“Everything is green,” she tells me idly, although I know it isn’t true. The sky is lit blue and the trees are still naked and bare and brown. The city is (still) swathed in varying shades of gray and grime, desperately waiting for Spring rains to wash the traces of Winter away.
Her face was fair and freckled, with only the slightest traces of makeup, and she tells me despite her blonde hair that she’s “some part” Irish and that’s what she really means. I laugh and tell her that I will kiss only “some part” of her then, and this is how we play (sometimes).
A carry-on is stuffed and sitting in the hall and she’s left the handle pulled up, and a tote hangs from it. Next to it is a larger, bulkier suitcase. Both are bulging and threaten to explode with clothing. And this is how I can tell that she can’t stay long. Sure, her jeans peeled off easily and she wore a baggy sweatshirt bearing the name of her college that went up and over her head easily. She didn’t rush or hurry or give me any indication that she had to go, but then again she knows me well enough by now: I figure things out.
But I’m also good at putting things at the back of my mind, like the truth that three months apart is an eternity. That Skype and iChat and FaceTime and even just phone calls won’t be the same as holding her in my arms and feeling her bare skin against mine.
And maybe this is why when we stopped talking and let our hands instead communicate with each other, fingers interlocking (or maybe when our lips wouldn’t part for longer than one breath) I looked into her eyes and maybe said a few words in my mind that I shouldn’t have. As if she could hear me, she looked away (eyes to the corner) and then back with a fiercer stare.
She slid against my body with little friction and let herself down on my cock without a sound. Arms wrapped around my neck, she bit her lip and held her breath but we didn’t speak. Our foreheads touched and my hands were at her waist and we sunk into the bed deeper and deeper. And even as we rolled over we held each other closer and closer despite the pushing of hips and the clenching of legs and the room spinning and going black as I’m sure I didn’t breathe for a long while.
I wanted to commit the curves of her body to memory. To swim in the feel of her pussy around me, to breathe nothing but the air from her lips. I was drowning myself, to burn the feel-sight-taste-sound-smell of her into my mind.
This is how we were, for the last time in what would be a long time, hips meeting in tenderness while our mouths stuck with peltering kisses that stole away even more air. I cupped her breasts softly as if to confirm that they were there, and that my hands were just there too. The pace quickened, and we both knew it, and maybe felt rushed now, but it wasn’t that much of a worry because she was cumming and so was I and that was very important.
Time passes so quickly (sometimes).
We lay still but then dressed quickly and she used the bathroom while I got her bags and we hailed a cab outside. And her hair was blonde and face was freckled and everything was green.