By Betty Underground © 2008
He followed me home from work that day. That early July afternoon. The 4th was mid week this year and we took advantage of a 4 day weekend. It was Wednesday. His car was parked discreetly in the unpaved alley behind my house. Green Way.
He had attended a party a few weeks back that I hosted, and remembered how to find the back entrance.
It was hot, as it is in California in July. The windows thrown wide open and the back screen door the only thing left closed. Unlocked.
I sat on the counter in the kitchen. Eating ice cream with a fork. Waiting.
The screen door slammed and I heard his weight on every step as he climbed the back stairs. His flip flops shuffling with a purpose until there was a pause. Silence. One last shuffle and he was standing in the door way to the kitchen.
"Hey", he said. The last thing he said. Or the last thing I remembered hearing as passion drowned out the world. All the sounds on the calm summer day swirled up from the center of the earth and rushed into us. It was as loud as it was silent. Like a ringing in the ear. Silent to everyone but us.
He stood square in front of me. Facing me. My legs wrapped around him. My breath calm, my heart racing. I wondered if he could see it wanting to jump out of my chest. I exhaled, he inhaled me in and leaned into me. It felt like I had stopped breathing for minutes as he brushed his lips across mine, without touching them. Dusting them like feathers. My head grew light as he teased me. I was frozen. Suffocated by desire.
He tucked the hair behind my ear, and warmed the nape of my neck with his breath. Not once has his lips touched me but I was shuttering as if they had been all over me for hours.
I waited, impatiently. He moved up my neck. Kissed my chin. My nose. My eyelid. My lips were parted, dry from my breath, or his. My legs clenched tighter around him and finally it came. The kiss. Our first kiss. His tongue was warm, mine still cold from the ice cream. I exhaled into him. Collapsed into his touch.
Still without words, I took his hands and led him into the other room. The bedroom, the living-room. He gazed around the room for a little while. I beamed as I watched his face. His eyes warming in the sun drenched room. This was my place. My first place since I declared my independence from another. It was small, but all mine and I was proud. He saw that in my smile and the corners of his mouth turned up to the sky.
His touch was as mesmerizing as his kiss. He was not mine to have, but I gave myself to him completely. Heart wide open and willing. Completely comfortable in my own skin, next to his skin. He took his time, like with the kiss. Covering me in his scent and tasting every inch of me. For hours, in the sun, on the fresh white cotton sheets. Our moans echoing off the trees outside my open window. Until there was no light left in the room.
The world remained silent. I lit candles and fetched the ice cream, and a fork. We ate and giggled and got lost in each other's eyes.
Until my phone rang. A female voice on the other end. Her voice. The reason he was not mine to have. I lied to her, as he lay naked next to me. Both of us without guilt.
He left, but on this way out, he wrote on a napkin: "I ♥ U"
Betty Underground is a writer from Northern California.