It was a soft, wet kiss delicately and deliciously dipped in single malt scotch. Lips soft as silk, slightly ajar. Pressing gently into my own. I felt my entire body awaken from what felt like a forced slumber. In that one gesture, I was all consumed, feeling myself evaporating, vanishing, dispersed into the air into a million pieces that quickly disintegrated into a million mini explosions. Before she could pull away, I felt myself sliding around her oral fixation in a kind of quiet desperation. That one movement completed a solitary gesture that sent my soul into a slow burn causing me to attempt to squeeze away the fiery desire that churned between my thighs.
Let me explain. I have this miserable weakness for kissing. For soft, yielding, feminine lips that taste of slowly aged scotch. An unexpected sensual collision of a warm, moist, sensual mouth, tainted with a strong hint of some Glen signaled the beginning of an end for me. I have no idea why, why I could get off from just a kiss. To me, it was something in the subtlety of a kiss that can be so powerful. But not a fall-in-love kind of powerful. The power was in the lust. It was unembarrassed, unencumbered and unnatural. And I loved it.
Ok. So, one night a bunch of us were out. Drunk as hell. People do all kinds of crazy shit in that condition, especially my friends. Dancing on tables, pulling off pieces of clothing, making out with somebody's else boyfriend/girlfriend, doing lines of coke in the restroom, fighting, you name it. We always knew that something could jump off most evenings at any moment's notice. This particular night had begun a slow, uneventful crawl into the wee hours of morning. I skipped dinner and the Patron (multiple sips not shots) had lulled me into some temporary catatonic state, convincing me that it was okay to just sit there in the midst of this New York City party weekend in this fabulous bar, on a banquette seat, eyes closed, loud music shaking the walls and pretty people all around me. I don't know, call it boredom, indifference, fatigue? Anyway, as I'm sitting there, my consciousness slipping further and further away from me, that's when those lips, tasty, hungry but hesitant, assaulted my own. All at once I became even more inebriated from the kiss and its potency; daring myself to open my eyes because I knew it could have been just about anybody taking this very private and personal moment with me. But then I believed it couldn't be just anybody because it didn't feel like just anybody. Before I could open my eyes, her unmistakable scent hit me like a mist.
Almost, as if in slow motion, she pulled away from me, her own eyes still closed. These sensual, unsure, but hungry lips belonged to my 'straight' girlfriend Lauren. While Lauren is straight, she certainly isn't narrow in her thinking. Friends for over five years, she was always supportive of my 'alternative' lifestyle. She wasn't the type that reinforced her heterosexuality, although she was confidently straight. She also didn't feel the need to commiserate by declaring some hidden bi or queer desire, like confessing to same sex kisses at thirteen or clumsy fingering during a sweet 16 slumber party.
Lauren watched me for my reaction before attempting an escape. But I grabbed her by her wrist, pulling her back down next to me.
"Lauren, you just kissed me," I whispered. As she sat there, she decided to wrap her arm around me, taunting in a low-cut shimmery thing masquerading as a dress draping off her body. One of her erect nipples poked me in the arm sharply and menacing. And her eyes, dark mysterious pools to nowhere, were feathered with fake eyelashes making her look just too devilishly vulnerable for my taste.
"So the fuck what." She answered, in that soft but, raspy, voice of hers, made more sexy by the coarseness of her cursing. "Don't act like you've never been kissed by a girl before. "Please." She slurred it, poising herself to go in for another one of her oral masterpieces.
"I'm not a friggin test drive, Lauren. Keep your lips, all of them, to yourself." I unwrapped her arm from around my shoulder, angling myself so that no parts of her body was anywhere near me. In the meantime, I was telling my libido to shut the fuck up.
"Ah, can I see that again? This would be a genius opening on my Facebook page tomorrow morning." Jeff had been standing there, our resident metrosexual rocking Prada from shirt to shoe. The kicker was that he was apparently into really, very rough sex - Jeff favoring being on the receiving end. He didn't think any of us knew about it. Standing before us, Jeff was laughing to himself, steadying his iphone at Lauren and me for our unsolicited close-up.
"Is your sex life so boring that you must reduce yourself to fratboy social networking postings? Jeff, like, aren’t you over 30?" Lauren quizzed him and the thought did cross my mind - had Lauren ever shared one of those kissing moments with Jeff? Then again, did it matter?
"And?" Jeff might have been swimming around in his 10th beer, but his shooting hand was steady.
"Fuck out of here." I spat, snatching the piece of technological propaganda out of his hand, taking a photo of Jeff looking shocked that I had turned the tables on him before handing him back his phone.
"You both suck." He sulked sweetly.
"You wish. That's your problem." Lauren laughed not moving an inch away from me.
"Nope. With your help, I decided that you both are officially UN-sexy. I'll leave you to your pseudo Sapphic sorcery." He replied, leaving Lauren and me to finish what she started.
"So, Meta. Finally, are you going to let me come home with you tonight?"
"*Finally*? What part of this series have I missed? Like, you've never asked me before. What are you talking about?"
"You're toying with me, Meta. Stop being coy, come on."
"Lauren. You gotta be tripping."
"I'm not. But I wish I was."
"No. You are. You're attractive. In fact, you're very beautiful. And because of that I'm gonna let you in on a little secret about me. This might be a shock, but, there is hardly anything predatory about my sexuality. While your kiss was off the charts, baby, it was phenomenal, actually. But, I have no intention on clit fucking you into oblivion, Lauren. While it might be fun for a hot minute, I know this. But, it would basically symbolize the end of our once very platonic friendship as we know it. And that would be such an atrocious transgression, that I can't have not one sexy, straight friend without fucking her."
The pout was coming. I knew it. For as long as I've known Lauren, never had it been applied to me. The feeling was new and unnerving. Those perfect lips, pursed outward, taunting me, daring me. I stopped looking at her.
"Well, if you have to put it like that, Meta, then never mind. I'm not dyking out. This has nothing to do with tiny little boxes - whose straight, whose gay. I was just digging you for that one hot moment. Not like two chicks, but two people, attracted to each other. I thought we could have fun with it. Thank you for stealing the moment and being so friggin' political. I'm officially sobered."
All I could do was laugh. If I let myself go with her - I knew I would regret it for one reason or another. Orientation, gender, anyway you bend didn't make a hell of a difference because, undeniably, Lauren was trouble. And I knew that kiss was only the beginning.