[Cult] Fiction #003: One of These Nights

-Sam HaiNe (@S_HaiNe82)

She had been feeling depressed all day. Leah was always the dramatic one of her half siblings. It took a total of three Blue Hawaiian cocktails and a cheap punchline from her date to even make her smile. His name was vaguely familiar at this point. She stopped paying attention to anything he said. All she had to do was just look him in the eye and try not to be obvious as she fixated on his lips. She softly chewed on the tip of her tongue as he spoke with every syllable perfectly annunciated from those full lips of his. She gave a gentle grin at the end of each tangent; glancing up each time into those hazel eyes that resembled drops of amber over the candlelit dinner.

He was just settling his nerves and finding a rhythm to his cadence. His date attire was borrowed from his friend, Stan; a well put together member of responsible society. The shoes were on sale at Kmart. The underwear is Bruce Wayne. The socks were yesterdays. He met her on line for tickets at the Trocadero. He was nervous then and is still on eggshells tonight. All he can do is keep the conversation light but palpable; maintain eye contact; look interested but not desperate. Every time she tilts her head during one of his stories, he can feel himself stiffen with want. Her caramel complexion, her flawless, smooth skin and her beautiful mouth was enough to tell a dozen stories. She was enough in his eyes.

The table had been cleared, except for the remaining drinks. He continued to plow through his story concerning a mutual interest. “Francis”. He enjoyed this occasion to finally talk to someone into the same things. “Francis”. It was a relief and a pleasure to finally let it fly without judgement. “Francis”. Here was someone he could really share his time with. “Francis!”.

Finally, she directed his attention to the bill on the table. She found it amusing how nervous he was. Like a cute puppy wrapped nicely in neat gift wrapping. She offered to either pay the tip or split the total. He insisted on paying the damage and she agreed on tipping the waiter, Mr. Fitzsimmons.

She excused herself to the restroom. He waited for her outside and concentrated on other things besides his hard on. Prior to the date he had streamed two scenes of pornography to lull his libido. His thoughts were going like fireworks. Leah creeped behind him and hugged him from behind. Fortunately his wood had diminished at this point but not for long.

The car was last year’s model. The time was after midnight. The streets were hollowed out canals of nightlife, still wet from the evening drizzle. His Dodge smelled like cigarettes. His chillwave playlist shuffled as they drove off the lot.

“Do you like this music?” he asked.

Leah didn’t mind; “Its fine babe” she said.

At this point an air-conditioner could’ve fallen onto the hood of the car and he wouldn’t mind if she didn’t.

He drove passed Ray’s Happy Birthday Bar, up Ninth Street, across South, and around Washington Square Park. The conversations were sparse but genuine. He lowered his window after a sheet of sweat came across his face. He used every red light to glance at her. He imagined what it would be like to touch her. She couldn’t wait to kiss him. He could smell her perfume and it was like spring. She smiled thinking about what it would be like.

Francis stopped in front of her place at 24 Bank Street in Old City. The moment of truth had finally arrived and he hesitated to make the first move. It was a poker match in pantomime; she took a moment in silence to see if he was willing to show his hand but, he mistakenly called check.

She still invited him inside her apartment for coffee. But he declined because, it was getting late and he had work in a few hours. She leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips with a goodnight. His face blushed and his shyness got the better of him. He walked backwards three steps before turning to his car. She watched him walk away. She licked her lips to get a better taste of him. She watched his V-shaped back as he moved; fixating on his small waist as it ascended to those broad shoulders. She wanted him... but he didn’t know any better. “See you soon, Hoss”, she cracked before entering her home.

“Most definitely” he said.
He didn’t drive off at first. He played it cool like he didn’t want to march up to her door. He wanted to. Instead he sat there at the wheel staring at his dashboard while My Bloody Valentine played.

He drove around the neighborhood a few times and skipped through tracks on his system but, they were all filled to the rim with subtext:

“Master and Servant” by Depeche Mode, “Eyes On You” by Jocko Marcellino, “I Need You Tonight” by ZZ Top, “Helpless(I Don’t Know)” by Urbanized ft. Silvano, “Superheroes” by Esthero, “Felicia” by LayBac, “Fire of Autumn” by Tindersticks, “I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend” by The Ramones, “House Call” by Maxi Priest, “Unfinished Sympathy” by Massive Attack, “Blue Buddha” by My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult, “One of These Nights” by the Eagles

A few turns of the wheel, a parking space four blocks away and he was right back where he wanted to be. He knocked on the door three times. She answered wearing her nightgown. His first steps into the apartment. Her first words silenced. His hands touched her skin and her hands on his face. Their lips meet and words are muted. Nothing is sacred. Nothing is reserved. She resists at first but, returns the aggression as it’s given. She smiles. He tenses. Clothes are peeled away. It was skin on skin. His breathes are deep and amorous. Her body is firm and doesn’t give to easily. His physicality is willing and his intentions carnal. Her position dominated as the walls began to close in. Deeper and deeper, they go into the void where identities lose their extremity. Nothing is sacred. Nothing reserved. No regrets. They twist and writhe on the floor without a care in the world. Moist & hot and when their bodies can’t give, they collapse. She looks at him with glazed eyes and a satiated grin. “He was such a good boy all night”, she thought. But that was then… She knows this is a different person than the one who dropped her off earlier. They both fall behind their eyelids and into sleep, with nowhere else worth going to.

Sam HaiNe is a writer of short stories and flash fiction. He is the creator & writer of Hainesville (facebook.com/allhailming). He also contributes the Monthly Retro Movie Review for NewRetroWave.com. Photo by Sam HaiNe