Author: danibanani
She loved bars. She smell, the sweat, the dark. It was bravery. It was chance. It was fun. She grabbed Toby's arm. "Come on, buy me another drink." He stood, half automatically, half obediently and followed. Once the two penetrated the crowd and were no longer visible from the table, she jerked him to the right, away from the bar.
"CJ, the bar is that way..."
"I know." She kept walking, purposefully, toward the back wall. Toby was lost, confused, and slightly turned on. He liked it when his women took control, tugged him, pulled him, took the power away. He was so powerful, uptight, intimidating. He liked it the other way around. The reached the wall, and there was a small handicapped bathroom. She opened the door, tugged him in, and locked the door behind them, neglecting the light.
"CJ..." He was shocked, out of breath, the stink of the bathroom, the moist dirt, the dripping assaulting his senses.
"Shut up." She was pulling at his tie, struggling with his shirt, buttons yielding to her demands, him yielding to her demands. He just stood there. She smelled like cheap alcohol, and faded perfume, she fit in the stink of the room, and Toby, who was not much for cheap sex, for hot sex, for dirty bathroom loveless sex, became swept up in her.
Hands prying at her waist, pulling off the jacket, fumbling with buttons, grasping, pulling, moving.
It was then he leaned up, grabbed her by the open collar, yanked on her, needing to close the gap between them, needing to taste her. Their mouths collided with such force that he could taste the blood leaking from his lip, her mouth opened without hesitation and all at once they were exploring, prying, plunging. Their hands still fumbled with belts and buttons, clasps and fabric. Rustling, tearing, moaning.
"CJ..." He needed to see her, to hear her, to prove to himself that this wasn't a dream, or an impostor. Something in him wanted to see the desire in her eyes, the pout of her lips, the curve of her hips. "CJ, the light." He pulled a hand from her and began groping on the wall. She quickly grabbed it and put it on her breast, now bare. It was soft, and slightly squishy, just big enough. He moaned and immediately stepped out of the pants now sitting at his ankles. She
followed suit, and soon he had her back against the wall, legs wrapped around his back, fingers in his hair.
She was so tall, he was eye level with her neck, nipping at the impression there, her collarbone, her shoulder anything he could bite, suck, or moan into. The smell of sweat, flesh and alcohol enticed him, he thrust into her, feeling her press back against him. She was so bony. Her hips were hurting him, her ankles too, in his back. He
didn't care. Hands cupped under her, she bounced slightly, her hair fell over him like a veil.
He liked the idea that she blinded him.
It didn't take her long to scream his name, to tear his flesh with her fingers and kick her heals into his back as if he were a race horse. He didn't stop. Couldn't, really. He had to ride it out, to feel the release. So much tension in his life, so much pain and stress now all balled up in the core of him waiting to be shot out into her. He wasn't sure she could take it, but he knew he couldn't, wouldn't. And so a few minutes later, with her clinging to him, but much less
vivacious then before, Toby let out a grunt, and felt it all seep out, slowly, dripping almost. He let her slide, gently, let her down. He needed to sit. To rest. To turn on the light.
The damp room was suddenly embarrassing, stupid. It was so childish and careless. They were in public. They were with friends. He leaned his head against the wall, trying desperately to catch his breath, his composure, his guilt. Lock it all up inside him, become ready for the table and the laughter and the gentle teasing she would continue (or would she?), the sparkle in her eye again.
The light came on.
She was so tall, each muscle toned as she bent to pick up underwear, bra and blouse from the dirty floor. She dressed slowly, replacing shoes, straightening her skirt, running long fingers through her hair. The room was a mess. Concrete floors, toilet paper everywhere. He couldn't' believe what just happened. Toby was dressed, straightened and almost sober when he finally spoke, "CJ, I--" She turned to him, tears in her eyes. Her face was flushed, her clothes crinkled and soiled from the dirt on the floor.
"I ruined it, didn't I? With this--" she waved her arms around in the bathroom. "I dont' know. I was being coy, and sexy and I just thought.... I was drunk." He nodded, said nothing for a moment. Her eyes were pleading.
"Me too. Let's go. Get another drink, have a nice night. We'll talk tomorrow." She nodded, swiping at her eyes.
"You don't hate me, Toby? Think I--I don't do this all the time--I'm not a slut. You don't think that I'm..." The Catholic girl in her was peeking out. He had never seen it before.
"God, no, CJ. I wouldn't, not with any-- I really admire you." She understood. Together they slipped out of the restroom and to the bar. It was only another minute before they rejoined the group, smiling laughing, joking. Maybe it was luck, but no one ever asked what took so long.