“Sure do” I’m replying. Confident and unhurried. I open the passenger door and slide in.
For a long moment I hold all her attention with the light in my eyes, and I swear I could kiss her right here and now. There’s a rush in my loins a flood of attraction, and an urgency of desire, and she knows it, fuck she knows it – she feels it too.
With the feintest nod, she smiles, hinting, go on then. I catch shards of amber fleck igniting in the Ecuadorian tobacco-green of her eyes. From the inside out, she seems lit with phosphor.
Her eyes, bewitching my primal instincts, her inner light, like a flame dancing on a match, and fool, I watch her burn to long, her heat stings my fingertips. Fuck, I held the moment too long.
She faces forward, one hand on the wheel, the other twisting the volume – Motorhead comes up, blasting into the silence – she flexes her thigh and stamps her foot, shoving the gas pedal down into the floor.
The rear wheels slip as they spin, hurling loose gravel, before bedding in, pressing us both back into our wide leather seats, as the car lunges forward.
~ XIX ~
Laying across the soft leather couch, stretched out in the office of your trusted therapist, he observes you closely, watching the movement of your eyes as they flicker behind their closed lids, dancing, erratic and alive with an unfolding drama, and daring you to journey deeper, down into your dream state.
You’re in the Motel and he’s taking a long, hot shower. Washing the musk off his body, his working sweat, his skin stained with a dry dirt, a dessert like dust, mixed with burnt fossil fuel and the coked grime of an open road.
You’re clean already. You took advantage of a quick shower. You had the cunning of a fox, as ever, to make him run across to the garage and see what beer or wine they had. And in so doing, you bought yourself some precious moments alone.
And when he got back, with a pack of cold beers in hand, you were already in your finest silk. Your hair wrapped in a clean white towel. The scent of Coco Chanel, and the clean, soft fragrance of your feminine skin, filling the room.
And as he stood in the open doorway, you could see by the light in his eyes just how much he’s missed you. And how much he wants you. And goddamn his eyes, because they never leave you. You hear taps turning to a close. The steaming shower stops. You climb between clean crisp sheets, willing your heart to wait.
~ XX ~
Daydreaming, I trudge the long straight road, my imagination conjuring comfort, carrying me away, and continuing in fantasy.
Imagining Motorhead blasting, a magnetism of attraction pulling my eyes over her outline. Her eyes fixed on the road, while mine take their sweet time, taking her in.