While there was enough of an argument to wait until the weekend, maybe it was the tension building throughout the week that snapped like so much still weight seated atop brittle straw that we found Thursday’s emails (ever-so creatively titled “Thursday”) bouncing back and forth transforming into plans for meeting for drinks after work, with no mention of dinner or beyond.

The rain stiffly shaken off our shoulders (shared umbrellas being a risky proposition while dodging slower foot traffic) we snatched two stools at the far end of the bar, with the thick and heavy darkness creeping in around us from the mahogany-wood surroundings; an off-putting end to a gloomy and drenched week. And it was soon too dark for me to see (and thus playfully tease her about) the pink and yellow-polka-dotted Wellingtons on her feet, and for her to accurately make out the subtle expressions on my face (which were intended to charmingly take the sting off those jabs at the rubberized footwear) that we escaped, dragging only a mild buzz in tow, to the nearest over-commercialized and over-illuminated coffee chain establishment where the humidity and caffeine-laden sweaty air clung to the inside surface of the wall of windows, clouding the view of the street in a fog both thick and musty, with the air conditioning only creating a distinctly depressive chill that a mouthful of poorly Anglicized (and arguably butchered) Italian words did little to fend off.

And still, or yet (and maybe because of all this) the closing clauses of carefree conversation drew our faces closer in tighter and tighter spirals, the words themselves waning in importance to the flirtatious smirk slung from curling corner to corner of her lips, until it was the inevitable feathering weight of fingertips on each other’s hands and the soft but purposeful bump of knees under the table that gave way to more deliberate actions: the coordinated quick rise from the seats (and the hawkish, sly swoop into our still-warm seats by another standing-but-presently-sitting couple), a gathering of things and disposing of the empty coffee cup waste as we climbed into a cab with her quickly barking cross streets.

The playful jousting of hands (and arms) (and legs) grew forceful, mindful; until (even with the splotches of light pouring into the cab from the cars waiting in the intersecting streets and the eyes of the cab driver peering at us in the rearview mirror) our faces neared and lips met and just maybe the jostling of the car was enough for the kiss to sizzle brighter and hotter than either of the light pecks concluding the first (a “with-friends” wine-and-cheese tasting) and second (a Sunday brunch and slightly-more-intimate slow talk-‘n’-walk in a park) dates.

With money thrown (sloppily tossed through the tiny plexiglass window) at the driver and a (forgettable, as I don’t recall either of our footsteps landing funny) stumble out of the cab and up to the landing with the door, the fumbling of keys (and their deafening jingling) from her purse and a turn of the knob we slipped into the hall and to her apartment, the flipping of light switches (in alien locations), and a hollow offer of a drink (formalities), we were seated a little too close together on her (too soft) sofa, stunned maybe by the silence that now circled around us like shark fins peeking above swirling ripples in the water. And (like every happy accident) we spoke at the same time and it didn’t matter exactly what words were meant to be said as the quiet was quickly banished with the sharp intake of air before the brushing of noses angling past each other and lips crushing each other turning into the soft slips of breath between tongues now meticulously mapping each other’s reach-touch-taste-texture.

Our ears filled with the sounds of fabric rustling and rubbing, the awkward first touches maturing (with the murmured grunts and soft monosyllabic sounds as encouragement) into tactically aimed presses and grabs of skin hiding just beneath the clothing. And with a slip (or slide) (or shift) of her body on top of mine, her hair falling over our faces, her opaque black stockinged legs opening over my thigh (as far as her skirt would allow) with knee dragging up my leg, we found our shirts’ hems coming out so easily from our respective waistlines and buttons coming undone at the mere touch of fingertips.

And it was a push or pull indicating our tenuous balance on the couch that we untangled, rose, and with a hand leading mine, crept further into the apartment (this time without the flicking-on of light switches) and to a soft bed where our bodies quickly resumed their position only now with her bare chest on mine, nipples pressing twin points into my skin both hotter and colder than imagined. The kisses landed fuller and flush with heat, her arm reaching up and towards the nightstand and fingers finding the crinkle of the plastic wrapper as my own fingers grabbed at the waistband of her panties and yanked them down her thighs; the unrolling of latex and the rubbery discomfort was all but forgotten with her hips over mine and lowering steadily as we held our breaths.