By the time I pulled into the parking lot, he was already there waiting for me in his car.
The apologies start walking down the red carpet of my tongue. I’m sorry I’m late, I’m sorry. I got out of work late & then I got stuck driving behind Grandpa Grunt and I hit every red light like they owed me money. I’m so sorry.
He just smiles at me. “Hey, wanna live dangerously & actually sit in my car?” I grin at him, grab my keys and climb in the passenger side. He shifts his body to face me and hands me a little stuffed flamingo, “Now that I know you collect these.” He then hands me a cup of coffee, “Black, like you like it.” In one of our first conversations with each other, he had asked me how I take my coffee—so he would know what the beginning of our first coffee date would look like. He was paying attention, he had remembered. I am so touched by the gesture that I just smile, dazedly, at the cup of coffee, my fingers wound round it. It isn’t till I briefly look up and meet his gaze that I realize I am so overwhelmed by being so close to him that I forgot to take my black heart-shaped sunglasses off. I take them off, fold them closed like a letter and look back at him. His dark eyes are fringed with long lashes. We look at each other for about 2 seconds before we collide. His mouth covers mine and he kisses me so hard I can’t breathe. Normally, I would pull back, my instinct to always make sure I can get away if I need to. But with him? I push into it, into his hunger for me. I take it and give it back.
We kiss each other, starved for the taste of each other, that which has been denied thus far. I feel like we might consume each other completely with our need. Finally we pull apart to center ourselves & slow down. We rest our foreheads against each other, just catching our breath. It is so gentle, so intimate. After a few minutes, he kisses my beauty mark, my forehead. Between kissing me he whispers how beautiful he thinks I am, how much he loves my lips. I still have a hard time meeting his gaze. He tells me how I’m a treasure. I laugh. He grabs my chin and tries to get me to look him in the eyes, “Why is that so funny?” I grab my coffee and sip to avoid answering. We lean back and I snuggle into him. Our hands are a seam sewed together. Strong, unbreakable threads. We talk about our days, as we drink our coffee, our thumbs stroking each other. After a while we release hands and I lightly caress the inside of his hand. He likes that. He tells me he never noticed that I have freckles in my pictures. I rearrange my wavy hair so it covers my face completely, a fiery mop of messy red. He laughs that I’m embarrassed. I push my hair back, shyly looking at him. He is looking at me so intensely I feel more naked than I ever have felt in my life. And I am fully clothed. He grabs my hand, kissing it, biting the fleshy part at the base of my thumb. “Is this ok?” he whispers, looking up at me. I nod. “If you’re uncomfortable, let me know, ok?” He looks at me and then licks between my fingers with just the tip of his tongue. Jesus Christ.
In my nervousness, I cling to my coffee cup and just look down at it, even as he laps at the fingers of my other hand. Finally, he takes the coffee out of my hand and puts it back in the cupholder…then he draws me close to him and kisses me again, this time much more commanding. I make little noises as I kiss him and lean in to get more. His strong hands grab my bottom, holding my body up against him & kneading it as we make out. He begins to kiss down my neck so gently. Threading a sentence together between his kisses. Are. Kiss. You. Kiss. Ok. Kiss. I am just about to answer him when I open my eyes & lock gazes with a very amused looking young man standing outside his car window with the food MC ordered for pickup. Oh, I forgot we were 17 year olds at Makeout Point. MC apologizes and the guy laughs and tells him it’s fine, that he’s been caught too. Meanwhile, I just cackle, feeling just a trifle high with joy & embarrassment in the passenger seat.
After we are interrupted, we snuggle next to each other, unable to hold back from lightly touching each other, as we talk and laugh. We feel bonded, our fingertips drawing out goosebumps on skin. Throughout the whole time we’re in the car, he checks in at intervals to make sure I’m ok, especially when he uses teeth or a firm grip on the curves of my body. He tells me, “I know you’ve told me that sensations are difficult for you…that you don’t experience them. I am trying to apply more pressure, but I am also afraid of hurting you because of my size.” The fact that he understands my damage so well, that he wants to meet my needs, makes me feel safe with him. This feeling turns me on almost as much as his mouth on mine.
And so the rest of our time goes…alternating between conversation and giddiness and heat. Finally, he tells me he probably has to go in a few minutes. He asks if we can just hug each other for a minute. We turn to each other and just hold each other. He whispers in my ear, “Ya know, Roxy? This just feels right.” He’s right. It is one of the only times I can remember where I truly have relaxed into a hug. I am completely unaware of where my body ends and another begins & somehow not panicking about the invasion of my person. I rest my head on his shoulder and try to memorize the feeling.
Later, we are talking online and I express my gratitude for his carefulness with me. He tells me he was afraid all his “check ins” would put a damper on the mood, but that he knows I’ve “been through a lot and have a complicated limbic reaction to the world.” Because of this, he felt that he needed to make sure he was being respectful and taking proper care of me. Goddamn, he nailed it.
He asks me if he can see me next Thursday again. Our new standing engagement during the Plague Times. How can I not say yes? After all, this man brought me black coffee, a pink flamingo & a scalding red embrace that feels like an address I want to call home.
Song Choice: When You Are Smiling and Astride Me by Father John Misty
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