Musings from the Lucky House

It was 85 degrees at 6:53 am in her tiny walk-up apartment.  I’d been awake for an hour, sweating, staring at a ceiling fan as the blades lazily made their rounds.  Light was starting to creep in through her beige blinds, and she snored softly next to me.  I was content to let her sleep, as this may have been the first real sleep she’d gotten after a night of fighting for air and space as we both tried to find acceptable sleeping arrangements.

I sighed, and wondered about the weirdness of it all as I admired her firm pale breasts.  Sharp tan lines outlined a clever triangle of white, surrounding soft pink nipples.  They heaved gently as she slept, her arm thrown across her eyes, trying to block out the light; trying to steal just a few minutes more sleep.  Truly outstanding breasts.  Surprisingly on display since she’d announced, “It’s too hot for clothes,” a few hours earlier.

She looked at me when she said that, her eyebrow raised.  Perhaps an invitation, perhaps a suggestion, perhaps a challenge.  I smiled back, one of those smiles, and I followed her lead as we stripped down to our respective underwears.  We’d had a couple beers over the course of the night, but you couldn’t have called either of us drunk.  This was out of necessity; this was an attempt to stay cool.  Yet hot, humid nights like these were made for passion and sweat-soaked sheets.

Instead, we just stared at each other.  Her soft greenish-brown eyes and my light blues.  Sad eyes reflected in each other, daring each other to be the first to make a move.  Her glorious breasts on full display, and the hint of mischief on her lips.  It would start with contact, as it always must.  Gentle finger tips across her collarbone, maybe my toes nudging hers, or the brushing of her soft brown hair from sleepy eyes.  She would have responded in turn, and our respective underwears would have joined the rest of our clothes, strewn out on the floor.

But not this night.  This night, I wanted more than sweat and passion and clothes thrown all over her apartment.  I wanted more than embarrassed smiles the next morning.  I wanted the sense of peace and security that comes from something more.  I wanted to curl up, with her head buried in my shoulder, as we told each other about our days.  I wanted to hold hands in the grocery store, as I clowned her hippy tendencies, and she admonished my eating habits.  I wanted to make her coffee in the mornings, as she scrambled for work, always five minutes late.

But this night was not that night.  And the mood was all wrong, with the heat turned up way too high.  Instead we just starred at each other, and wondered what might have been, not what could be.  Later, once she was awake, I hugged her tightly from behind and kissed her left shoulder blade with a firm finality.

She asked if I wanted to keep a key to her apartment while she was at work.  I declined, and caught a cab to the airport.


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