other side of the hospital. Maybe because they want to rant about the doctors in peace and that would be impossible at Joe's. But why was she there?
Was it sex?
Because she had that look. That, I want to put my hands on your body, bring you closer to me, run my hands up your sides, grab your face ever so gently and pull you into my lips, caress your tongue with mine, feel your heat, squeeze my fingers in the back of your neck, to then let go just to get some air. That kind of look.
But we didn't do that. Not that night.
She didn't get her sex and I didn't get my cigarette.
It wasn't until weeks later that we actually got what we wanted. All in one.
By then, we wanted a third thing. Consummation. Because it wasn't just the sex anymore, or the cigarette that made us dance around each other like a pair of flies circling over a bruised banana. We wanted a type of connection that had it all, that interlocked our needs. I wanted a smoke. No longer a cigarette. And I wanted her. I wanted to taste her mouth. I wanted to be high on her. I wanted to get her high on me. And I wanted to eat her up. To elicit every one of her most desperate gasps under my command. To feel her squirm under me. For her to beg me not to stop.
And I guess she wanted the same, because the look she gave me when I told her I had some joints in my car was exquisite.
We paid the tab and walked out of that bar. Joe's again. Because where else could we randomly meet. Although there was nothing random in our encounters anymore.
She grabbed my hand and guided me to the street, slowing her pace so that I could walk ahead of her and lead the way. I unlocked my car and let her in, opening the door for her. I started the engine to leave it in contact and the radio started to play. She recognized the song and smiled. It was a stupid nineties song. Something about flicking a cigarette, which was quite ironic. I opened the console box and took out a tiny plastic bag with four joints all beautifully rolled up by me that morning.
"Where were you in 1995?" she asked with a strange curiosity.
I don't know what she was expecting me to reply. I was eight. I was probably running after a soccer ball or watching Pinky and The Brain. She, on the contrary, was no longer a kid by then. In her fourteenths she was singing that song at the top of her lungs after her first heartbreak.
"You are too young," she giggled.
"I'm thirty-two now," I stated. "And I don't run after balls anymore."
She smiled at that. She realized she was not playing with a child, and suggested I take her home. Her home. Her apartment. I asked about her car, but she explained she didn't want to drive after drinks and had gone to the bar in a cab. She also made a point to tell me she had a good bottle of whisky ready to open.
That gave her away.
She doesn't drink whisky, she drinks wine. So, she had planned that exact moment to get me to fall into her web. But… Did I care? Obviously not. I asked her to fasten her seatbelt and looked at my rearview mirror before turning the ignition all the way and took us there.
I shouldn't have been impressed by the size of her apartment or by the view of a twenty-sixth floor balcony, she is a doctor after all. The night was kind of cold, but who gave a damn? I was there, about to light up a joint with that Italian woman who was driving me insane. Her shoulders were bare. So delicate and kissable, and I was already savoring the taste of her skin.
I grabbed the joint with my lips and pulled out my Zippo. She took it from me and opened the lid to light it. She covered the flame with her hand to keep it from going out and brought it closer to me. I swear I could hear the sound of the ashes forming as I inhaled that first hit. I wanted so badly to breathe it out into her. Her lips were calling for me. So, I got closer. As close as I could without breaking eye contact and inhaled again. Deep. I put my arm around her waist and pulled her toward my body, immediately getting close to her mouth. She knew what I wanted to do. She opened her lips and took the hit in. I could feel her body stiffening for a second. She had smoked before, at some point in her life, but hadn't for a while. She looked at me, smiled, and then she let go of the smoke in her mouth on the side.
I repeated the action. This time with a bigger hit and quicker. Inhale. Hit. Blow in her. Gave her a peck before letting go.
She took the hit and quickly blew it out. Taking me by the sides of my face to devour my lips. For a moment I even forgot I had the join within my fingers. She kept kissing me, guiding me to her bedroom in a blind, filled with passion, state. I can't give the marihuana the credit, we had smoked so little, but it definitely helped.
I wish I could remember everything we did between hits of that joint until it was done. I wish I could remember exactly when it was that my brain started feeling psychedelic. When her touch became so unbearably intoxicating. When the weight of her body on top of me was all I needed to feel. When her bites on my nipples released all the bottled-up desire I had in me. Her tongue was soft but certain, vivid, delicate when tracing my body from my neck to my crotch. God, I don't even remember when we lost all of our clothes.
I have burnt on my mind the jolts that ran through my body every time she dragged her fingers on my skin. Her nails, leaving red marks all over my legs. On my ass. On my back. And I would be there. My head, spinning. Holding my breath when she finally pushed her wet tongue on my cunt.
There is a softness, so gentle, of a woman going down on you. A peace in the soft strokes, in the controlled flicking of her tongue, in the pressing, the sucking, the releasing. And that, mixed with fingers playing at your entrance… exquisite.
"Fuck me," I pleaded. My body was ready, and my mind was crazy.
She didn't say a thing. I was tripping and only felt her absence for a few seconds. Yet, I was surprised when instead of feeling her fingers inside me, something way bigger started stroking my folds. It was cold and wet, so I opened my eyes, trying to focus.
"You ready?"
A strap. A rubber dick. Her dick. It was pink.
And it's not that I had never used a toy in sex. But I'm usually the one on top. Or well, I'm the one wearing it.
"Just fuck me," I said, not anticipating the actual size of that thing.
She played with the tip, almost as if she was testing if her dick would fit in me and soon, some coldness hit me. Lubricator. Of course. Because that thing was huge.
"Tell me if it's too much," she warned. But I didn't care, I wanted her inside me already. I slid down the bed a few inches, positioning myself better, and grabbed her legs around her knees, encouraging her to start.
"Just go slow."
She went in. Gently. First the tip. In and out. Stretching me bit by bit. I squeaked at the first contact. She smiled. And I looked at her chest. Her breast, so perky, natural, bouncing so lusciously. God, her breathing. Obviously that toy was also having an effect on her. She had a part of that thing inside her. But her moans were a treat. Only with that, she turned me on even more. It was also her curses in Italian, her effort as she pushed herself inside me, the desperation of her fingers as she grabbed my legs. Her rhythm was unforgiving. She wouldn't slow down. She wouldn't stop. She changed positions, supporting herself with her fists over the mattress. Arching her back as she thrusted her hips reaching my core.
"Look at me," I asked her, slowly brushing her hair away from her face. "Come here."
She continued pounding on me, but now completely on top of me. Her sweat dripped down my chest as she came closer. She rested her arms on the bed and continued. Pushing herself to the top each time.
It didn't take me long to cum. I could feel my walls constraining. Her breaths and complaints in my ear, bringing me to the edge. The friction became too much. I could feel a burning rush from inside. Her skin was so deliciously rubbing my clit and…
I was shaking already when she had her final release. When her movements inside me were involuntary, and her cries mixed with her breaths, let me know she had reached climax as well.
She rested her lips on my neck. Her weight, covering me. Her sweat, mixing with mine. I just rested my hands on her ass. Her soft, beautiful ass, and squeezed. I waited a couple of seconds for her to pull out of me, apologizing for not doing it right away, but she was exhausted.
"I wouldn't have guessed you had it in you," I said as she took the toy off her and got up to leave it in the bathroom.
"What?" She asked, confused of what I meant.
"You don't look like the kind of woman who could hold on using a strap."
She giggled, coming back to me, "There is more to stamina than having a ripped body," she whispered, once again laying on top of me and gave me a kiss. "But I like your ripped body."
"You do?"
"You are so beautiful."
The kiss she gave me then, started it all again. And I have to say that I think I'm done with smokes. I want to forever inhale her.
Ashes are a fascinating thing. They are what's left of a fire. Of something that burnt so hot it consumed it all until only flakes were left. And call me a fatalist. But if there is going to be an end with us… let it be ashes.
