Like a Prayer

We met in a bar -- she was on stage singing her heart out to one of the bands whose songs always make me alternate between wanting to have sex and wanting to curl up in a ball and cry.

God, could she sing. Her voice was like warm honey; raw, sweet and slightly addictive. The more you heard her sing, the more you wanted to hear her sing. I wanted to hear her sing, and I wanted to hear her sing to me, her hazel eyes making contact with mine, her soul pouring into me.

I didn't know how I felt about karaoke. The problem wasn't the usual ones; I wasn't embarrassed, I didn't have stage fright, no need to picture the audience in their underwear, though I was sure as hell picturing what she was wearing under her jeans and worn t-shirt. No, the problem was that I can't sing. A theater person, born and bred, and yet I never learned to read music, never learned what a chord was, and had no idea how to hit notes that I didn't even know existed. However, I am a ham at heart, and had to figure out a way to make her notice me.

Madonna was the answer. Madonna is always the answer. Honestly, is there a Madonna song that doesn't make you think about sex? No. I filled out the sheet of paper with the miniature pencil provided in the binder of countless songs, walked through the crowded bar of punk rockers, goth scenesters and rockabilly chicks, and handed it to the woman running the stage. Then I headed back to my booth, never taking my eyes off the gorgeous woman on stage whose voice was tugging at parts of me I didn't even know I had.

Sipping on my cocktail, I watched her superstitiously from under my lashes as she finished to a healthy smattering of applause, certainly more than anyone else had received. I watched her walk off the stage, PBR in hand. I watched as she was greeted by people on the way back to her table, new fans as impressed with her voice as I was. I watched as she swung back a shot of whiskey, as easy as if it was a sip of water, and then settled in to watch the stage.

I'm not that girl, that girl who can flirt, that girl that can approach random people. I'm just me. I get by on my personality and quirkiness, and when that doesn't lure them in, then I get by by going home alone and getting myself off. I didn't want that tonight. I wanted her. I was going to get her, damn it...I just didn't know how.

The woman on stage called my name. Slinging back the remains of my drink, mostly melted ice by this point, I slowly walked to the stage. I wasn't sure if the best plan might not just be running for the door and flipping through my phone book looking for a booty call. But it was too late now -- eyes were on me as I walked up to the stage. I made eye contact with her as I walked by her table, and she tipped her can towards me. Could she smell my fear? Sense my lust? Or was she just being polite?

Climbing the steps, I grabbed the mic. The intro bars of the song started. I fidgeted on stage, unsure of what to do during the intro. I settled with closing my eyes and slightly swaying to the music until it was my turn to provide the entertainment to this crowd who didn't really care what I sang or how well, as long as they were somewhere after me in the line up and their drinks were still flowing. The first words appeared on the blue screen.

"Life is a mystery..." I sang into the mic, quietly, hesitating.

Some guy who'd had a few too many shouted "Louder! We didn't come here to watch a deer in the headlights." Everyone laughed, but she didn't. She was looking at me with a speculative look on her face. I took a deep breath, through the diaphragm, as we were always taught, and started singing again, this time, a little louder. I was still a little meek, still a little questioning, until I hit the chorus.

"When you call my name, it's like a little prayer, down on my knees, I want to take you there." I dropped to my knees at the appropriate part in the song, and once again, made eye contact with the woman whose voice made me burn and freeze inside. She held my gaze throughout the rest of the song. The song wasn't for the aggressive men or the pretty women watching me through their beer goggles. I'd chosen it for her -- I had wanted her to notice me, and here she was, her gaze burrowing into me as I sang to the best of my non-ability. Oddly enough, my voice never wavered, although I'm sure I didn't sound any good. I made it through the song, and though I was sober after only one drink, I stumbled down the stairs. As I headed back to my booth, the spell from the stage had been broken, my eyes following my shoes on the floor.

When I passed her table, avoiding her eyes, a hand reached out to stop me, and pulled me into her, close enough to feel her warmth against me. Bringing her face ever closer to mine, so that our cheeks touched, so that a spark of electricity ran through my body, she whispered in my ear "How can I call your name if I don't know it?"

I froze. Truly a deer in the headlights. What was I supposed to say to something like that? I opened my mouth, trying to come up with a smart retort, but when I tried to speak, all that came out was my name. "Hypatia."

"Good to know." She reached up to run her hand along my cheek and down my neck, lighting my body ablaze. Her speaking voice was just as entrancing as when she was on stage singing, and I wanted her even more. Slowly, her hand continued down my body, briefly brushing the top of my breasts peeking over my shirt, creeping along as I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply until her hand reached mine, fingers entwined with mine. She stood up, and pulled me towards the back of the bar, into the dark, and I followed her there, no hesitation in me now.

As purposely as she guided me there, she pushed open the door to the women's bathroom, pulling me in. Once there, she nudged open the door of the handicapped stall, and without even bothering to lock it, pressed my body against the wall. My lips found hers around the same time her hand wrapped itself in my hair at the base of my scalp, gripping but not quite pulling. I took a deep breath. Few things turn me on as much as having someone's hand in my hair, pulling, guiding me.

She pulled my head back, her lips traveling my neck, my collarbone, the rounded curves of my breast before biting down on my shoulder. I gasped as she held on a moment longer, and then whispered in my ear "shhhh."

With one hand still in my hair, holding me against the wall, she reached the other down my shirt, pulling out each breast in turn. At the same time, she slightly shifted her body, wedging one of her legs between mine, giving me something to press again. My clit was throbbing, and all I wanted was to feel her in me, to hear her in my ear, to be with her.

After a few more moments of kissing, she moved her mouth to one of my breasts, covering it with kisses and small bites before reaching my nipple, teasing me almost exasperation before sucking hard and using her teeth to pull it away from my body. Grabbing that nipple with her free hand, she switched to the other, giving it equal ministrations. While all this was happening, she pressed her knee into me as I ground against it, desperate for something to provide release.

Moving her mouth back up to my lips, she let her hand drop from my breasts, and I think I let out a sigh of disappointment. Leaning in close, she spoke next to my ear, "Didn't want me to stop?" I tried to shake my head, but with her fingers still holding onto my hair, the movement was very slight. She smiled, one that reached her eyes. "Well, would you like me to keep going?" Again, my attempt at nodding failed. "Ok, well, I could go back to that, but see, what I really wanted to do was this." Her free hand slowly slid up my leg, lifting my skirt, and replaced her knee in providing pressure against my clit. Her fingers moved like a musician playing a song, slowly and quickly, and with intent. "But I could stop if you'd like, go back to what I was doing." I shook my head so vehemently that some of her fingers slipped from my hair and my head softly banged against the wall. Her smile turned into a light laugh.

I pushed against her as I got more and more turned on, more wet, more needing her inside. Maybe she sensed it, and she pulled my lace boy shorts to the ground, never stopping what she was doing to me, undoing me. I stepped out of one leg, letting them settle on my boot.

A few more moments of pressing against me, playing with me, caressing me, and she slipped a finger in me. After the initial gasp at feeling her in me, I adjusted to her, and without realizing I was saying it, I let out a sigh of "more."

Her hand left my hair and grabbed my chin. My eyes, which at some point had closed of their own accord, flew open. I was staring straight into hers. "What did you say?"

Fuck. Me and my big mouth. I shook my now freed head. "Nothing."

"No, I asked you what you said?"

"I asked for more. I just wanted... I. I wanted another finger. I wanted you to fuck me. I'm sorry." I stammered, unable to think straight with her one finger still inside, her hand cupping my chin.

Her eyes twinkled. "Don't say sorry. You know, you're kind of fun." She kissed me, bit my lip and pulled and then slammed two fingers into me. I made some noise between a gasp and a grunt, mixed in with a moan. After a moment or two, she began to work them in and out of me, fucking me, pushing her palm against my clit and pubic bone, her body keeping my bucking hips against the wall. "Is this what you wanted?" She laughed as she said it, as I was in no place to answer her. All that was coming out of my mouth was a combination of sighs, and moans, punctuated with "fuck," "oh god," and "please." I didn't know what I was asking for by saying please, but I know that I needed it.

She kept working her fingers in and out of me, shoving me against the wall as I sunk into her, trying to get more of her into me. Then she leaned into me, and said "It's ok to let go, it's ok to give in. I want you to come, Hypatia." And I came, the feelings and sensations crashing over me, like having a wave wash over me and dragging me under. I tried to come up for air, but she was still there, still fucking me, still next to me, pressing into me, driving me crazy. I came again. And again. And then they just blurred together as I stopped counting. I felt like I couldn't breathe, but at the same time, like I was floating above the earth and didn't need oxygen.

I reached out for her, wrapping one hand in her hair, the other digging my nails into her back through her t-shirt. She just kept going. As I came, and gasped, and felt tears streaming down my cheeks. My body was at the edge, it couldn't take it anymore, I dropped to my knees, the irony of the song I'd chosen, my position on the ground and my previous cries to a deity who couldn't save me even if I had wanted to be saved all escaping me as my thoughts had gone blank.

Slowly, she pulled her fingers out of me as I moaned at the sensation. Gently, she helped me up, putting her arm around my waist as I regained my senses, nudging my breasts back into my shirt. She escorted me out of the bathroom and into the bar; I was sure everyone thought I was drunk, rather than just having been fucked senseless. It didn't matter.

Some goth girl was on stage singing a song by the Beach Boys, and the crowd has thinned slightly. We sat back down at my booth, and she brought me a glass of water, and another PBR for her. As we watched the performer on stage, she whispered in my ear "Next time, you should sing Alanis. I think you have a little spunk in you."

Without missing a beat, I turned and whispered back "Next time, you should let me pin you up against the wall and fuck you till you can't stand anymore." Startled, she looked at me, eyes roaming over my body before meeting my gaze dead on.

"Deal."