So It Goes

"Oh, I'll, uh... get you something," you say after a second.

"Thanks," I answer. I stay put while you gather the strength to roll off the bed and make your way to the bathroom. I hear the water running, and shortly, you return with a warm, damp washcloth. I'm impressed. That's certainly more than I was expecting. Many guys would toss a rolled up ball of toilet paper at my face and call it a night.

I reach out to take the cloth from you, but you begin cleaning me off yourself. I think I might cry.

"I'll do it," you explain. I look at you with what must be a surprised expression, and you feel the need to elaborate further. "It's my mess, after all. I made it."

"I made you make it," I say, as you drag the washcloth across my stomach.

"Yeah," you agree, "but I can see where everything landed." You start to clean off my breasts with the washcloth. I can't help but wonder if this is just a ploy to touch me without touching me.

But you know what? I don't care.

"Is there any in my hair?" I ask, not really serious.

"No, Mary," you say, getting the reference. You pause. "Did you come more than once?"

My face flushes, or at least it feels like it does. "Yeah, a little." I pull my top back down, covering my breasts again. Slight disappointment clouds your face, though you are distinctly distracted by the subject at hand.

"That was the hottest thing I've ever seen. Especially with you."

You flatter me too much. "I've never done that with anyone. Ever. Nothing like that."

"Me neither."

"So... can we do that every day?" I say, venturing into comic relief territory.

"Yeah, seriously," you say, in a way that makes me think you're actually agreeing with me. To further confirm that maybe you actually mean it, and to my shock, you lean over and kiss me. Not a peck. Not a graze on the cheek. Your mouth captures my mouth, and I feel your moist lips on mine, your tongue searching for my tongue.

I wish you would lick me all over.

You separate from my lips, and I hear you say, "You would give me a heart attack if we did this every day."

Something in my stomach sinks. That's a rejection statement. A confirmation that we can't do this regularly. Every day, or otherwise. Whether you meant it that way or not, it makes me sad. I know what you're getting at. You mean it in a way to let me know that this is a one-off, for all intents and purposes.

We are lightning. Flash in the pan. You can't commit to me. Right? We're always separate from each other. Different cities. Different careers. Different circumstances. Different plans. Different problems.

"I wouldn't do it on purpose," I say in response, as a way to lighten the mood, at your reference to your own death. Death by sex.

You smile. "Of course not."

"But would you die happy?" I ask.

"Fuck yes."

"If it makes you feel better, if that ever happened, I would take some poison after I finished. Just to make it even."

"Romeo and Juliet style?"

"Yeah, totally."

"So, we would both die happy?"

"Heck, yeah."

You contemplate this. "I can live with that."

"Or, die with it?"

"Touché." Your lips come for me again. Your spontaneous affection lets me know you're happy, for real. I am too.

But I know this won't last. Not for me. I can't stay. Whatever affection we created here in this room is something I have to leave behind. You get to bask in the glow of it.

I don't.

I'm overthinking this. Just like you told me earlier. We both overthink things.

You overthink us connecting. I overthink us separating.

You pull back from our kiss, seemingly in a headspace not unlike the one I'm in. We are aware we have to confront reality again. Did this go off track? Do you want me to leave? We're now both caught in a post-orgasmic glow, but needing to make such non-orgasmic choices.

This always happens.

Suddenly, a series of knocks comes from the door to your room. We stare at each other in shock. After such an intimate period alone, we forgot there was any possibility of...what? Being interrupted? The night coming to an end? Other humans existing in the world?

What is life?

A few things occur to us at once. First, neither of us is dressed sufficiently for anyone to barge into this room. Second, the television is still quietly broadcasting the dirty film you chose for us at the top of this adventure. Third, the tools we have used in this escapade are haphazardly strewn around us.

It's no secret what just happened here.

You roll off the bed to collect yourself at the same time I scramble for the television remote, which I last remember seeing on the nightstand. My fingers are hacking at buttons, simultaneously trying to turn off the image or turn down the volume, whichever will happen faster.

Where did I toss my clothes? That should likely be my next priority.

Balls of fabric land on my legs. You've tossed them at me, from where you are standing at the foot of the bed. You're still shirtless, but now a PG-rated version of yourself, covered from the waist down. You hold your finger across your gorgeous lips, requesting me to be quiet as you head toward the door.

As I slide my clothes on as carefully and silently as possible, I realize it could simply be a hotel employee, or some other stranger. Even if it is one of your colleagues, what's the issue with someone being in the room with you? We're adults. We're not under anyone's watch.

We're so used to hiding us, we've continued hiding it, even from people who don't matter.

I hear the door open. When it does, an enthusiastic voice greets you. "Man! Please say you can help me."

"Uh, yeah. What's up?" You sound flustered, but not surprised.

It must be someone you're traveling with. I continue to hear this person use a pleading tone with you, though I cannot make out all of the individual words. Something about noise. Can't sleep. Would you mind? Then, the door shuts. You come back around the corner, into my view. I am finishing adjusting my clothes.

"I told you," you say, almost triumphantly.

"What?"

"I'm rooming with someone."

"Seriously?"

"One of the guys is coming in here to sleep, to get away from one of the other guys who snores."

"You're kidding."

"I knew it was too good to be true. I never get this lucky," you say, gesturing around the room.

I almost roll my eyes at you. "Self-fulfilling prophecy," I mumble.

"Huh?" You genuinely don't know what I'm implying.

"Nothing. Where are my shoes?"

You help me locate all my belongings, including my shoes, bag, and other accessories. Including the little object that began all this: the vibrator.

"I think this is yours," you say, subtly handing me the object.

"Gosh, thanks," I reply, flashing you a smile.

"I would keep it, but I don't know what I would do with it."

"Cherish it forever?" I query.

I could swear I see you blush. "Let's go." Your hand appears on my lower back and ushers me to the door.

And so it goes.

You prop the door open, using the door latch, for your colleague. In the next few minutes, he's going to be bringing his things into your room. After making sure I have all of my stuff, we step out into the hallway and walk down to the street.

You escort me back to my car. I begin rummaging for my keys. I am nervous for this goodbye. I don't want to initiate it.

"Hey," you say, your voice low. Your arm appears around my waist again.

I am pulled away from my task, and I meet your eye. My hands leave the chaos of my bag, and drift to your shoulders. You know I'm afraid to look at you.

"Yes, sir?"

Your eyebrows go up. "Don't say that. Sounds like you're talking to my father."

"Too much?" I tease you.

You smile, but say nothing. We're both quiet. We're rarely quiet with each other. We're usually so good with our words when we're together. Even subtle, quiet banter flows well between us. We're good at talking.

But that doesn't mean we communicate well.

You look at me for a few moments. I can see your eyes scanning various parts of my face, slowly. After everything that's happened tonight, and everything we delayed and denied ourselves, it occurs to me now that our bodies are finally touching. In this half-hug, I feel your fingers continue to linger at my waist, pressing my hips against yours.

Your fingers hook into my belt loops, and I feel light pressure. You're pulling me into you, or wishing you could take my clothes back off. Or both.

Your face doesn't come any closer.

"Don't," I say.

"What?" you ask, trying to be cute.

"Don't do this."

"What?" you ask, more insistently.

I sigh. I'm unsure if I'll ever get you to let go of my head. "Don't keep torturing me."

"Are you not having fun anymore?" you ask, your lips coming dangerously close to mine again. I start to feel you through your pants.

"Is the rest of you ready to follow through with what your hands are doing?"

I still have my hands gently resting on your shoulders. I have resisted putting them anywhere else on your body. If I did, I might actually fall further into you. I might convince you to get back into my car. Take me in the backseat. Maybe come back to my place, where we could really be alone for the rest of the night. I'd bring you back in the morning, I promise.

I wouldn't want to. But I would.

Your face doesn't come any closer.

"Yeah, you're right."

An old wound in my heart cracks back open. You begin to back your face away from mine, and your grip loosens on my hips, though we stay facing each other.

"Don't get me wrong. I'd kidnap you if I wasn't positive you'd be missed," I tell you. You duck your head and smile, and that's it. I can't resist. I put my hands on your neck, and up into your hair.

In a split second, I realize I don't know when I might feel this again. I am overwhelmed with sadness and longing, though I am holding you right now. I push everything down as fast as I can so you can't see how much I'm going to miss you. Again. Like always.

As you feel my fingertips graze the back of your neck, your scalp, and the tips of your ears, you raise your face back up to me. I've surprised you. Our eyes meet again. Then, I see you scanning my face, like you were earlier.

Despite our knowledge that we should be distancing ourselves to make it easier to walk away from each other, you kiss me. A real kiss. Not a polite kiss. Not a goodbye kiss.

Your tongue is almost aggressive, just enough to let me know how close you want me to be. I briefly feel your teeth, colliding with my lips for only a moment. Your hands claw at my pants again, grabbing onto any fabric you can. Maybe for stability, maybe for possessiveness, maybe because you want everything you can get.

Then your arms are around my body. I am wrapped up in you, in so many ways. Your mouth doesn't leave mine. I couldn't pull away if I wanted to. And I don't.

Your lips begin to trail down my jaw. I begin to feel we are starting a new chapter of the evening. Maybe I will be taking you home tonight.

"Are you sure you don't want to see my place?" I offer.

You freeze, as if you forgot where we were. Your head raises back up.

"I would wake up with you if I could. But I can't. You know why."

I don't. But I don't argue. I say nothing.

You start to back away for real. I begin to lose the warmth of your body as you separate from me. Your hands are the last to leave me.

"I'll call you in an hour. You know, to make sure you're home," you say, stepping off the curb, preparing to cross the street.

You wouldn't want to admit you were calling me for any other reason, I'm sure.

I don't answer, and you hesitate. "Okay?"

I realize you won't go because I haven't said anything. I reevaluate how I'm holding myself. My body feels numb, now that you're not holding me. My arms are dead at my side. I am turned toward you noncommittally, gazing in your direction, no doubt a longing expression on my face.

"Right," I answer, snapping back to the present. You don't like when I get sad, especially about us. "I'll be there."

You nod, then start to turn, and stop again. You lean a hand on the hood of my car. "I know we can be a mess, but," you pause, "this was fun."

"Yeah. It was."

"But now it's over," you chirp, in your trademark chipper voice. I fall into your smile, while allowing your words to punch me in the chest.

You lean in quickly, suddenly keeping your distance again. Your lips connect with my cheek, innocently. You turn and gallop back to the hotel entrance.

I still haven't found my keys.

I drop my bag on the hood of my car and begin to search more methodically. I only hope some predatory street urchin doesn't happen upon me— a clearly vulnerable young woman not in possession of the key for her motor vehicle in order to carry her away from this place— and decide to take advantage of the situation.

Resisting the urge to yell out in triumph, I find my keys. Entering my car, I begin blasting the heat and light a cigarette of my own, hidden in my glove compartment. It only begins to burn my lungs by the fourth or fifth drag.

I exhale the smoke, my tension, this night. Unsuccessfully, I try to exhale you.

You'll never leave me.

I see the doors close behind you as you enter the hotel foyer. My heart squeezes. I don't leave.

My cigarette is half burned before I realize I should get going. I start driving.

During the drive, my mind is on auto-pilot. In my head, I am already reliving my time with you. Sure to be replayed in my memory for years to come.

Did we really do all that?

Of course, we did. We always do.

I enter my apartment methodically. Everything feels slowed down, but I am aware time is passing normally. It's like I'm in a dream state. Nothing is real.

I don't want to shower. I don't want to eat. I never want to change my clothes. You kissed me like this. You loved me like this. You touched this skin. I smell like your body.

Feeling a strange combination of exhaustion and exhilaration, I make myself something hot to drink. Something I know won't keep me awake.

I wander around my home. I've lived here for over a year. I know it well. I try to see it through your eyes, as if I had succeeded in bringing you here tonight. What would you say if you had seen my living room setup? Begun poking through my DVDs and music collection? You always have something to say about my music.

I walk into my bathroom. Inspired, I search my cabinets and find everything I need to draw myself a bath. It doesn't take long.

Stripping off my clothes for the second time tonight, I remember how your eyes felt on my body. I needed you so badly. I always need you. Do you know that? Do you need me?

I lift my foot above the tub water. I may have actually gotten the temperature right. It's radiating up to my skin, the way your heat had when you hovered so close to me. I miss you.

I dip in my foot, and my leg sinks in. It wraps around me, the way I wish you could.

Just as the water reaches my collarbone, I hear a bleep, and your number flashes across the screen of my phone.

Hello.