29
I’m sitting on the fourth-floor couch in the attic of Prince’s family’s house positively sky’d, and talking with his cousin Kassy. She’s got this cropped atomic blonde hair that goes down just past her jaw and glacier blue-gray eyes. She is covered in tattoos, and I’m transfixed by the long wrapping snake around her left forearm and wrist.
“I just got it one day,” she says, and smiles, and we’re on a winding tangent revolving around art. The way she speaks, animated with her hands, creates an illusion of the snake being alive. I’m doing all I can to keep my eyes open, worn out and dizzy from the day and the weed. Her arms wave and spin through the foggy smoky air as she tells me about the future of fashion and all her European influences, how if she had it her way she’d cycle through wardrobes every couple of weeks, and I dig her, I do, but she keeps asking,
“What are you thinking about?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re just sitting there staring at me.” She smiles.
“I’m just listening,” I say, and pleased, she continues.
Sometimes I can’t get past what my eyes can see and become completely lost in aesthetics. I’m watching Kassy’s lips wave and shape her language and wondering how on God’s Earth she could possibly have teeth so white and perfectly shaped. I’m eyeing a couple freckles beneath her left eye, and the blondeness of her hair which reflects the lamp light from the corner behind her. What would that hair look like grown out and falling down past her shoulders, which, exposed, reveal the face of a lion, her first tattoo. Then it’s her belly button and toned core. She says something about surgery.
“Surgery?”
“For my breasts.”
“Oh. But they’re perfect.”
“Well, thank you, but—” and she’s off again, talking about her sister being the tiniest, sweetest little thing ever but my eyes follow her collarbone and then down to her legs, which are painted with ripped jeans exposing her deeply tanned thighs. You see? So, when she speaks of London and her travels, despite honorable intentions, my mind wanders, on and on and on.
Truth is, I’m too high. Way too high. I knew this would happen. Twenty minutes ago Kassy loaded her purple pipe with her strongest stuff and giggled like a little girl packing it up.
“Just you wait, Cash. You’re gonna love this stuff.”
She told me some story about her weed dealer Kyle who was 300 pounds and Hawaiian.
“He’s, like, gloriously lazy, but so fun. He’s always just chillin and playing video games.”
And she’s pushing the green in, and I’m already spinning, drunk and still high from earlier. She takes a Superman lighter out of her pocket and sets the whole dramatic thing in motion. Before I know it, I’m breathing in smoke from the pipe and soaring impossibly higher and higher. With every second that passes, I’m sinking further into the couch. I hold tight to her glowing image in hopes that I don’t lose my grip on reality. I listen, best I can. I still have every noble desire to be with her.
Prince and I show up around six or so to this grand old mix of family and friends. The house looms ancient and tall on Daneport King Street. The roads in this part of town rise and fall like valleys on uneven earth, lending themselves to breaks in concrete and deep potholes which make driving an adventure. On top of that, there are scattered patches of the street which are, for reasons unknown, composed of collections of red shaded bricks. We park near one of these patches. The house is green paneled with a weathered white roof gathering leaves from the nearby enormous maple trees. Outside, gathered on the sprawling front porch, are a collection of strangers. I don’t know a single one of them.
“What the fuck have I done?”
Prince laughs. “It’s gonna be great,” he says.
High and hyper-aware, we walk into the fray.
Before I know what is good or bad I’m having a Budweiser and talking agriculture with a brown curly haired man I assume is Prince’s uncle Eric I met once about a decade ago. Meanwhile, the sun begins to set over the rooftops of the other Daneport homes all the way down to the Mississippi River, kissing goodnight to what I assure you is a reassuringly fine city. I weave my way through conversations here and there, and an older guy in an Iowa Hawkeyes wrestling shirt is flipping brats and burgers on a red rusted grill on the far end of the porch and it smells terrific. There’s something about the smell of a grill in the dying summer heat accommodated by beer and being surrounded by those of good spirit that really moves me. A Midwestern grill out, tough to beat it. Prince is off chumming with a few girls he knows in the first floor living room when I walk by to discover the bathroom. I turn the handle and enter.
A moment of silence. My first few seconds of recalibration. The bathroom, in moments like these, is a sanctuary. I close my eyes and let the muted voices beyond the door calm me as I relieve myself and check in. I’m gauging my balance, leaning a bit on each leg back and forth, mindlessly swaying in and out of delighted numb feeling and near unconsciousness. I turn to the sink and wash my hands, attempting to ground myself. I’m staring at my face in a dusty, water speckled mirror, feeling higher somehow and more drunk than I did when I first entered the bathroom.
“Get it together,” I whisper. My cheeks look sweaty and my eyes are a little red surrounding the blue and black. I’m on the fringe, fretting out a bit, so I take a few deep breaths, grip the side of the sink, and try to talk myself sober. After a minute of this I feel better. I wink to my reflection like a fool and then grin. I go back out to the people, renewed.
They’re a small sea of animated souls getting into bed with one another. Often at parties I’ll find a way to take a seat somewhere, be still, and just watch for a while. I love to see all the different shapes coming together and moving apart. Talking and smiling widely, drinking, laughing, and of course, there are always the intense few, diving into politics or religion or something serious. It sure is a cosmic scene. It makes me think of science and the atom and the universe. How we’re all just little particles moving and fluttering in and out, frenetically trying to be compatible with one another. People are really something.
So, I venture back out to the gathering and the whole ordeal seems to me a great journey. I sit on the cotton weaved beige red and yellow thing of a couch on the first floor and notice Kassy coming in through the open doorway. I hadn’t seen her outside, so she must have just arrived. Years have passed but seeing her now I have the feeling that we might just be two of those compatible atoms. We’re older now, and forward leaning, less hung up. Once you get into your late twenties, all bets are off. The games are direct and clear, with better odds. Kassy sits down next to me. She gives me a hug and little else matters. Her smile and pleasure in seeing me again is enough to win my heart. Two hours later, she takes my hand and leads me away from the others. She heads up the stairs and I watch her walk.
On the fourth story couch in the attic, I sit, gazing at the snake. Moonlight comes in through the sky window and the room is intensely warm. I’m fresh off another purple pipe hit and watching all of Kassy’s movements. In between ripples of thought she stops for a moment, and we take each other in. Suits me fine, these silences. Her gray eyes are searching, smiling, and I have the sensation we’re mindreading.
“Your pupils are so big,” she says.
“So are yours.” We both open our eyes wider, as wide as they’ll go, and then we’re two happy aliens laughing. When she giggles like that, so open and free, it makes me think if I had anything to my name, anything at all, she could have it.
I look down at her arm and begin tracing the snake. Little bumps, almost tinier than eyes could see, emerge from her skin.
“That one’s my favorite,” she whispers.
“Mine too.”
I can’t help but touch her, my hands want to study her figure. She rotates her arm as my fingers follow the serpent. We look into each other’s eyes again but now we can’t deny it. That singular vulnerability that arrives before the moment. That unknown, intoxicating current of oncoming passion. The opening. My heart beats wildly as she reaches over and takes my hand in hers. She begins to run her fingers along the fabric of my blue jeans, pulling on my belt buckle. I glide across her belly button with the back of my hand and settle it around her waist. She traces the ridges of my face, and I do the same. My thumb gently brushes her bottom lip, and she kisses it softly. Her cheek bones are round and pronounced and she moves her fingers to mine before we glide through her product laced hair. I massage her head gently, and she hums with pleasure, whispers, “That feels good.”
She wraps her hand around my forearm and begins to kiss the inside of it slowly. I move to massage her back, to her lion on her shoulders. I drift down to her belt loop near her ass as she holds my iron necklace in her fingers. I take the front of her jeans and grab on. I pull her closer.
Face to face, we’ve arrived. Her chest rises and falls, her warm breath on mine. We stay there for a while, enjoying the sensation. Her beating eyelashes, black and long. Her smooth skin. She scratches at the scruff on my chin and she smirks, playful. Finally, I lean in, and she closes her eyes. Her lips are warm, soft, slow. Full and coated ever so slightly with the smell of marijuana. Subtly sweet, alluring, she tastes like rapture. She lets out a quiet breath as our mouths hover, and I remember that first kisses are forever. She pulls back and opens her eyes. The sounds of the party float to our attic like faraway stories. The taste of her lingers on my lips.
“I want you,” I say.
The searching gaze that she had only moments before transforms. Whatever she was looking for, she’s found it. A sure smile now spreads across her face. You can always tell in that first moment, that kiss. The heart and the primal part of us knows. I run my hand through her hair near her earrings and take her, thumb beneath her jaw. I draw her close to me again. Our foreheads together.
“I want you too,” she whispers.
We begin again. Soft and slow and then crescendos of passion. We take turns, teasing, floating in each other’s air, and in those moments our eyes open and nearly laugh. She kisses me quickly then pauses so I can wait and then press into her. We give and we take and we play. Back and forth. Her hands wander to the bottom of my shirt and start pulling at its edges. I gather it and rip the thing off. The heat emanates off my skin, my open chest. Her fingers move through the hair there as she kisses the curve of my collarbone. I see the moon reflect off my necklace. She kisses up the length of my neck and now forehead to forehead I close my eyes, all of my senses ignited.
“I’m so high,” I whisper.
“Me too. Do you feel good?”
“Very. Do you?”
“I do.”
And I pull her chin up just barely and we meet again, more aggressive. We sweat. Our moans of pleasure increase the temperature. Our bodies are nearly on fire. Everything else has disappeared. It’s only her. We’re biting and licking, hands roaming and feeling every inch. My lips and tongue are on her neck.
“God,” she whispers.
And I swear she’s a star. A midwestern Marilyn Monroe. The small smirk she gives, her hands running through my hair, I know that she could own the whole world.
She kisses me again and says, “It’s so hot.”
With her mouth on mine, I begin to pull her shirt up and over her head. She covers her breasts in a moment of innocence.
She’s unbelievably beautiful, adorned in white moonlight. Hair ruffled, chest rising and falling, she sits and she covers herself, blinking, shy. And I remember her comment about surgery. I find it all moving. I’m consumed by the desire to tell her how perfect she is, every part. Any perceived flaw, any fear, any doubt. I want to help wash it away. I lean closer and I begin to kiss the arm that guards her, my hand on her side. I move my face up and brush my nose against hers, playful. She brushes me back and giggles again. I kiss her quickly and she does it back. Her face scrunches a bit and those freckles beneath her eyes move. I kiss them too and return to her arm. I brush my lips against it again, once, twice, and then slowly I pull it away. She lets out a long breath, revealed, and her fingers run through my hair as her chest now arches in sensation. Her breasts are perfect, and hers alone. I feel them with my hands and I softly kiss her nipples. She moans in release and grips the arm of the couch looking skyward. The length of my tongue traces her, and she quivers in pleasure. Her eyes return to mine and the hesitation is gone. Her hands grip my shoulders and I feel her nails dig in. I move my mouth down to her stomach and unbutton her jeans while running my tongue along her pant line. I pull the bronze zipper down slowly. I can feel her heat on my face. I’m so aroused, I need to taste her, all of her. She wears black laced underwear and I place my lips on the damp fabric. And I’m so high I do not remember anything else about my life. My soul, I’m sure, is above the house somewhere watching. I have no name or origin. I am only this. I look up to her eyes, ice gray, ignited, and she’s biting her lip. I return to her pelvis as it rises and falls with her deepening breath. My hands move beneath her ass as her stomach rises up and down, up and down, up and down. I guide her black underwear off both her legs and let them fall to the floor.
In all of the world there is only her and the heat between her legs, and in the moonlight, I move my mouth down. My tongue moves along her thighs, then her lips, wet and defined, molded by some perfect design, and she pulses in the darkness. I move in and out and around her entrance, kissing the sides of her thighs and gripping them, holding them apart. I’m warming her and taking her as far as I can. There is nothing else. And when my lips kiss her again, she says, “Cash.”
My tongue moves in and out.
“God.”
I move the length of her opening and meet her eyes while I do. She looks down at me, cheeks reddening. We are one body of desire and I listen. I listen for it all and move in tandem with her, every sound, arch, grip of her hands, she tells me, and I bring her to the edge. By the time my fingers enter she is ready to come, and I’m with her. Her arousal drives me wild. I’m pulsing with her too and I almost feel near it myself. My fingers in rhythm, move in and out, in and out, curling and extending. I explore her, the walls and the warmth and the heartbeat, storming.
“Fuck me, Cash, I’m going to come. You have to fuck me—”
She leans up while I stand. She unbuckles my belt and unzips the bronze. She pulls my pants and underwear down my legs and now it is me who’s revealed. I’m so turned on I really am pulsing. She smiles and kisses my head, licks the length of my shaft. She leans back on the couch. I kick out of my pants. I kneel down, my legs on either side of her hips. She grabs me and moves her hand up and down. And whether or not she did this often, I don’t care. This is for us alone. We exist in the light between our eyes. I’m so, so high. My abs contract as she moves her hand steady. I lean forward just a bit as she comes up on her forearms and takes me in her mouth one more time. Her tongue is hot, her hand firm on the base.
“Oh my God,” I breathe out. A few more seconds and I’ll come. I pull away and I move down to kiss her. Tongue teeth lips hair. My hands on her face, we taste one another again. I lean her back. Her arms cross behind her head.
She whispers “Fuck me,” so softly I barely hear it.
I reach down and grab myself and enter. She lets out an incredible breath of air. And there, on that fourth-floor couch, sweating, high and erect, we meet. Wet and moonlit, we move together. I’m inside and there is no other feeling in life, none. There is nothing like this. Slowly in and out, one body. I grab the back of her neck as our torsos contract. She works her hands and her nails into my chest. She doesn’t cover her breasts and I kiss them. I run the landscape of her neck with my tongue and our lips meet again. She begins to accelerate as I fill her with all of me. Our breath matches. Every inch of our bodies is on fire. We’ll come together in seconds. She pulses a bit and her walls come together, tight.
And the feeling arrives with enormous power. I think of the planets in the sky and our endless souls soaring a billion miles through space and time. She cries out to the same God we share as she comes. Unabashed, stripped down beneath me and bare. And the sound is so pure. It’s the atom in my heart. I pull myself out. She takes me immediately in her hands, and in her passion of pleasure, I find myself coming right after. I am everywhere. We transcend this place and I only wish it could last forever. I’m breathing heavy into her neck. I’m kissing her lips, and in each other’s arms, we slowly come back. I have her, and she has me. We’re so Godly high and alive.
We stay there for ages, breathing in and breathing out. Floating down. And I’m so happy and lifted. I feel her heart racing before it settles into mine. She wraps her arms around me tighter, hugging me as close as she can, to keep me, to feel me beside her. She kisses my lips, and I kiss hers. I smell the scent of her atomic blonde hair. And as we breathe, we are ageless—young and older till death—we are the same. My fingers slowly move along her spine. The lion on her shoulders. Shudders of pleasure resound and they fade until next time. In an attic in the dark, warm in the arms of a woman, I know I’ve never been this lifted. I kiss her forehead. I can see it all now. It’s clearer than ever. Love, and the meaning of life. I hold her as close as I can, it’s her heart next to mine. And from this feeling alone, I could cry.