Just two co-workers playing a friendly game of chess, I think to myself.
It’s all perfectly innocent…
But, I know he can recognize the fire behind my eyes…the excruciating anticipation of our game…a game that has nothing to do with little wooden kings and queens shifting around on little colored squares.
I want to be dismantled. I want to be torn asunder. I want to rip away this polite facade that veils our true intentions. And he knows, surely he knows…the next move is his.
“So, you think you can beat me at chess?” I open the kitchen door, breathing in the cool night air. Standing barefoot on the threshold, I exhale a thick stream of smoke directed toward the stars, head tilted back, exposing the smooth, pale skin of my throat.
He joins me in the doorway. Removing the Marlboro Light from between my fingers, he takes a drag and shakes his head, grinning at me.
“Do you really wanna find out that bad?” His face moves closer to mine and I respond by pressing my lips into his. Our bodies meet in the slip of space that remained between us and I flick the cigarette into the yard.
Wrapping both arms around his shoulders, I run my hands through his dark, closely cropped hair as our tongues dance, languid and wet with discovery. His hands waste no time. Unbuttoning my top he finds my breasts, warm and alive beneath his fingers.
I moan softly with my arousal, whispering encouragement as I reach for the kitchen light switch on the wall. Now the room is quiet and dark, illuminated only by moonlight and the fuzzy amber glow of a lone street lamp hovering over the alleyway behind the property.
It has begun. I lean back against the door frame and melt into oblivion as he moves down my body, exploring the soft skin beneath my light elastic waistband…finding my excitement with a quick, agile tongue. I buck my hips against his firm hands, and they hold me fast. My legs begin to tremble as the intensity of my pleasure builds and I gasp…
“Let’s go to my room…”
His body is compact, but muscular…like a wrestler. Kicking off my shorts, I lay back on the cool sheets and he crawls between my legs. He handles my body with confidence. He is in control and I like this from him. We move easily together, his mouth latched onto my neck– kissing, sucking…groaning as we peak and subside, one after the other.
He rolls over on his back, staring hard at the glowing digital display on his wrist.
“We’d better get you home…” I sigh, contentedly.
Driving back to my place, around 1 a.m., after dropping him off on the roadway outside of his housing complex, I offhandedly wonder to myself what will happen when he gets home. Will she kick him out?
After that night, we managed to avoid one another at work, but at the end of season, Frankie quit bussing tables to join his father’s construction company. I never saw him again–until about three years later.
It was around Christmas time. I was walking into a Kmart store and there was a set up outside the door advertising family portraits with several large family shots as examples, printed on huge cardboard displays. And there they were: Frankie, Lisa and a dimple-faced toddler who looked just like him. There they were, wearing their best holiday smiles for the camera.
Frankie was one of the few men I slept with just because I wanted to. I was able to make the distinction between the emotional and the physical with him and I wonder why.
It was brief, but nonetheless a sweet, memorable erotic encounter in an otherwise ordinary life.