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Just Like Any Other Night

By Frank Weber

He wanted it to be just like any other night.

He shuffled his way down the tilted sidewalks, hopping over holes and breaks when he saw them. He made his way over the ruptured cement and exposed roots of the trees that lined the boulevard. He made his way, so deeply lost in thought that he still stumbled in spite of himself. He was looking forward to the warm shell offered by a leather tavern barstool. Whisky and smoke and loud music. People dancing and talking and yelling around him. All of the familiar ticks and kinks. So familiar but just anonymous enough to be a comfort. He wanted this night to feel familiar. Everything else in his life had been turned upside-down over this past week, and he wanted this night to just feel familiar. Some semblance of normalcy, anyway.

He wanted it to be just like any other night.

He noticed her at the end of the bar the moment he walked in the door. A woman surrounded by drunk and overly eager men, all hoping to take her home. All of them trying so hard. All of them working an open competition right there in front of her. He noticed her, yes, but all he could think was, “That poor girl.” But how could he not notice her?

Her hair was a full, silky shimmering dirty blond and it fell effortlessly down her back.

Her skin was tanned to a delicate golden-brown. Just enough to change her tone but not enough to overpower the intricate tattoos that laced her arm from shoulder to wrist.

Her neck and wrists and fingers were all accented with jewelry made of gold and diamond and jade, nothing too gawdy but all of it sparkling and quite noticeable.

She wore a tight, black dress, an evening dress of sorts, and though it seemed a bit too ‘up-town’ for this place, no one noticed. She wore it like there was no other possible choice. It fit her.

Her legs were long and her heels were spiked and she crossed her legs at just the right height.

She drew a crowd. She drew attention from all around her.

They all wanted her.

She wanted it to be just like any other night.

But then she happened to look in his direction and he caught her eye.

The men around her kept on talking and spending and trying so hard to impress her, but she couldn’t hear a word they had to say. He had her attention now. And he had no clue that he did.

She could see that for herself and she thought it was so cute. Still, she wanted him to approach her now. She wanted him to brush away all these other guys when they saw her with him.

He still had no clue. He sat on his own barstool at the end of the bar, sipping whisky and smoking cigarette after cigarette. His eyes were focused at the bar but he could only see it in a blur. He didn’t even try to see who might be around him.

He didn’t care.

He just wanted it to be just like any other night.

But it quickly became apparent that this night might end up being nothing like any other night.

Not for either of them.

No other night would ever be like this one. How could it?

Or would it all be the same?

She went to him, two glasses of whisky in her hands. She let shine her big, beautiful smile and asked if she could buy him a drink.

He looked up at her, nodded in a most gracious fashion and motioned for her to sit next to him at the bar.

She deliberately reached in front of him, brushing his chest with her arm, and set down his glass. And then she set down her own, took her purse from her shoulder, set it on the bar next to her drink and sunk down into the barstool beside him.

He became an instant target of hate and scorn as all her would-be love interests could do nothing to sway her away from his side. A couple of them even tried to grab ahold of her arm in a vain effort to pull her back with them. She wasn’t having any. She decided she had found what she was looking for.

He turned his gaze on the last of these over-ambitious guys and simply shook his head, ‘no’.

When the bartender saw this, he quickly came around and escorted the guy back to his own stool.

They all knew who he was, but as it goes for so many of the lonely people, that rarely matters in affairs of the heart. But it mattered to the bartender. He didn’t want a scene, so he put a stopper in the whole thing, ‘tout suite’. They were still grumbling and visibly angry, but they kept to themselves and left her alone for the rest of the night.

The two of them talked the trivial talk of any first meeting.

As more drinks were poured and more inhibitions cast off, their conversation took on a most intimate tone.

He moved his barstool closer to hers so that ‘incidental touches’ were not only possible, but practically impossible to avoid. And she never once protested or pulled away from him.

Instead, she leaned in closer to him as she spoke, using the drowning background noise as a reason to be so close to his cheek when she did.

And he never once protested or pulled away from her.

They both enjoyed the bourbon and they both enjoyed the smoke.

They both enjoyed this dark, shack of a tavern and the pulsating rhythms flowing out of its jukebox.

But more than anything else that night, they particularly enjoyed each other’s company.

The night became a blur and he could barely remember last call or the cab ride home.

He could only remember her enduring touches and the uninterrupted kisses from her impassioned lips.

In the midst of it all, they had found their way home. His home.

He poured each of them a drink and handed one to her as she stood there, transfixed by a painting on his wall. She wasn’t partial to ‘modern art’ but this painting entranced her and she told him so.

She saw ‘a simple beauty wrapping around the unseen complexity within’.

She saw him in this painting, and she told him so, in the most loquacious of terms.

He only saw a painting that he loved. Something struck him about it, but he didn’t know what.

He just loved it for the image that it was. He told her this.

She took his glass from his hand and set both of their drinks down on the table.

She crossed her hands behind his neck and tightened her arms around him, drawing him forward to her. She kissed him deeply and she devoured his kisses.

He surrendered himself to her, and his vision began to blur, not from the liquor but from the ecstasy of her embrace.

He gave himself over to the full pleasure of the night.

She didn’t say another word for the rest of the night.

She laid him back on his bed and playfully undressed him.

He wasn’t completely helpless, but still he allowed her to move his body, a little here and a little there to better suit her wants.

She slid out of her skimpy black dress but left her spiked heels on and she laid in bed next to him, nestling against his naked body.

She was fascinated with all of the tattoos that covered his body, deep inside his skin, and she traced each tattoo with her finger tips first, and then after with the tip of her tongue.

It was an intoxicating form of love-making, made of simple touches upon flesh.

She crawled up his body and taking his jaw in her hand, turned his lips to hers and she kissed him, sucking on his lips and tongue. Kisses so deep that he felt himself fading in and out.

Her hands went back to their exploration of his body and now she held him firmly in her hand, delicately stroking him, letting him slide between her fingers.

He let out a simple, softened moan and this simple sound of pleasure stoked her fire even more.

She took him in her mouth and gave him all of the pleasures she could give him.

And when he came, she took all of him into herself.

She climbed up his body once again, but now climbing him like a ladder and she pulled herself up and straddled his shoulders and neck.

And he willingly gave her all of the pleasures he could give her.

She came, almost violently, almost instantly, on his tongue, but she stayed there.

He held her thighs tightly against his cheeks and would not let her move.

He gave her more, and now her head was swimming in those same ecstasies.

She screamed when he made her come the second time and now, she tried to move, but he still would not allow it.

She heard his muffled voice whispering to her, “I’m not done yet…

And she gave herself over to him and stopped trying to move and he brought her to a mind-numbing climax for a third time.

She had to lay back for a minute and she had to rest, so he let her climb off and she laid her head on his chest. She looked at his face and traced his lips with her fingertips. His eyes were closed but he was there with her, drinking her in and tingling at every touch he felt on his lips.

She pulled herself over and on top of him and she could feel him hard against her.

She gently moved her hips and let his hardness move along with then, and with a sudden push down, she took him fully inside herself.

He was thrusting deep inside her now, holding her hips and her thighs tightly against his own as she gyrated her body on top of him.

He held her with one hand and explored her body with the other, sliding his hand over her soft skin, gently squeezing and caressing her breasts and pinching her firm and supple nipples.

She rolled her ass back and forth on top of him, so slowly, so deliberately, rocking both of their bodies together in one fluid motion.

She felt him begin to swell inside her and she felt his body begin to tense and shudder and just the thought of his release excited her more than she could bear. She was just as close as he was.

Her moans and cries grew louder and more uncontrollable. They were both so close.

She heard his final moans first and then she felt him change inside of her in so many ways that as he let go, she did too, and they held each other in an inseparable grip and they came together.

They laid together in bed, both of them still naked and silent, just staring at the ceiling above.

Somewhere in there, they fell asleep, but they were not in each other’s arms.

They fell asleep separately and each alone with their thoughts as they did.

He woke with a start and rolled over to find her awake and looking at him. She smiled, but it was such a sad smile. She was still silent but he could hear all he had to hear within her eyes.

There were volumes of unspoken words flowing between them, flowing back and forth, neither of them wanting to speak it out loud, speaking only with their eyes.

In that moment, they both realized they had become entangled in their own selfish wants.

They realized they had ignored the way the world works, and now they felt hollow again because of it. The world didn’t care at all for what they wanted. But they both knew that already.

They were each a little saddened, but still so satisfied with their night that they chose to now embrace and they fell asleep together.

Somewhere in the groggy, early morning hours, she got up, cleaned herself up, got dressed and oh-so carefully opened the door to leave, now holding her spiked heels in her hand with her purse.

She took one last look back at him, still sound asleep, buried in his covers and pillows.

She blew him a silent kiss and she crept out the door, soundlessly closing it behind her.

She walked out into the glowing orangish, yellow-red sunrise and she was gone forever.

He woke to an empty bed and an aching head.

His body was weakened, but he felt flush and content.

He would’ve been surprised had she still been beside him.

He wasn’t sad about it, though. He half-expected it all along. That’s how it goes.

He sat up and lit a cigarette and fell back against the headboard, once again, so deeply lost inside his own thoughts.

Everybody gets everything they ask for.

It was just like any another night.

About The Author:

Frank Weber is a freelance writer from Erie, Pennsylvania. He has been published in several print and digital magazines, local interest books and advertising campaigns as both writer and model. His work encompasses a firm conviction, a simple honesty in written word and enough of a raw edge to make people feel what they read. Website: Twitter: @frankietatts_ Instagram: @frankietatts

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