She smiles and gets up. “Stop by sometime, if you want another look at the place. Whenever you’ve got—twenty minutes, or whatever.”
“Right.”
“Let me see you out.”
And, delicately, I follow her to the door, which she opens for me. There is so much I want to say—could say—but instead, I slip quietly out, the fabric that used to house her ass now rubbing softly against mine. It is the feeling that reminds me, as I pass through the scent from the first floor that brings me all the way to the East Village and back here again, as I flee down the block to my date at the fag bar, that there’s still a place for me in this city, even if it’s farther away on the L train and nothing—nothing like anything I have ever felt before.
Fireworks over Atlanta
Karen L. Perry
The fast, rhythmic beat of a high-energy song faded into the softer tones of a romantic ballad before I finally took a break and walked up out of the dance pit at Atlanta’s hottest lesbian club, Triple Tips. The back of my shirt and the waistband of my pants were soaking wet. Sweat was running down my face, dripping from my short brown hair. I had been dancing for more than an hour.
Rianna, my friend and one of the club’s owners, met me at the top of the steps. Placing a cold Budweiser in my hand, she said, “It’s about time you took a breather, Nicky. If everyone in here danced as much as you did without buying beer, we’d go out of business.”
I knew she was kidding. She and her partner, Claire, were making money hand over fist. Lesbians were lined up outside waiting for a chance to get in. After pushing aside a slew of empty beer bottles and cocktail glasses, I rested my arm on the railing overlooking the dance floor. “Rianna, my friend, I think you’re going to do just fine, even if I never pay for another drink. This club was a great idea.”
“Maybe too great!” Rianna laughed as she leaned against my side so I could hear her over the music. “We had no idea how popular it would be. We’ve already gotten two citations for overcrowding, and Claire is talking about expanding. She wants to buy out the bookstore next door and tear down the walls.”
We stood in companionable silence as we watched the women in the club. The final notes of the sultry ballad ended and the slow-dancing couples broke apart, many of them leaving the dance floor as the rapid bass beats of a new song began. My body began to move again of its own accord.
As a professional photographer, I prefer to spend most of my time in the wilderness. I love capturing images of the pure, untainted beauty of nature that has not yet been destroyed by the hands of man. I’m lucky enough to make a living from it. I was in Atlanta, far from the small, Tennessee cabin that I call home, only because Rianna had begged me to accept a temporary job for the city’s new tourism campaign.
The money was good, and I wanted to see my friends, but the true draw was the music. I could live the rest of my life without a fast food restaurant, a shopping mall, or even a blacktopped road, but I need the music. The console of my truck is crammed with CDs and my stereo at home is always on, but a radio can’t duplicate the feel and smell of a dance floor crowded with sexy women.
Rianna nudged my shoulder. “There’s someone else who prefers to dance alone.”
I searched the crowd, only seeing divisions of two, until she poked me again, pointing to a woman near the back corner. From my vantage point above the dance floor, I could clearly see the lone dancer, and I felt an immediate appreciation. She was beautiful, with long, silky blond hair that cascaded like one of nature’s most perfect waterfalls. Her eyes were closed as she allowed the music to fill her, to move her with sounds and tones that were obviously stirring deeply inside her.
I felt a rising, a swelling in my body, as I studied her sleek, trim physique. Black stiletto heels cradled her ankles, and the strongly defined muscles of her calves were flawlessly clear as she moved her long, sexy legs to the rhythm. I followed her thighs upward until they disappeared under the hem of a tiny black leather miniskirt that clung to the curves of her perfect ass.
My eyes were glued to that skirt, mesmerized by the way light reflected from the fabric. Her midriff, bare above the skirt and below a tiny little top that lifted her breasts high, called to me. I wanted my hand on that skin, but I drew back abruptly as another hand, the hand of a stranger, trailed across her flesh.
My girl—that’s what I called her because I already thought of her as mine—drew back as well, which pleased me. With the flick of her wrist, she dislodged the unwelcome hand from her body and resumed dancing. I clutched my beer bottle by its neck and watched. Women of all shapes and sizes were moving in on her. There were butches, femmes, and those in between. She was drawing them like flies to honey, but one by one, she shot them down. She continued to dance alone.
I had tuned Rianna out. I might as well have been isolated on top of one of the world’s most remote mountains, because all that mattered to me at that moment was watching the blonde. Even though she was in the dance pit and I was high above her at the railing, our bodies were already moving as one. We had the same natural rhythm in our bones.
My beer bottle was empty and I set it down among the others. A waitress would find it later. I had to go to her.
“Where you going?” Rianna shouted as she pulled the sleeve of my shirt. “Ah, Nicky! She just wants to be left alone.”
I ignored her as I made my way to the steps and down to the multicolored, flashing squares of the dance floor. Strobe lights bounced off a disco ball that hung from the ceiling, and others played festively over the dancing throng that was brimming with raw sexuality. Hands were clinging boldly to lovers’ asses, disappearing under shirts to tweak jutting nipples that begged to be tweaked. The music, along with dark lighting, was the catalyst; it made everything possible.
I skirted along the edge of the dance floor, allowing pulsing music to move me closer to her. I was watchful, hoping that no one else had moved in. She was still alone, her eyes closed, her head tossed back as she danced. I moved cautiously, making no attempts to touch her. I settled in beside her, having no intentions of leaving.
My girl was an island; no one else existed to her. The floor literally shook with the movements of the mass of lesbians that had crammed inside of Triple Tips, but she was oblivious to it all, much like I preferred to be. Before I saw her, I had spent the night on the dance floor in the same kind of solitude. I had shoved aside potential partners as they intruded upon me, not interested in anyone until her.
I no longer wanted to be alone.
When I reached her, I willed her eyes to open. They were indigo blue, the color of the deepest ocean. I watched her gaze at me, appraising me. I wanted her to see the hunger in my eyes, the promise of pleasure on my lips as I smiled rakishly at her. I concealed nothing of the sexual desire I felt just from dancing near her.
When she didn’t step away, I bravely lifted a hand and wrapped it in her long, blond tresses. Her eyes closed again. I took a step closer, holding my breath as I pushed my hips into her. I shuddered in pleasure as she welcomed my presence by snaking a hand around my neck, pulling me tighter. Grabbing her hips, I boldly inched her miniskirt higher, sliding my thigh between her legs.
The music was electric, alive with enough voltage to blow the roof from the building, but it was a poor imitation of the current flowing between us. The pulse of the music pounded through the giant speakers and into our bodies. I reveled in the joy of having her in my arms, the overwhelming sexy feel of her skin under my hands and her legs entwined with mine.
Her hand slid down my back and up my rib cage, and I gasped when her thumbs brushed across my hard nipples. Tilting her head sideways, I pushed through her hair with my lips until I captured her mouth. She tasted like honey, and there was no hesitancy in the kiss, no tentative nibbles, as I set about devouring her. I thrust my tongue inside. When she sucked it deeper, a jolt of raw sexual energy tore through my clit. I thought that I was going to come on the dance floor.
It was two a.m. w
hen we finally left the bar. I still didn’t know her name, only that I had to have her and that she was sitting beside me in my truck. She played with the short spikes of hair that grew near my ears, occasionally letting her finger dip teasingly inside the ridges, as I struggled to drive us to the guest apartment above Rianna and Claire’s garage where I was staying. I had one hand on the wheel; the other was between her thighs, tracing delicate patterns along the smooth skin between her knees and the edge of her skirt.
As I pulled into the driveway, I popped the clutch, allowing the engine to die. Techno dance music continued to play from my radio even as my truck rolled to a stop. I reached below me and threw back the lever, then slid the seat all the way back.
“Come here,” I demanded as I wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting and turning her so that she sat facing me.
My mouth was hungry for the taste of her and she seemed just as eager. I held her face, swallowing the deep, sultry moans coming from her throat. Her hands were clinging to my hair, pulling me closer. When our kiss finally broke, she buried my face between her soft breasts.
She sat astride me and I desperately clung to her. We were both breathing frantically as she pulled my shirt over my head. “Take this off,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
My nipples were rock hard, straining toward her as she pulled them into her mouth. I was writhing to meet her as she ground down. I wanted to be naked, and I wanted to be inside of her. Reaching behind her, I slid my hands across the smooth leather of her skirt and quivered as I felt her lift slightly so that I could peel it up her hips. Within seconds, I had pushed aside the sexy thong of her underwear and buried my hand inside of her.
“Oh God! Yes!”
She was dripping wet, flowing down my palm and over my wrist as she rode me. Her inner muscles clung, sliding over my fingers like a velvet glove that grew tighter with each thrust. I sucked her tongue into my mouth, mimicking the strokes of my hand, until she lifted even higher, until her head was pressed up against the roof of my truck. She inhaled sharply and stayed that way, seemingly frozen while I triggered her clit with my thumb.
My own body was living vicariously, absorbing the pleasure that was carrying her. When everything finally coalesced into one mind-blowing, body-melting orgasm, she dropped down with a guttural scream that matched my own, impaling herself more firmly onto my hand. With a final shudder, she fell backward against the steering wheel and I eased from within her.
I was breathing heavily, trying to catch my breath. My eyes were riveted to the tiny stream of sweat that coursed down her chest and into the valley between her breasts. Her eyes were closed as I traced its path with my finger, then with my lips. I could taste her nectar that my finger had left behind, and I stroked it hungrily with the flat of my tongue.
Her eyes were midnight blue when she captured my face between her hands. “Take me inside.”
I opened the truck door and helped her stand, but my own legs were weak. I held on to her. I had left my shirt wherever she had thrown it, and the cool night air made my nipples grow more erect. The aureoles were puckered, looking like mighty mountain ranges encircling the highest peaks. Her eyes were magnetically drawn to them and I heard her whimper as she drew one into her mouth while her fingers captured the other. My legs gave way at the sensations firing through me. I would have fallen if she had not wrapped a strong arm around me.
The heat of her mouth was causing me to burn. I wanted to force her to her knees, to have that tongue between my thighs, buried in my cunt. I was pressing on her shoulder when a car pulled into the driveway. I could see the lights drawing closer through the trees. I knew it was only Rianna and Claire, but I wasn’t interested in putting on a show for my friends. I wanted my girl inside where I could ravish her in the privacy of my own apartment.
It took an infinite amount of willpower, but I finally managed to pull her from the task of bathing my skin with her lips. Her eyes seemed glazed with the same passion I felt in my blood. I stole another kiss, then picked her up. After carrying her up the stairs, I hurriedly closed the apartment door and set her down near the bed.
In the light of the room, I noticed that her skirt was still above her hips. The small underwear did nothing to hide the voluptuous cheeks of her ass. I stepped behind her, felt her shiver as I cupped her behind in my hands. She moaned, pressing backward. I unfastened her top, allowing it to slide down her arms. Her breasts were heaving with pleasure as I held them in my hands for the first time.
She was captivating, and I relished the feel of my own breasts pressed against the bare skin of her back, the satiny softness of her hair. Wrapping my arms around her hips, I gently traced the tops of her thighs until I reached the tiny triangle of fabric that hid her pussy from me. I wanted to take the panties off, but first I ran my fingers between her legs, loving the feel of wetness that I had caused. She moaned urgently as she reached up, trying to capture my head in her hands.
“Not so fast this time, baby,” I cooed as I sidestepped, pushing her onto the bed. Lifting her feet, I untied the delicate leather straps of her shoes, massaged her feet. I allowed my fingers to trail up her legs. Her skin was soft, like fine silk, and my mouth soon followed the path upward.
She grew impatient as I teased her. When I reached her panties, she ripped them out of my way. She grunted in frustration when I rose from the bed and stood over her. She was nude with the exception of the skirt.
I caught her eyes with mine and held her captive. I wanted her to wait, and she knew it. I walked around her, watching the way her urgent breathing caused her body to move, the pent-up sexual energy that caused her to writhe with anticipation.
When I’m working with my camera, I often sit with the subject that catches my eye for several minutes before I ever load film. I like to absorb things from all angles until I find the one that captures the full value of my focus. With my girl, it was impossible to find just one perfect viewpoint. They were all perfect; she was perfect.
My hands itched with the desire to take her picture, but they also hungered for so much more. I kicked off my shoes, then held her gaze as I unbuttoned the fly of my jeans, letting them fall to the floor. I stood before her naked. She looked at me, her eyes brushing over my skin, leaving me feeling touched. Her eyes closed again—oh so slowly—as she ran the tip of one finger across her own breast. I held my breath as she took her nipple between two fingers and pinched. Arching her back, she shifted her knees, opening herself to me, like the finest flower revealing its inner petals for me alone.
I lost all restraint. I was on my knees, ravenously engulfing her with my lips, tongue, and hands. Her rich, musky scent caused me to melt into a puddle between her thighs. I ate her until she came again, this time arching so high that the force of it picked us both up from the bed. I tried to hold on, but the next thing I knew, I was lying on my back on the floor.
A number of images that I had enlarged and mounted on matting board had been knocked off the table and lay strewn around us. I was trying to push aside a photo of Atlanta’s tallest building, the Bank of America Plaza, when I felt her tug my legs. She was parting them, and I screamed in pleasure as she knelt and drew my extended clit into her mouth without warning. I was so hard, so ready for her, that it was painful.
She knew me without knowing me at all. I still had no clue what her name was, nor she mine, but my body was hers to do with as she willed. When she lifted her chin, slipping one, two, three fingers inside, she filled me with heat that touched a place that had never been touched. Fireworks exploded inside my head, between my thighs as she plunged and sucked my flesh.
When I awoke, early morning light was seeping between the slits of the blinds. My bedroom was in complete disarray. Stacks of photos that I had labored over diligently were tossed about carelessly, like a scattered deck of cards. Rich images of the Atlanta Botanical Gardens, Centennial Park, the Governor’s Mansion, Piedmont Park, and the Woodruff Arts Center lay about the room.
One o
f my favorite photos, the one that I thought would really sell to the committee putting together the new brochure, was lying sideways near the door. It was a time-release image of vibrant red, white, and blue fireworks exploding just above the skyline. I had set my camera on a tripod and left the shutter open, allowing the film to capture one explosion after another in the same frame. The photo captured the fluid movement of colorful sparks as they slowly sank toward the ground.
With my girl still pressed to my side, I knew that I could have stayed in the jumbled clutter all day in spite of the fact the bed was a mess. The covers were on the floor, and the sheets had been pulled from their moorings.
I was completely sated, but I felt a new stirring deep in my center as she shifted, her long hair brushing across my shoulder. At one point during the night, she had knelt above me, caressing my skin with her locks. She had not left an inch of flesh untouched. I wanted to wake her, to have her do it again, but my bladder was bursting. Her arm was across my chest, a leg pressed between my own. Moving slowly, I slid out from under her, smiling when she whimpered and snuggled deeper into my pillow.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off her body as I walked to the bathroom. She was so spectacularly gorgeous that I froze. Last night, when I had wanted to so badly that it hurt, I couldn’t take her picture. With her sleeping, there were no barriers. Holding my new digital Nikon DX2, I tripped the power switch and read the light settings. After making adjustments, I allowed the flash to power up. I knew that I probably only had one shot because the light would wake her, but I took my chances. There was an oak trunk at the foot of the bed and I cautiously climbed upon it.
Peering down through the lens, I felt cream building between my thighs from just looking at her. Her hair lay around her shoulders and fanned down across her chest. One breast was hidden, but the very tip of the other peeked through blond locks, like a delicate bud about to bloom. Her ribs and tight abdominal muscles were etched with the faintest of shadows, making them appear delicate and exquisitely feminine. Her long legs were bent slightly sideways, and the tiny miniskirt still clung to her hips, hiding all but the finest wisps of curly hair between her legs. Her face was relaxed against the pillow, her lips slightly parted as if welcoming a lover’s kiss, my kiss.
Stolen Moments Page 2
