No Simple Accident

Look at you.  Leaning there against the smooth finish of the brass and glass bar, you're sipping the last of your vodka and lemon.  You pretend not to care who is watching you, but you know that we are.  Your eyes dart about and you see all that is happening, but you think it seems like you only care about getting your next drink. 

That guy that was just standing next to you for so long?  He wanted to say something, but never had the chance.  Well, he may have had the chance, but he never took it.  He never made it happen.  Phhht!  Loser.  He arrived with a full drink, stood there staring at shit he didn't care about and drank his beer  while the gears in his head turned so slowly I could hear them squeak from over here. You weren't giving him any answers unless he asked the questions.  Yeah.  You're as cool as a minty ice cube.  I like that.

“Hey, Tito,” I call to the bartender when he is near enough that I have to do little more than whisper, “Who is that girl over there?  What's her story?”

“Never saw her before,” he answers, “but she came in by herself.”

“Is she waiting for someone?” I ask.

“Not sure.  Seems like she's waiting for something though, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, she's waiting for you to get her a fresh drink,” I reply.  “Send her one on me, but don't mention me.”

“You sure?” he asks

“I'm never sure, but there's no sense in second-guessing things.  What could I get done if I had to be sure all the time?”  Tito reaches to the top shelf, and pours the clear liquid from a beautifully-sculpted bottle into a fresh glass. He squeezes a lemon slice and drips the yellow juice, then tosses the slice away.  Hanging a fresh slice over the glass' lip, he begins walking toward you.

I watch as he hands you the glass.  You  seem surprised that someone has bought you a drink.  Bullshit!  You've been there wondering the whole time why no one has sent a a gift to you already.  Taking the glass, you hear the little voice in your head grumble 'why has it taken so long.'  Sweeping your hair behind your right ear, I can see you mouth the words as you ask Tito who has sent it.  This is the moment where my plan falls apart or works as I had hoped.  I've got back-up plans in my pocket if this doesn't work, but I know Tito and his short-comings pretty well.  I can read Tito's lips as he declines to answer your question - and he plays the part pretty well - but as I had predicted, he glances toward me for a fraction of a second as he turns from you.  You catch his little mistake, follow the direction of his eyes and you see me there watching you.  I can always trust Tito to mess up and make a plan come together.  

You don't look at me for long – just an instant – but a hint of a smile appears and then disappears just as quickly as you look away.  I turn my head away as well just after you.  I swirl the ice in my emptying glass as I think about the next few moments.  “What does a girl like this want to hear?” I ask myself.  “What has she not heard yet?”  I light a cigarette to help me think. 

Taking the occasional drag from the smoldering cig, I let it mostly burn away in the ashtray as I call Tito for a refill.  He pours me my Scotch on the rocks, and I take one last inhalation of tobacco as I reach for the glass.  Out of the corner of my eye, I barely catch a glimpse as I see you walking past the crowd of nameless patrons lined at the bar.  You approach me and I can feel my heart pump a little harder.  I make as if I don't even notice you and you pass behind me so closely that I can feel the cool draft of your presence sweep along me.  You don't stop.  You don't say a word.  You don't care that I am there.  If you do, you don't let on anything to me.  Striding confidently toward the door, I am relieved that you make the last possible turn and enter the ladies room instead of going those few steps further toward the exit.

It's not like me to check the restroom door every few seconds, but I do it anyway.  I don't want you to just step out and slip through the exit without my notice.  There are plenty of women here, but I've seen them all before – at least I've seen women just like them many times.  But you; you I have never seen anywhere.  I may never see you again.  I don't want to take any chances.  I despise a missed opportunity.  The first half of my glass empties quickly.

From the corner of my right eye, I see you step out – the moment of truth.  My breath lightens when you come back my way and wash me in your cool presence once again as you step only inches behind me then go to a now-empty table-for-two in a corner of the darkened bar.  The deejay's music pumps beats made for such moments.  Throbbing rhythms fill the room so loudly they drown all words except those spoken very near to the ear. 

Acting quickly, I have Tito send one more 'anonymous' drink to you. As it is delivered, you once again look my way.  This time, there is no smile.  This time, there is only an unspoken question written on your face. 

Answering your question, I lift my drink and begin approaching your table.  You turn away from me, but I don't care.  You saw me walking to you and I am now committed.   You like control, don't you?  I can work with that.

Without asking, I take the seat across from you and look directly into your eyes.  They are stunning.  I've seen eyes many times, but few have ever made me take a deep breath.  Your eyes, so close to mine, make me gasp a gasp I try very hard to conceal.  You smile a bit impatiently.  Pointing to your drink, I say, “Fashionable Renaissance ladies used lemons to add more of a red coloring to their lips.”  It's a blatantly miserable line and my heart sinks as I say it, but I follow with a sly smile of confidence.  Despite my smile, all that I am truly confident of is that no one has ever led with that line to you before. 

You smile now at me, and wrap your own ruby lips around the straw as you sip your vodka slowly.  Placing your glass on the table, you look back to me and ask, “Do you think that is why I ask for lemon in my drink?”

“No,” I reply, “I think you just like the taste.” Again, I am amazed at how you trip me up. 

You take the lemon slice hanging from your glass, and place it between those lips, lightly sucking the juices from it.  “You're right.  I do.  And do you like the taste of a lemon?” you ask as you pull it away seductively.

“I do very much.  I like the tangy, edgy bite of a lemon,” I reply.  A devious grin now grows across your cheeks as you push the lemon into my mouth.  I savor it not for its own tastes, but for the intimacy of the experience.  I have never tasted a sweeter lemon in all my life.  You pull the slice away and giggle girlishly at your success.  I chuckle sheepishly at being so easily conquered.

My mouth and throat feel dry, though not entirely from the lemon's juiciness.  “Tasty,” I say.  “It goes well with my Scotch.”

“Have you never been fed fruits before?” you ask in a voice above the music.

“Never so sweet,” I say.

“Well, that is a shame,” you reply.  “Life is full of all types of tasty fruits and we need be sure we taste them whenever they are ripe.  There is nothing worse than a beautiful fruit wasted and left to rot on the ground without being savored.”  Your words seem to flow from you in so many colors and textures that I am unsure if I have grasped all of your meanings.  I now know why I see only you.

An awkward but pleasant silence fills the space between us.  Somehow the pulsing music seems more distant now as our energies cut through it – creating a momentarily peaceful place for the two of us.  I drink from my glass and, through the suggestion of my actions, you do the same.  We smile once again.  “Why have I never seen you here before?” I ask.

“You say that like you monitor who comes in and out quite regularly,”  you state.

“Well, I am here often enough that I should have seen you by now, I'd think.”

“Well I have only been here once before.  The last time I was in town.  It wasn't anything like this back then.”

“Yes, well, they have made a few changes and...” you interrupt me before I can complete the thought.  “That's not what I meant,” you correct me, “I thought you understood me better than that.”

I have missed an important clue to solving your puzzle and you have caught me flat.  This is not like me at all.  You have flustered me like no other has.  'Am I up to your challenge' I ask myself.  'She is beyond even me' I think; my ego bruised like an apple which has crashed to the earth abruptly.  I am walking on shaky  ground now and so, I decide that I should walk no further.  I stretch my hand across the table to you, and begin to stand just slightly as I watch for your response.  To my delight, you accept my hand as you stand as well. 

I escort you to the dance floor and find enough room for us to move and celebrate our encounter.  The pulsing audio fills us as we can feel the lowest of the vibrations move gracefully through us both.  Thanks to the several drinks I have taken in, I am moving well, but not nearly so charmingly as you.  Your head thrashes left and right in time with the beats as your entire body flows like a rippling wave.  I have no idea who else is on the floor, and I don't care.  You - the one who I had only been desiring and admiring from afar a few minutes ago – are now sharing a special time in my life with me.

“Julijana” you call into my ear above the music.

I look at you in surprise, not totally understanding what you had said.  “My name is Julijana,” you say.  “You never asked me my name.”  We keep dancing without missing a step, but I know you are right once again.

“Theo,” I say, “and I am very, very, happy to meet you, Julijana.”

“I know,” you reply, giggling once again and grinning knowingly.  You now dance even more seductively – more confidently than before.  We dance for what seems a  very long time without speaking another word.  Our eyes meet often and they say so much of our shared experience.  Our bodies meet now and then, but say even more.  Body language can be the most expressive language of seduction when spoken by the gifted and your “words” bring out the poet in me.  When finally the music slows, I clutch your waist to mine – drawing you in with such a force that I fear I may have hurt you.  Rather than put you off, though, your eyes tell me that you enjoy the primal way I crave you.  Holding you close, my lips trace along your neck and find the soft, fleshy place behind your ear's lower lobe.  My tongue flicks softly from my parted lips and presses in just there.  You respond by pulling me at my lower back toward you - forcing my slowly-growing manhood firmly into your gracefully-sculpted body.

I pull my head back and kiss you wildly without any further thought. I am no longer the man I was a while ago.  I am no longer a man at all in many ways.  I am a wild-man in my heart, and an animal in my mind.  In the darkest corners of my deepest thoughts, I feel as if I am growing hair all over my body and my hands are morphing into claws.  By the way you return my kisses I can sense that you are changing in much the same way.  The people we appear to be every day are becoming the beasts we truly are beneath our civil disguises.

As the song ends, I take you by the hand and lead you hurriedly away from the dance floor to a small hinged segment at the end of the bar.  I lift the “door” of the bar and lead you behind it very near to Tito.  Tito calls out, “Hey man you can't come behind here, Theo!”  

“Fuck you, dude!” I reply as I throw some cash at Tito and take you through an open doorway that leads us to a narrow hallway and then another door and a small room with a couch that the bar once used as a lounge for the bands which used to play here. 

The room is compact but comfortable.  Aside from the couch, there is a table with two metal chairs, a painting on the wall of some awful landscape and an end-table with a tiny lamp.  I turn on the lamp and  turn off the ceiling light.  You have said nothing since we began kissing, and you say nothing still.  I pull you close to me as if we are dancing once again, but this time as I kiss you, I slide the zipper of your soft dress all the way down.  As I slip your dress from your shoulders and allow it to fall gently to your feet, you pull my shirt from me in what seems like one fluid motion.  You undo my belt expertly and my pants fall to the floor and mingle with your dress. 

Your bra seems to remove itself and your breasts point to me as if indicating exactly what they want.  Your panties and my boxers are gone in the blink of an eye.  While we both are taken with the visions before us, we take no time to admire one another.  I lift you slightly and lay you on the sofa – your long, slender legs spread wide to reveal the most exquisitely-flowering orchid I have ever seen...your nectar flowing freely and being high-lighted in the glow of the lamp's faint shine.  Like a hungry bee, I sip your nectar and coax even more to flow for me.  You run your hands through my hair; grabbing at it in clumps to form handles as you pull me to you.  The sounds emanating from your inner soul guide me as I search for more to eat.