The Other Night that I Was Waiting For

“Is this seat taken?” he asked me, a flash of blue eyes under dark hair. I pretended to fluff a bit of the sidewalk for him and patted it.

He leaned against the wall, looked up at the sky for a second to judge whether the sun would be in his eyes or not, and slid down, his t-shirt pulling out of his jeans against the building. I tried not to stare. He took his cell phone out and looked at the time, then replaced it, took a sip of his bottle of water and looked at me. I did not look at him. He offered me a sip of his bottle and I took it, pressed my lips against the already wet opening, smiled inside, drank and gave it back to him.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Do you often go to concerts alone?” he asked.

I looked around him pointedly. “No, you?”

“No, but I’m an idiot and said I’d wait in line for everyone.”

“Yeah, what were we thinking?” I sat up a little, letting the blood enter my ass before it was immediately pushed out by the concrete again.

“I thought these jeans were stretchy when I put them on,” he continued, “but my balls are,” he adjusted, “sorry that they ever dropped in the first place.” I adjusted any possible cameltoe and smiled a little. “Yes,” he said, and looked to the start of the line after a brief glance at my crotch, “a generation who chose to strap a seam into our privates as harshly as possible.”

“The hip-hop people have got it right,” I said.

“Well,” he said, “might as well make the best of it.” He pulled out a bottle of Jack and a bottle of Coke, took a sip of the Jack and then quickly followed with the Coke and then held them straight-armed out to me, his face cringing. He swallowed. “Go on,” he said, with an upward shake of the head like we were two drowning people with one life preserver. There was no time to argue. I took them and did the same thing he had, finding my face in the same cringe, the bubbles from the Jack-Coke mixture fighting their way around my fillings before trying to escape through my nose. I swallowed hard and felt the rebellion of my throat, the slap of the Jack and the queasy numbing joy behind it. I covered a burp in my palm.

He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “Hmm, very sexy.” I laughed, burping again. “Ah. I could smell that one.” He took another drink and swallowed it faster this time, gargling the bubbles out first.

“That was sexy,” I said.

“I have my ways.” A smile crept into his eyes and we looked at each other for a few beats too long. All I could see was the blue. “You know,” he said, pulling his phone out again and replacing it, “we’re going to be here for what, two more hours?” I nodded. “We could have an entire relationship without ever leaving this spot.”

“The whole thing,” I said, “first kiss all the way to fighting over our possessions.”

“What will we break up over?” he said, looking genuinely hurt.

I appraised him, grinned and said, “Irreconcilable differences. We’ll argue constantly.”

“We better find something to fight about in a hurry. What do we disagree on?”

“I’m a city person.”

“Me too. I like dogs more than cats.”

“Sure. I don’t like dessert.”

“Salt for me. Sausage and mushroom on the pizza.”

“Of course! I only watch ‘The Office’ and ‘The Daily Show’ and movies. Otherwise, the television’s off.”

He slid his the fingernail on his thumb between his two front teeth and rocked a little. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything. Um. Video games.”

“Constant. Democrat.”

“Democrat. Bleeding heart really.”

“Afraid so.”

“Okay. Agnostic.”

“Raised Catholic, but agnostic now,” I said, and took the Jack and Coke for another swig and cringe. “Drunk about once a week.”

“Twice. I pay my bills.”

“So do I.”

He squinted at me, shuffled up so that our shoulders were touching and said, “Doggy style.”

“Doggy style. I give an excellent blowjob.”

He said nothing and I thought I might have crossed the line. Instead, he adjusted himself again. “That damn seam,” he said.

His phone rang, some spoken word ring that I didn’t understand. I turned to the side, still blushing about his seam, and tried very hard to appear that I wasn’t listening to his conversation, feeling his shoulder in mine. I took the bottle of water from him and he let me, his hand that was holding it still open over my legs.

“It’s alright…. No I’m just…. I’m talking to this girl here…. Hang on…. What’s your name?”

This was louder, at me. “It’s—“

“You know, it’s none of your business what her name is. Get your ass down here and find out…. Hang on…. Are you cute?”

“I think—“

“You know, that’s none of your business either. She’s mine. We’re going to be broken up by the time you get down here anyway…. She’s beautiful. I hope we don’t start fighting.” He was looking at me as he said this. “Just get down here…. Fuck you. Actually, don’t come down here. I don’t like you anymore…. Bye, hon.”

I was still laughing at all of this. He put his phone back in his pocket without looking away from me and we stared at each other for a while. Blue. That was all I saw, blue. My lips parted from instinct and my arms went limp.

“We never talk anymore,” I said, blinking in a fake angry way. His face, before, all droop and dark seduction, burst out into a scene sucking smile. He looked at my lips, inhaled and reached around my neck. He pulled me to him, to his lips, which parted, all meat and pink-beige mystery and kissed. It was a relatively chaste kiss, his lips just held and vibrating over mine, before he released me and we breathed over each other. My lips tingled. They knew more than I did.

“I do the crosswords,” he said, “five of them a day, including the patternless, and I talk to myself while I do them.”

“I gave them up for sudoku.”

“I won’t do sudoku. I like a good blowjob.”

“I like to give them. I like barbeque, rib tips and just ribs, slow, like all day. Homemade sauce.”

“I had them like that once and craved them forever. Just get them when I’m lucky now. I’m a bit of a pack rat.”

“Possessions are useless unless they’re sentimental. I like to fuck slow.”

“I like to fuck slow, then hard. Builds. I don’t like books about politics. Not because I don’t want to know, but I get too convinced and angry.”

“And you spend your whole time trying to figure out what they’re basing all this propaganda on. I like to get bitten here.” I pointed to where my neck met my shoulders. “Gently, just a tease.”

He leaned over my neck and started just below my earlobe, nibbling down, down, down. When he made contact with the bend I jumped a bit. I told myself I wouldn’t, but I did. What I wanted then, most of all, was to lean back, flat on the concrete, and put him between my legs. Dry humping would be better than this nothing, this distance between his cock and my pussy. The concert, the thing I’d been looking forward to for months, obsessively trying to judge when I’d have to get in line, and would anyone get mad at me for letting my less enthusiastic friends in, erased itself, became a shadow on my chalkboard.

“Where do you live?” I asked.

“I can’t wait that long,” he said.

“I’m not a slut.”

“Be a slut. I don’t care. I’m taking you around this corner,” he pointed without looking, “and I’m going to fuck you, slow, then hard. And if we don’t fight, I’m going to ignore everyone I know and spend time with you, wherever you want to be.”

“Can’t disagree with you there either.”

“We’re going to get along fine,” he said and stood up, holding his hand out for me to take. He pulled me around the corner, pushed me into a small dip between the buildings, and pressed me hard into him. He kissed me like we were about to die, hungry for me, fire, death and fucking. I undid my jeans, the seam finally loosened, the rush of wet pussy released. I took his hand to it so he could see what he did to me. “I like singing Christmas carols all year long,” he said.

“I love them.”

I kicked off my shoes, dropped my jeans and stared at him, right in the blue. I took his chin and kissed him again, feeding on him. I stretched my arms out between the two buildings and waited.

“Geeee Sus,” he said, staring between my hips. He had a condom on, his cock short and thick, potent and fuckable. He took a leg in each arm and moved up. I was lifted. I was held. He leaned over and kissed me tight again. “I look like an asshole, but this… this is new.”

“Go.”

He fucked me hard, then slow, a perversion of his former statement. I was grateful for both. His cock entered and filled me, truly filled me, on a level I hadn’t known. I came in no time, and it was only after that, when he stared down at me with those blues, the ones that had imprinted on me in a nerve-pathway changing way, part of me shifted, some part of me that I didn’t know was there. My legs escaped his arms and swung high against the opposing walls, my legs spread wide for him. He slowed then, his face against mine and I smoothed out, took him like I’d known him forever.

“That’s it,” he said, “that’s fucking it!”

He grabbed me, snatched me off of the wall and cupped me over him, still fucking until he couldn’t stand anymore. He put me down gently and looked at me too long, checking for my decision. I kissed him quick and blushed.

“Take me inside,” he said, and I pulled my jeans up and took his hand.