A Body In Motion

Photo by me

I’m going to write about sex. Maybe fucking is the better word. A few thoughts on fucking. It’s less of a story and more of a feeling. An emotion in motion if you will.

Her husband was sweet but absent. Not physically absent, but you know what I mean. He was there but not really there. He didn’t see her the way she wanted to be seen. Which is reasonable. Normal even. Especially when you consider the state of domestic partnerships.

But that didn’t make it easy. Normal is rarely easy.

I was neither sweet nor absent. I was direct, flirtatious, and probably arrogant. All of which she didn’t find attractive but maybe useful. Maybe a way in. Definitely not a way out. She didn’t want out. Just something else. Something different. Something unrelated to the rest of her world.

When she looked at me, and realized that I was feral with lust and it was aimed in her direction, she found an excuse. She let me buy her a drink and both of us understood what the drink was.

“I haven’t had a Manhattan in so long,” she said, teasing the cherry between her teeth.

She said the word Manhattan, but I heard something else. Something duller and more animal-like. Something blunt and hard. Something wet and needy, and I knew it was true. It had been a long time. A very long time.