Red Hot Blues by Rachel Dunning

echoing, lustful.
    We’re in the shade, an overhang above us, the
sun fast setting, no one else around.
    My hands race down, grab a clump of her dress
and soon it’s all in my fists and up above her incredible thighs
and to her waist.
    I press. Against her. Hard, below.
    “Ah!” she yelps.
    Her eyes are closed, then open, then closed.
Lips, fighting, turning, kissing. Tongues finding each other. I
feel the roughness of hers as my full tongue laps over it.
    I melt. Die. Part of me disappears behind me,
into the highways, the trees beyond, up into the heavens.
    I’m lost in her. Lost completely. Gone,
drowning, not thinking. Just taking. Taking what I want because I do want her. I want her more than water and food and life
and—
    My hand thrusts up. And finds her. Moist.
Warm. Swollen.
    And tightening.
    “Take me,” she says, grappling with my neck,
pulling me down, widening her legs as my fingers ply desperately
into her behind her underwear.
    I move them away from her, reason suddenly
dawning on me. I can’t do this to her. I can’t hurt her like this.
I’m bad. I always run.
    But she takes a hand and pushes me
back into her.
    She’s beautiful down there, soaking, wet
velvet, soft and feminine.
    I fall on her, my hand still on her nether
lips, touching, feeling, pressing. “I’ll hurt you,” I say. “I’ll
hurt you, I promise. You don’t want me to do this.”
    “Then hurt me,” she whimpers. “Hurt me. But
you’re gonna take me now. You’re gonna take me over the edge
because I want you to.”
    “I’m not who you think I am,” I beg, still
feeling her, still kissing her ears, her eyes, her nose. And
touching her. There. Below. Fading into a mist of desire which is
Gin Waters, her eyes, her soft body, her roundness, her curves. Her
womanhood.
    Her.
    “I know who you are right now. You’re the guy
turning me on. You’re the guy with his finger just at the right
spot. And to not take me now would be the biggest fucking
insult you could ever make to a girl. Now don’t make me ask you
again. Fucking take me. Make me come and we’ll deal with the rest
later.”
    I take her.
    I thrust two fingers up into her...and push .
    She falls. Her legs give way and I hold her
up and she groans into my shirt, sweat forming on my brow,
her brow, my arm.
    I pump, thrust, feeling her moistening and
wettening and—
    Her hands fist around my shirt behind me as
she holds me, almost ripping my shirt apart, and she breathes, and
pants and—
    Muffled cries into my chest while my bicep
and forearm burns: “Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god, yes—”
    Then she squeezes all the air out of me as
the wave of ecstasy crashes and pummels into her. Her cries are
wailing stings of pleasure. She bites my shirt, catches a piece of
my nipple with it and I groan with pain. And just as she’s shaking,
shuddering, exploding in my arms, I feel one of her hands leave my
back, move down, in front of me.
    And then she holds me. There. Over my
jeans.
    And she rubs.
    It doesn’t take me long.
    And we share a moment. We share a moment that
means the world.
    We share a moment that unites us fully and
forever. One screwed-up dude. One insecure girl.
    But it’s a moment I love. It’s an intimate
moment. A moment where I feel closer to someone than I’ve ever felt
for anyone. Ever.
    And it scares the shit out of me.
    I don’t know why, but it does.
    And it makes me wanna run.

~ GIN ~
-34-
    I giggle afterwards, actually giggle —because what else is there to do?
    Every muscle in my body is chilled. I feel
like I’ve been hit with a searing shot of hot dope. (No idea what
that feels like, but I imagine it must feel something like this.) I
lean back against the cold wall, feeling the smile all across my
face.
    Wow. Wow. Wow .
    That was good. That was so good.
    I look up at him. He’s so beautiful. He’s so
out of my league. And that’s OK.
    I took a decision. I wanted him. I wanted him
badly. I like him. So I let him touch me. It’s