Wednesday, November 17, 2010


The ribbed texture of the concrete wall grates on my upper back. “Does it hurt?” you ask. I want to tell you that the resistance feels good. I want to tell you how much I love being pushed. But even if you’re trouble, you’re still new. There’s much to learn about me, and that side will come out in due time.

In my heels I almost look down to you. Almost, but not quite. I’d look down if I wasn’t rolling my eyes up, around, uncontrollably, because you’ve bit down into the muscle up the side of my neck. I want to resist, but I can’t. You bite down harder, harder, into the thin layers of my epidermis and then suck the heat off as you release me. A breath of air slips out between my lips; I had no idea I was holding it in. I hear the moan as it escapes, and my ribs expand to fill my corset.

I knew you were trouble when I met you. All right….all I had was a hunch. But my intuition is good, even if I don’t listen to the feelings often enough.

I looked down and there you were, climbing up the winding staircase, my fantasy reversed. In my head it’s me coming down, the train of my dress lingering on the previous step, hand on the rail for balance. That fantasy doesn’t belong to us – never will. But there you were, skinny tie in hand, climbing slowly toward me. I looked down on you. I swirled the wine in my glass and for a moment, I froze. Your smile caught me, the grin of the cheshire cat, curling up at the edges. That’s when I was sure that you were trouble.

“What do you want to do tonight, after we leave here?”

My answer came, simple and unassuming. “Whatever you’d like. We could get a drink or go dance. What are you thinking?”

Your eyes sparkled, but I heard the tease in your voice. “No. What do you really want to do?”

I looked directly into your eyes, unflinching. I wish I could say it was the five glasses of wine talking, but the truth is, even sober I’m direct.

“If I had my way, I’d take you home and fuck you right now.”

The warmth of the Quarter rushed at me as we walked down the cobblestone streets. Even in fall, the heat lingered, almost unfazed. You took my fingers in yours, and I realized the heat didn’t belong to New Orleans, but to us. You stepped ahead, and I stopped, pulled your hand taunt, twirling you into me. Your laugh bounced off eighteenth century windowpanes, across iron balconies. We were steps away from where twenty-seven men died in a gay bar arson. We stumbled on streets marked by duels, once filled with Spanish women heading to market and Creole aristocrats vying for the hands of ladies in parlors. Now this block was marked by tourist bars and purse-snatchings, backroom massage parlors and girls earning their tips dancing on the bar. Our past, our reality, for better or worse. The steps of thousands of couples tread here before ours. The driver of an SUV honked and whistled at us. I pulled you in closer, wrapped your arms around my waist. You pushed the falling hairs away from my face. I worried, I worried, I worried – would we get jumped? Harassed? You kissed me – and the cars, the drunken frat boy crowds, the tour buses and stumbling tourists –


I could feel only the parting of your lips.

We grabbed beers and put them in go cups. Sloshed them on the streets, though I was careful not to let my heels and newly painted toenails get wet. Music came from every open door, not the roar of big, live jazz, but the overplayed moans of top 40 and rap. We were on the wrong side of the Quarter. She is a goddess of many faces, but I strayed from these cisgender, homophobic, privileged, tourist traps and their drunken unpredictability. I pulled you through the streets, pausing to cross, to kiss, to spin, to laugh. Pausing to look into your eyes again and remember that you are Trouble. To remember to forget to remember.

We slinked into a back alley, shuttered by the hotels and office towers of the Business District, and I pulled you into me, you pushed me into the wall, I felt the defiance, physically, emotionally, sexually, but I found your mouth just the same. Open. Messy. A bare hint of hops. Eyes closed, I wrapped your tie around my wrist and pulled you in, closer. Your hands fell against my thighs and I resisted, slightly, as you pushed my hips back into the concrete. The breaths came fast and hard, now, harder when you bit, louder when you tugged my hair, pulling my head to once side to better sink your teeth deep into my neck. My moans came louder, faster. A single car sped by, lights flashing across us for a split second, glancing off the black silk of my dress.

I slid my fingers down, deep, into your back pockets, pulling you down into your center of gravity. I found your earlobe with my tongue, bit down, clawed my nails into the triangle of your shoulder blades. A lone man walked across the nearby intersection, and my eyes darted away from him. I clutched you tight, hoped he didn’t see our shadows wrestling. You buried into my chest, breathing the thin layer of sweat across my chest, and I felt your fingers dancing up the inside of my thigh, spreading my legs ever so gently. The man passed out of sight, and you pulled my lace thong to the side. Your two fingers slid in, deep, fast, sharp, and I sucked in a huge moan. My silk dress grated on the concrete. I felt my knees give in, weight falling in to my heels. Your fingers curled, lighting up each nerve ending, twirling in, out, the soft calluses on your thumb rubbing circles around my clit. When you bit down, hard, on my bottom lip, I started to beg, whimpering “more” as my hips shook, ribcage almost expanding out of the corset with each breath, moans sticking in my throat until the air leapt out. 

More. More. More.

Your fingers picked up a pulse and I felt the muscular wall of my cunt straining tighter. In. Out. Around. Deeper. Reaching in, hard, pushing my g-spot, twirling, in, slipping out, open, closed, around, in. In. My breaths came fast. I held the loudest moans in, but even the soft ones bounced off the concrete and steel. You bit down, once more, teeth catching on the thin line between pleasure and pain. My eyes rolled up, closed, cunt clenched, and electricity connected every nerve ending in my body.

The breath came out slow. Your eyes shined, almost too bright, caught in the glare of the streetlamp down the block. I slid my hands between your pants and your skin, dipping tentatively into your sides, and pulled your 
hips into mine hard. My gaze came thick, spread like fog across the streets. Yours came tentative, cocky, unassuming, unsure, wound up, all at once. 

“Why do you cause me so much trouble?” 

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