MUSE and I find a great little dive called Plump Suzy’s in some re-gentrified section of the city we’ve never been to before. The denizens have a definitive alternative style to them, as if grunge and alt-punk had a head-on collision and Siouxsie Sioux showed up to write-up the accident report. We’ve found a modern-day societal netherworld with absolutely superb taste in music. It is music we both know well. We may be visually out of place, but we are perfectly comfortable. There is an awful band playing, but they turn out to be nice guys. They stop by during a break between sets to meet us out of simple curiosity. They wonder what the hollow everyman in gray business clothes and the platinum blonde bombshell are doing here in the land of plaid, leather, tattoos and piercings. We are here to have fun. We say. We are here not to care about anything that holds us apart. We are here to forget the rules and trappings of the world we live in. We are here to be us.
    We can’t help but keep our bodies in proximity as we watch the show, always in physical contact. Our arms touching. Our hips touching. Our legs touching. A few drinks together and the night cascades into the public intimacy of being in a room full of social revelry and knowing only each other. She leans back into me as we watch the stage. I can feel the heat of her, her ass against me, her back against me, and her head against me. I become aroused. I can’t stop it anymore. She feels it and turns her head to look at me. She kills me with those heavenly blue eyes.
    I let go. I cross the line. I know I am doing so. I don’t care anymore. I want her.
    “I want to kiss you,” I hear myself say.
    She smiles. She breathes in a deep sigh of acceptance. We will not fight it anymore. She nods her head ever so slightly, giving in. We kiss gently, elegantly. Her lips are soft. Rapturously so. Her kiss is everything I want. I feel the rush. I am no longer weary. I am completely alive in the now. I wrap her up in an embrace. I hold her to me. She throws her arms around my neck. There is only us. Our soft kisses blossom into fullness, becoming steamy with long held desire, then epic in complete timeless passion.
    The song stops. The lead singer alerts everyone in the room over the mic. MUSE and NARRATOR are finally kissing, he proclaims! There is applause from the crowd that has been watching us surreptitiously all evening. It sounds like reverb from a hundred miles away. We don’t care. It only fuels us.  
    “Want to leave?” I ask her.
   “Yes,” she replies, breathlessly.  
    I pay the tab. We wave goodbye to the nice, awful band and hit the night, hand in hand. We have to stop every hundred feet on the way back to the rental car and light each other up with ever more urgent kisses, wrapping ourselves into tangled knots of need, falling back against walls of buildings along the sidewalk, letting go. We can’t help ourselves.
    Somehow, we make it back to the pay lot. Our kisses are now accompanied by desperate groping. She grabs my hard cock through my pants. I fondle her breasts through her silky blouse and feel her breathe into me as we kiss. We manage to find the car. We throw ourselves into the back seat. Pent up passion is speeding us along, propelling us on. I pull her blouse down over her shoulders, exposing her bra. I grab the cups of the bra and pull them down harshly, exposing her breasts and her soft pink nipples. She gasps. She is all over me. She has my cock out of my pants and strokes it in her hands. I jerk down her shorts. She gasps again as I push my fingers against her naked pussy and find her clitoris. She is slippery wet. I am so hard. Our breathing is heavy. She is moaning. The car windows fog.  
    “Take me to the hotel!” she manages to exclaim, before we end up completely naked and rocking the car in the middle of the pay lot. We climb into the front seat in clumsy, fiery dishevelment. I pull the car onto the highway to get us back to the hotel. She licks my ear. She kisses my neck. She leans over my lap and sucks my cock as I drive.  
    We arrive at the hotel. I park crookedly. I don’t care. We hurry in making ourselves presentably dressed enough to make it inside.  
    “My room?” she asks.
    “Yes,” I reply.  
    We card key our entry near the back stairwell and climb the three floors as fast as we can, holding hands as we sprint up the stairs in a cloud of wanton lust. We get to her room, open the door and tumble in, shedding clothes before the door can complete its slow, quiet swing shut. I exalt in her naked body. She is voluptuous and mesmerizing. She fills my eyes with beauty and pleasure. We are on the bed. We realize we are fucking each other passionately and vigorously without even knowing when we started.  
    I have been hidden in a meek and powerless internal world for so long that I explode into strength with her, taking her hard and violently. I pick her up and fuck her against the wall, her legs wrapped around me. I fuck her over the fake mahogany table. I throw her across the bed as if she is weightless and take her on her back. She grips me roughly. She latches her kisses into mine. I flip her over like a ragdoll, onto her knees, and fuck her from behind as hard as I can. I grab her golden hair and pull her head back to me, kissing her hot mouth brutally as I thrust. I listen to her cum over and over as I take her over and over. Her kisses hit me with a sexual force I have never known. She throws her pussy into my cock as hard as I can wear it out. We tear each other up all over the room like angry rabid animals fighting over last scraps before the first winter snow.
    We finish and fall apart, lying next to each other in the large bed, sweaty, hazy and breathing hard. I hold her hand.
    We resume in tenderness.
    Kisses become soft again.  
    Caresses become gentle.
    The clock isn’t our friend. It tells us we have to be up for another workday in an hour and twenty-two minutes.  
    We fall into a deep, brief, exhausted slumber, tangled up together in expended passion.  
We’ll try to pretend we shared a small, controllable flame, knowing the fire we’ve lit in each other is an atomic burst that will only burn brighter afterward, despite our best bumbling defensive efforts to minimize it in the morning with quickly forgotten rationales and insistences that it won’t happen again.  
    The next day is an exhausted blur of work. We make a grand effort of ignoring each other. We barely speak on the way back to the hotel. I ask her if she would like to join me again. She looks at me as if I am crazy. I fall asleep in my room before I can bother with finding dinner.  
    The second day after, we’ll decide to talk about it. We’ll find a café and converse on how we shouldn’t have and how we won’t again. I’ll nervously spill my coffee on the floor as my hands tremble from wanting her and we’ll laugh about it. She’ll proudly show me the hand-shaped bruises I put on her thighs. When no one is looking, she’ll tease down her shorts just enough for me to see the bruises on her hipbones from my gripping hands. We’ll say that is that. We’ll say it won’t be awkward at work. We’ll say we got it out of our system. We’ll last into the next week by telling each other it was a mistake and that we are both fine admitting it.  
    All the frivolous talk of stopping is useless. We have begun. Our affair will burn white hot for years. Until love forces us to end it.    


-- Modified on 9/19/2013 2:33:24 PM