At first I thought it was a dream, the knocking at the door. But then I remembered I’d left the gate open, my cell was on the floor next to the couch dead, there was no clock on the cable box and once the sun was down there was no telling 10pm from 3am. The Remy martin 1738 and ambien had me knocked out since six, I could hear the doctors voice in my head telling me Michael Jackson died from trying to find rest in his sleep with the wrong combination but it was just two pills and two glasses.
Rubbing my face, tasting the dryness of my tongue the knocking at the door wouldn’t stop, it wasn’t a dream. Looking out the blinds I saw her car, parked behind my truck, clean has usual, her passenger side tires on the grass. That told me she was tipsy. the bugs were attracted to the light hanging over the door, she was swating them away, cursing under her breath. I opened the door and she walked right past me.
Standing at the fridge she drank orange juice straight from the carton, took a bite of a peach without rinsing it off. Wiping the juice from her mouth and smiling.
“Your phone was going to voicemail, I was hoping you had a bitch over here so I could make her leave but you disappoint.” She shook her head and took another swig of orange juice. A white sleeveless dress with a plunging neckline, gold accessories and her hair sitting over her left shoulder.
She was the only woman I knew that could and would come over unannounced.
“Go sit on the couch and cut on my playlist and before you look stupid, I know you have a playlist with my name on your iPod.” She walked into the bathroom and left the door open. The rest of the house was dark except that room and the TV on mute. I cut on her playlist, it was everything from Dipset to Beyonce. My bottle and glass were still on the floor, I poured myself a shot and let it roll down my throat.
Heels in her right hand, steaming towel in her left hand she stood inbetween my legs and leaned down kissing me on the forehead.
“You’re drunk… I’m drunk, drunk people don’t make love. They fuck. Don’t touch me, just watch.” She sat on the ottoman with her legs open. Inching up she raised her dress to her stomach and stuck her middle finger out for me, I caught it in my mouth and sucked it, she put that same finger in her mouth and then she found that spot between her legs that made life worth living.
“I like when you watch, you try to act so calm but you know you want to taste this. It’s Memorial Day Weekend, you know there are no panties allowed until Tuesday. It may take me a little longer to do this with my fingers, I’m used to my toys or your tongue.” Her eyes open she sucked me in, licking her wet lips and moaning my name, saying my name, whispering my name I saw her move her manicured nails faster and faster. The pink polish stood out against her brown thighs.
“It isn’t cheating if I don’t let you touch me.” I was fighting the battle of my life on the inside, I could see me bending her over the couch, burying my face inside of her. Pushing my hardness inside of her.
He owned her whether she would admit or not and to touch her would be a betrayal she wasn’t prepared for. Her eyes were daring me to take the chance, they were daring me to say fuck her rules and take what she was putting in front of me. But to take that tonight and indulge in that pleasure would be to put her well being at risk and that wasn’t something I was willing to do so I just watched.