and my bruised knuckles said yes...
I knocked on the door because I had heard the most infectious music. It was midnight and I had downed a few drinks - putting some moves on a taken gentlemen in the back of the cafe - hands down pants - whispering taunting words through osmosis into his ear - it had been a good night.
So I knocked. The door flies open exposing a slightly disheveled woman with full lips that make yours beg opened the door. Dark hair, fading lipstick and a black spaghetti-string tank top with one side escaping her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, is it too loud?" She asked that. In a way that if I had said yes she probably would've said, "oh." Then shut the door and turned the volume still higher.
As it was I said, "oh! oh no no no. I was- Well it's just that- It's really good. Who is this?"
She threw her head back and laughed "oh!" and then grabbed me below my collar, by the zipper or line of buttons, i don't remember, pulled me into her apartment. Shoved a glass in my hand and poured me a glass of champagne from her bottle. She then took a deep vicious swig and smiled again. Cheers, she said posthumously. She walked like a real porn star should - real sexual prowess, power, her dance was drunk and unapologetic. She thrust into me. A week later she'd ask me if I had been with a woman before.
A boy stumbled out of the bathroom. "oh, this is ___!" equivalent to, "oh him? he's my boy toy. He pours me drinks and looks good on my arm." He says "hello" shyly and quietly. I repeat "hello" with less nervousness than normal but miles behind confidence.
She throws a shawl or a light jacket or something on with a mixture of chaos and grace. Slips on her high heels, grabs me by the arm, locking elbows, shoves the bottle into my hand while she grabs her purse. "We're going to the Lipo Lounge to watch some raucous rawdy rock and roll. The cab is outside." No phone call. No glance out the window. She was one of those who just knew.
She asks if I want to join them but she doesn't wait for a response. I'm out the door. Four doors later, I'm in a cab and she lights up a cigarette. Asks the cab driver if she can smoke in the same way that she asked if it was too loud. And the way she said cheers. All postfactum, she was.
So it was that I was kidnapped into the city. At 2am the place cleared out and the japanese or chinese or miscellaneous asian 60-something bartender said, "rast carr!" and banged on a gong. Hipsters and aging business men stumbled out the door.
I don't want to finish the story. Or to fast-forward weeks. Or to say who she was. Because all those aftermaths leech and kick and scream. Honestly I don't remember her name. and I adore that night because it made me forget mine.
So I knocked. The door flies open exposing a slightly disheveled woman with full lips that make yours beg opened the door. Dark hair, fading lipstick and a black spaghetti-string tank top with one side escaping her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, is it too loud?" She asked that. In a way that if I had said yes she probably would've said, "oh." Then shut the door and turned the volume still higher.
As it was I said, "oh! oh no no no. I was- Well it's just that- It's really good. Who is this?"
She threw her head back and laughed "oh!" and then grabbed me below my collar, by the zipper or line of buttons, i don't remember, pulled me into her apartment. Shoved a glass in my hand and poured me a glass of champagne from her bottle. She then took a deep vicious swig and smiled again. Cheers, she said posthumously. She walked like a real porn star should - real sexual prowess, power, her dance was drunk and unapologetic. She thrust into me. A week later she'd ask me if I had been with a woman before.
A boy stumbled out of the bathroom. "oh, this is ___!" equivalent to, "oh him? he's my boy toy. He pours me drinks and looks good on my arm." He says "hello" shyly and quietly. I repeat "hello" with less nervousness than normal but miles behind confidence.
She throws a shawl or a light jacket or something on with a mixture of chaos and grace. Slips on her high heels, grabs me by the arm, locking elbows, shoves the bottle into my hand while she grabs her purse. "We're going to the Lipo Lounge to watch some raucous rawdy rock and roll. The cab is outside." No phone call. No glance out the window. She was one of those who just knew.
She asks if I want to join them but she doesn't wait for a response. I'm out the door. Four doors later, I'm in a cab and she lights up a cigarette. Asks the cab driver if she can smoke in the same way that she asked if it was too loud. And the way she said cheers. All postfactum, she was.
So it was that I was kidnapped into the city. At 2am the place cleared out and the japanese or chinese or miscellaneous asian 60-something bartender said, "rast carr!" and banged on a gong. Hipsters and aging business men stumbled out the door.
I don't want to finish the story. Or to fast-forward weeks. Or to say who she was. Because all those aftermaths leech and kick and scream. Honestly I don't remember her name. and I adore that night because it made me forget mine.