A date

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
The endless circle

Submitted: June 26, 2016

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Submitted: June 26, 2016

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The last time was in the spring. Even if the birthday had passed it still needed to be celebrated. There would always be something to celebrate anyways, there would always be some occasion or just an excuse to see him. A full year had passed and the memories of embraces and skin touching fade away leaving a tasteless feeling of void. The feeling of permanent restlessness had to be rediscovered once again. His hands, the wet mouth, those eyes. It had been too long since she left her prints on the burning flesh of I and the need burned her from the inside. Like lava her passion had to reach that culminating point before explosion and then burn everything in its passage.

She told him to meet her at the subway station meanwhile imagining how things would happen. Who would give the first kiss? Him of course. She would never expose herself. How the night will be? Marvelous. And then? She didn't have the answer to that question. Unfortunately, the ones who are too afraid to move forward will never go nowhere.

They kissed on the cheek. He barely recognized her because of the new hairstyle she had: she sported a new afro and he liked it a lot since he couldn't help himself to compliment her. She took him at a pub to take a drink that he would surely pay. That was the date of two peacocks engaged in the mating dance year after year, relentless and in love without even knowing it.

"I've come to celebrate my birthday. I'm getting around different cities" she said cheerfully.

"When was it?" She told the date and a shadow casted on his face. His dad died at the same date years before. Death bonded them. She didn't pay attention that he never remembered her birthday, it didn't matter. They exchanged pleasantries, some unimportant news and unsaid words. Those words where the most part of the conversation.

She invited him to drink some tea. They got in her apartment. They took off their coats. She smoked a cigarette while the water boiled. No, she didn't intend to quit. She brought him the tea. They talked again. And again. Smiling. Laughing while drinking. While looking at each other. While desiring one another. "I've finally come to peace with my mother's death" she said to him.

"I'm happy for you". Was he? Never before she said something so intimate to him. He looked for the most surprised. They resumed talking casualties and banalities. She smoked again. And again. And again. And finally. "What about a massage?" he said. "Ok. I'll give you one first the it'll be my turn".

He unbuttoned his shirt while she was smoking a last cigarette. He was lying on the bed. She came closer. At first with reserve she putted herself next to him and then on top of him. Her hands touched this skin so soft, so similar to hers, so warm...Her fingers brushed, pressed, rubbed and redefined the contours and limits of the one who lied under her and was waiting. Just as her. It was her turn. She took off only her sweater. As the massage continued, bit by bit he freed her of the web of fabrics that confined her body so that she would be free. Mouths already touched, the tongues were intertwined, the bodies gripped, drawn one to another.

In a boundless infinite of touch, contacts, a turbulence of emotions swathed them and elevated them in a new dimension. Entering in her was the ultimate contact. The dance was at its climax, the halting movements followed in a wild rhythm. He surely was the one leading the dance, holding her by the waist, caressing her, grasping her breasts, pulling her hair, biting her ears, her neck her lips as if he wanted to possess her. She just adored to feel him so strong, so good. It was perfect. It was intense. It was over. After getting a shower he proposed her to go back at his place with him. She refused. He proposed again. She still refused. He asked her again before getting out of the apartment. She refused. He asked her again on the stairs. She refused. He asked her again at the building's door. No she said. They looked at each other and talked again. He proposed. She refused. She kissed him on the cheek and he responded with an embarrassed "Ok then…” He was gone.

That was the last time.


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A date

A date

by BD

Short Story / Romance

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