In the Arms of a Stranger

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Here I was, in the huge backseat of a restored ’57 Chevy Bel-Air with a woman whose name I couldn’t remember; her mouth, tasting of whiskey and tobacco, kissing me, her callused, sure, hands slipping off my panties. My wide hips tipping up to let her, my mouth slack and open to her demanding, slippery, tongue; my head tilted, eyes open, staring at the rivulets of rain streaking the fogged side window. Zippers of her leather jacket rasping on my breasts naked underneath my shaker knit sweater; leather seat slick underneath my bottom. My mind in another place; my body indifferently in here and now.

How did I get here? Deciding to surprise my three-month new lover. Flying up to Baltimore. Seeing her leave her apartment with her arm around the waist of another woman. Crying in the taxi, telling the cabby to just drive, somewhere, anywhere. Going to the waterfront and staring out at the bay for hours. Thinking how I was twenty-three, feeling sixteen. Then, going to a bar, a dive of a place that a friend told me about. Knowing that showing up in a snug, off the shoulder hot magenta sweater and a frothy lace edged denim mini that barely covered my rear and high-heeled open-toes was a screaming invitation. Brushing off nice girls, shy-smile girls, girls with manicures, girls with hopes and dreams in their eyes. Crossing my legs and smiling arrogantly at the baddest girl, the one in sleeveless leather, with a James Dean sneer and orange-streaked punk pompadour; watching her clear the pool table effortlessly with one stroke after another, until she finished, patted the loser on the ass and swaggered over to me.

Small talk, hot talk, the kind that releases butterflies in stomachs. Sending her every goddamn signal that I could: Crossing and uncrossing my legs, keeping eye contact, hand touching her hand when she passed me the daiquiri she bought for me, playing with my hair – all the cues that I learned from magazines, movies, what all blue-grass girls are born with, what women that I fell in love with taught me. Until she leaned over and whispered huskily in my ear, “Let’s go for a ride.”

She opened the door of the bar for me, she opened the door of her car – I made noises about how cool her vintage blue and white Bel-Air was, and I saw in her eyes a new look, that I was more than a casual pick-up, that there bursa escort was a person behind the body. The cold ice in me thought, “Great, maybe she’ll be a better fuck.”

She asked as I got in the front seat, “You know cars?”

I replied casually, “My daddy collects them,” and shrugged in a way that said I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to say that my ineffectual Kentucky Colonel of a father mostly collected antique Dusenbergs and Cords – a lady doesn’t name or money drop.

She drove with one hand competently on the large steering wheel, one hand capably on my thigh. I put my hand on the back of her neck as if we were old lovers. She smoked and I didn’t ask her not to; I wasn’t going to ask her not to stop at anything. She had Patty Cline playing on the radio, “Tho’ you try you can’t conceal it, Love has brought us only storms, I can see your eyes revealin’…” It took more than I knew I had not to start crying again.

We parked on a tree-lined road that overlooked the dark bay. Her hands pulled me to her; my hands went to her shoulders. My lips parted, an unambiguous come-and-get-me, her mouth got mine, her tongue a sweet invasion. I sighed and thought to myself, “She knows how to kiss.” A long, wanting kiss. The radio playing, the beginning patter of raindrops on the car’s roof, the soft fricative sounds of our clothes, leather on wool, the denim of her tight jeans on the denim of my skirt; a background of notes, a soundtrack for lust.

As her hands began to caress my breasts over my sweater, I broke off our kiss and gazed into her caramel brown eyes and said evenly, “The back seat.”

A drawn out, “Okay baby.” We got out, the rain splattering on us, and as I went to the back door she ran to the trunk, popped it and took out a wool blanket. She entered the car and slid over to my side, and there I was.

My panties off, my skirt hiked up, my thigh thrown across hers. Her tongue swirling in my mouth, her hands riding up underneath my sweater, touching the underside of my breasts. My body replied in demiquavers, so slowly, as torpid as my heart. She wasn’t a fool, her hands stopped, and her mouth left mine.

She cocked her head and said lowly, “Something happened to you today?”

Today…goddamn, I hated women with intuition. I shook my hair and said, “No.”

“You bursa escort bayan want to talk about it?”

Goddamn, I hated being a lousy liar. I drawled, “Nothing to talk about.”

“You want me to hold you?”

Kindness is the flame that draws you in, that consumes you. I whispered, “Yeah.”

She pulled me close to her, wrapping the blanket around both of us, her arms hugging me. I put one arm around her shoulder and leaned my head against the curve of her neck. She held me silently while the rain outside echoed the rain I felt inside. Until both stopped falling and I kissed the side of her neck underneath her ear. She shifted and took my chin with her fingers, tipping up my face to hers.

She kissed me. Sensually, slowly, fully. Her tongue questing with a silky touch. Taking her time, seducing my mouth. Capturing my bottom lip, sucking on it; hearing me cry softly in response. Silencing me with her tongue finding mine, sweeping over it.

Hands on my waist, pushing my sweater up over my breasts. Simply cupping them with her strong fingers, as if testing the weight of them, as her tongue made searching strokes deep into me. Her fingers velvety on my stiff nipples.

Those fingers left my chest, she shifted, and I felt her arms going down and the faint sound of a zipper being tugged. Her mouth trembled against mine for a heartbeat and then her fingers were back on the pebble points of my nipples – sticky wet. I moaned.

Her fingers wet from her womb rolled over my nipples, whiskering, pinching, until my hands grabbed her hair and I mewled on her ripe mouth. Then she leaned me back against the seat and her hand went sliding like hot silk down my stomach to my mound.

She wasn’t gentle, I didn’t want gentle. Two fingers found me, entered me as effortlessly as if she were entering her key into the ignition of her car. She went in me until her fingers were buried and the ball of her thumb rubbing on my swollen bud. Igniting me. I arched against her hand. Tipping my hips to meet each possessive thrust of her fingers. I moved against her fingers, slithered, writhed, as she stroked and stroked and stroked. Arching in a frenzy of yearning, bucking my hips as she delved deeper into me with each rhythmic push.

Instinct overwhelming thoughts, obeying my body and matching her escort bursa as she surged and ebbed inside me. Hissing on her mouth as her fingers fucked me. Her breath ragged gasps on my lips as the cadence of our sex built a craze within her as well. Then that unconscious moment, turning into stormy water, into a wave that crashed, once, twice, and again. My head hanging back, my ecstatic cries falling out of me, her exultant laugh as she felt me contract, rippling around her fingers…

She slowly took her fingers from me, feeling her leave made me sigh at the loss. She pushed herself back to the other corner of the backseat and tugged down her jeans and black Jockey briefs. She raised one long leg – I noticed the pink scar on her kneecap – and rested her ankle on my shoulder. She threw me a wolfish grin and said, “Do me baby, do me now.”

I curled my legs under me and bent down. I looked at freckles on her stomach, a curly mound of tawny hair, inhaled her musky, acrid scent. How all my life was a yes to the question posed by the beauty nestled between a woman’s legs. My face went to her, to her slippery softness, to her heat, to my haven.

Every woman is different. You rely on instinct, on her sounds, her quivers. I ran my tongue over her from the curls down, tasting, feeling every fold of her, sensing her with my lips and tongue, finding what made her fingers tighten on my hair, what made her say, “yes baby, there.”

Discovering that slipping my tongue into her and lapping back out up to her bud made her voice pitch higher, made the back of her knee on my shoulder quiver. Learning that strumming my nails on the inside of her thighs, while the tip of my tongue flipped over her swollen bud in insistent beat that made her hips shake, made her whiny, “Please baby, oh fuck, please…” Finding inside me, a kind of peace, as I took her to that place that was both a release outside and a bonding deep within. That moment of heeding happiness as she held me so tight to her and came with a loud groan that sent echoes into my womb…

She drove me to the airport, glancing at me now and then with flushed cheeks. I kept my hand high on her thigh, capably. When we got to the terminal, she stood beside me, her hands in her back pockets. A small crowd streamed around us, the island that we made with our emotions. I took her in my arms, she stiffened for a moment – whether shy or afraid I don’t know. I kissed her, felt her mouth soften, heard her sigh.

“Forget her,” she whispered, “remember me?”

I did.

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