Two
levels of knowledge. She is schooled and fascinated with all things
musical. Able to identify each note and nuance, each composition and
chord. Music is in my life as well, but at a much more shallow depth.
The only things I know are names like Muddy and Blind Boy, the
chronology that links Brits like Keith to Delta head cutters like Robert
, the places like Rosedale, Clarksdale, Statesboro and Highway 61.
We
are learning to know each other better, having unwrapped outer layers
through touch, talk and drinks. In this night in the Village I mix her
a cocktail of music and lust.
Second
floor bar, dark as a cave, a bench on the side, strong drinks in hand,
sliding further under the current as SaRon gently strums a pawn shop
6-string and deeply laments another love in vain.
I
follow her mood from attention to closed-eyed appreciation to trance.
The little black dress isn’t so much a deterrent as an open door.
From
outer to inner thighs, my hands travel a familiar route; not in the
privacy of our nest but semi-boldly in public, covered by the darkness
. She feels the sensations and naturally moves to accommodate both of
us. Spreading her legs, lifting her skirt, settling down with her bare,
unshaven crotch shifting back and forth on my hardened fingers to
become even more liquid, then the sudden gasp as I enter her fully.
Her
eyes are closed, her hands grip my forearm and manipulate me like a
toy, guiding me as in solo play. I know my way from here. A touch
against her tender top, deep two-fingered, excruciatingly slow plunges
and withdrawals from her G spot. I lovingly play her like a cherished
instrument, a tune so familiar that it needs no metronome or lyrics.
As
the song rises in tempo and volume, she follows the refrain with a
sudden, thunderous explosion, gripping the table edges with
white-knuckled hands, shuddering and biting off the wails that usually
come over her at this point. Gritted teeth and closed eyes almost hide
the orgasmic moment, but a woman at a nearby table sees it, stares
transfixed at our scene, then smiles coyly at me.
My
mate is suddenly tender and sensitive, resisting the once-wanted touch
as her entire body recoils from the blast. But in the only cruel moment
I’ve had with her, I refuse to remove my fingers. I just hold them
still and firm and after a few minutes the process begins again.
