Yeah, I Wanted to Sleep with Her

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Flash fiction pieces about...circumstances

Submitted: August 19, 2012

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Submitted: August 19, 2012




Yeah, I wanted to Sleep with Her

By John Mauldin

It could have been any one of the many things that had enamored me when I saw her. I'm embarrassed in saying, as in, from admitting that I can't say which had caught my eye the strongest: her blonde hair, slender yet curvy frame, green eyes and large sunglasses offset by sweet pink lips, bare legs, or tasteful amount of ass hanging out of her jean shorts, but I will say this.

"Yeah, I wanted to sleep with her."

It was what I was finally able to admit to myself before sitting up from my book mid-sentence, disregarding my wallet, phone and belongings, which are everything to a traveling American in a hostel, and walking over to talk to a girl I had wanted to meet for the past twenty minutes.

That morning, I think my fourth day staying at a small hostel in fuck if it matters, I woke up to my daily routine of buying one cheap raspberry tea from the vending machine that would never take bills, nor the smallest of change, the likes of which it would only spit out at you in exact amounts after your purchase, sitting in the shade facing opposite the rising sun to read fuck if you’ll care, and rolling two thin joints, extra tight, to smoke until I felt chilly enough to sit in the sun. And everything was going swimmingly, me being ten pages in and climbing higher as my jay ash tray filled, until she walked down from her room and began to lean against the ping pong table in the main courtyard.

You already know what she looks like, more or less anyway, so I don’t need to tell you why I, an honest to god nice-ish guy that will forever be an incidental bother to the girls he hits on, which tend to be the prettiest of, started to hit on her from the hello without being able to help it. A part of me was working, not on the surface, but more in the pit, as in, from that place of carnal insistence, instinctual hunger, that wells and asserts itself on occasion when there’s no conscious desire for it.

“Hi,” I asked her, “have you been staying the hostel long?”

And I even leaned up against the same ping pong table, relatively close to her, which is something I didn’t expect to do.

“Actually yes, for a few days now,” she said, her eyes just barely visible through the loud, brown tint of her sunglasses.

“Oh really? You know, I’ve been here a few days myself but I hadn’t noticed you…”

She smiled there, quickly, her glance likewise averting as it ran over my shoulder and off into the distance, but she smiled none the less.

“…until this morning. I was just sitting over there reading before heading out into the city for the day. Have plans today?”

It was a pick up line, I know because whatever plans of my own that I had for that day disappeared and I was suddenly felt prepared to lead this girl anywhere she wanted to go, but on the inside I was lost as to what was coming out of my lips. My eyes were in hers, and hers were right there to meet mine, and part of me was pouncing on its opening, the next forty chess moves planned, even when I was simply happy to talk more with her just as we were in that moment.

“Where are you from?” she asked, her English carrying a slight accent, one not instantly distinguishable, of which I hadn’t noticed nor fell instantly intrigued with before she asked me where I myself came from.

“Well, the US, Florida, actually. South Florida, Miami,” I said as if trying to find the right chord to strike and have her ear further.

“Oh, I am from Switzerland, on Holiday, and spent some time already in Miami.”

“Really? Which parts about? The Keys, downtown, the beach…”

I kept talking for a bit, naming places, but I’ll spare the details. It was embarrassing, and the more I felt it was the more I seemed to talk, but she didn’t stop smiling, nodding, listening, despite it being obvious that I was merely talking for so long because I was hoping that she wanted me to.

“It was just…Miami beach, I think,” she finally got to say.

“Oh, well, I’m sure you liked it then?”

“Yes, very much.”

A part of me, in its heart of hearts, was wondering what her lips would feel like when they kissed elsewhere, if she liked to make breakfast in the morning or sleep in, and if she liked to sleep on top of her sheets and in nothing at all. All while we continued smiling and chatting on almost inanely, but in my stomach, and with every passing second of our conversation, I could feel myself doing back flips, until she stumbled my libido mid stride.

“Are you trying to sleep with me?”, is what she said, jumping from whatever the previous, safe conversational stepping stone was into the dark river whose depth and temperature were uncertain as easily as she had when I asked her if she had enjoyed her flight over seas.

 For hours and hours later on I would wonder about what I had said and how I even could so quickly in the first place, but when she asked I had an answer for her like it’d come pre-written on a playing card I’d been waiting to throw onto the table.

“Yeah,” I said at first, not knowing what to follow with until a few seconds later, “I think I would love to sleep with you.”

“And you think I would just sleep with you?” she asked.

My stomach turned at the question, but in an unclenching, if only slightly, as one answer followed another question as it had from the start.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me, lunch? If you’re thirsty I’ll buy you a drink.”

It was around eleven in the morning, so it was early for me to be suggesting any of what I had, but despite her answer I didn’t feel as if any one idea had sounded out of the question.

However, “No,” is what she said to me before I continued.

“Have you been to the old part of town to see some of the buildings yet? We could get a cab, find someplace to sit or shop, maybe rent some bikes and find a park to ride around?”

“No,” was her answer again, but, as before, I only felt more encouraged by her lips, which sealed shut as preciously quick as they had opened, and her partially obscured, playful yet distant gaze, which hid and occasionally stood behind her sunglasses, and manner in which she was standing as she had, which told me I hadn’t yet offended her enough to make her want to leave.

“How bout I take you around the museums, we can talk while we walk, ice cream or something, and then see a show, a play, an opera?”

This time she saved her answer for me for a moment. She twisted her lips into a curiously banterful kind of smile, took the time as if she needed to think about it, and answered.

“You’d do any of that, or all of it, wouldn’t you?”

Her words were careful, slow, and felt heavier than the more emphatic no’s she had given me so quickly a little earlier.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“But what if I’m here for four days, and I want to do all of those things, and I won’t sleep with you until after.”

“Then,” I began, hardly able to wait any amount of time to answer, “What do you want to do first?”

A radiant, Pegasus white like smile broke free from the distancing visage she’d twisted upon on her face, and her hand moved over from her upper leg to rest on the side of mine before speaking.

“Well, you know…I wouldn’t make you do any of it, and. You have a very nice smile, you know?”

I can’t prove to you that she meant more about me than my teeth, lips or how they curved, but I can promise you I felt as if she had.

“Thank you,” I said back, it being the only card I had left in my back pocket.

“But my cab will be here soon, I’ve checked out and am leaving today,”

The fading smile dimmed her voice as well, and made her sound almost indignant in my forcing of her to be honest and spoil the fun.

“That is too bad,” I began however with my smile only widening, “But that isn’t really the point so much, is it?”

Instantly, she was smiling again, so strongly that she had to take off her glasses and look me in the eyes as she spoke.

“No,” she began, starting in the tone she had adopted earlier and finishing, and continuing on in as we continued chatting until her cab arrived, the one she had adopted most recently, “I do not think it is the point at all, and I am glad you feel that way too.”

© Copyright 2018 John Mauldin. All rights reserved.

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