Maggie

book of blue's picture

Photo by Eric Francis.

So there I was at this beyond-gay party in a high-rise apartment with Manhattan as the landscape, stalking her by scent. Watching her move around the room, tracking this succulent critter and enjoying the subtlest details of her existence.

I felt amazingly, solidly sexually centered in myself. I recognized the feeling, rooted in an orgasm a day before, seeing myself with Jane on the line. She was listening, holding open the space of absolute approval of my submission of self-to-self as I faced a mirror. We do this for one another. I dropped into place, then. My soul settled into my hearth. I took that feeling with me: my sense of self-approval.

I don’t remember how or when, but next I was leaning against the island kitchen counter, facing the city, while the waiters plied their trade: hand-manufactured those cute crab salad cones and so on, and bustled off into the giddy environment of the soiree and passed around the treats. You’ll always find me in the kitchen at parties.

And then, though I don’t know how exactly, I was face to face with Maggie. That was her name.

I didn’t have to use the pickup line I knew would at least get a laugh, concealing her flattery. In my mind the meeting went like this. I walk up to her and tell her that I am trying to guess her name.

Of course she says something like, so what do you think it is? And I answer, ‘Cunnilingus’.

However, that never happened. I just ended up face to face with her, introduced, very casual, easy conversation, listening to her voice and laughing with her, admiring the details of how her dress clung to her body and craving knowledge of her scent every minute of every second, wanting to get my mouth wet with her.

A boyfriend was hovering around, a friendly guy named Steve who she showed up with and would be leaving with; the thinking/feeling type, so that was nice. I got to talking to him eventually; for the moment I had Miss Bliss in front of me, and I could ask and/or say anything I wanted. I was feeling pleasantly lusty in her presence, as she described her career as a web artist cum fashion designer. She was 27, Israeli, exemption from the military because she lived in the States, graduated New York University.

Notably, I was not vaguely intimidated by her boyfriend’s presence. I could relate directly to she, herself; and he, himself. I took this as a sign of my confidence and his respect for her. This felt really good: that fear out of the way. That simple honoring of individuality even though someone is or appears to be ‘in a relationship’.

Finding out I am am astrologer, the conversation shifted to their signs; and they turned out to both be Geminis.

What’s that about? Can two Geminis get along together? My reply surprised me a bit, or rather how calmly I said it did; which was: I would love to watch you both fuck. That double Gemini thing would be fun.

Actually though, my underlying erotic motive was to see her get sexed. To take a breath of her surrender, which I would be happy to do on any terms.

(Posted at Book of Blue)

5
Your rating: None Average: 5 (1 vote)
Syndicate content
Powered by Drupal, an open source content management system