His kiss was warm and fragrant…perfectly-aged brandy and hand-rolled Cuban cigars…and as before it took my breath away. The masculine softness of his whiskers stroked my face gently as he kissed me a third time…his sweetly-urgent lips caressing mine with courtly passion…and, despite my well-founded misgivings, my head began to swim.
Last I remember, I walking out of the club…too tired of the mating game to want to play that night or any night to come…I was on my way back home to the solace of my quiet bed and my curious cat and my Norah Jones CDs. I was walking out of the club…away from the desperate din and casual come-ons…when a warm, massive hand lit on my shoulder and gently stopped me.
His dark brown eyes smiled at me…looked at me as though he had been waiting for me during all of those weeks and months that had passed since our incandescent relationship ended in acrimony…he mouthed my name…”Angela”…and I felt myself slipping under a warm ocean of passion and possibility. He said something else but the music was so loud that I couldn’t make it out. He bent forward and kissed me fleetingly and then he pulled back to gauge my reaction.
I think I nodded and smiled. “Not again, old man,” a voice inside pleaded feebly. I ignored it.
He stepped into me, resting his hands on my hips and then moving them up to my waist. I melted into him, my arms entwining him as my senses luxuriated in all of his wondrous scents and textures. We stood there…alone together in a bustling crowd of hedonistic revelers and earnest love seekers…for a short eternity before we pushed through the throng to the door.
In the cool night breeze, we spoke…shy, carnal hellos and self-conscious apologies for ages-old slights and time lost…and then we kissed again, less demure, tongues probing and hands exploring.
There was no reason to believe that this time would be different from the last time…but just the same, I believed this time would be different from the last time.
Back home in the solace of my humid bed, his touch was gentlemanly and proprietary at once…his mouth warm and comforting…his body sturdy and hirsute, sweetly fevered and anxiously yearning to please and be pleased…and I forgot about yesterday and left tomorrow to its own devices.
In the morning, his breathing as he slept gave me hopeful comfort…his ruggedly etched and weathered face gave me shivers of longing and belonging…but in one breath I vowed not to believe that this time would be different from the last time…and in the next I truly believed that this time would be different from the last time.
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