Touch

Touch Part 1

Lily watched his naked body writhe.

He was tossing and turning like he was trying to force an even deeper sleep. Lily smirked. She had picked him up at 11 earlier that night, at Bourbon Street.

"D'you come here often?"

Why was that always their opening line? "Do you come here often?" And so what if she did? Would that make it easier to break through the proverbial shield protecting her face (and hiding what was between her legs)? And if she didn't go there often? Would that ruin his plans? Would he have relinquished trying to chat her up? In a perfect world, there would have been a better opening, one she could appreciate. Something like:

"Hey, you're really attractive. So...no disrespect intended, but I wanna fuck. D'you?"

Straightforward. Fearless. Honest. But instead...

"D'you come here often?"

"No," she lied. "I heard they have good martinis. I love martinis."

It was almost sad how quickly he had asked the bartender for two martinis. But Victor was cute, cute in that "I-don't-do-this-often-but-she-smiled-at-me-and-I've-been-drinking-so-why-not" sort of way. Like he didn't know his own potential. And, in his defense, Lily had smiled at him. She had also rubbed her cleavage against his arm, but still. He looked like the type that needed a little help.

They had drank a few, talked a few. It was a blur. This part was always a blur. She had spent most of the night trying to hurry things forward, but Victor, typical man that he was, wanted it his way. He was cute, yes, but as the night went on his mirage began to fade. He wanted to woo her, to talk about his job and his skills. Men always want to conquer, not be conquered. She almost gave up on him, but it was already midnight so Lily grabbed his inner thigh and whispered "D'you wanna get out of here? It's getting too packed. I don't live too far."

His eyes had widened, and she could feel a stirring in his pants. Already?

They had taken a cab to 43rd. She fucked him. It ended too quickly. He was too excited, too vigorous, not imaginative. But he had touched her. That was enough.

She continued to watch him now, he with the shiny black hair that was no doubt ejaculating all its pomade or mousse or whatever he had used to hold it together all over her pillows. He who, since it was now nearing 3am, had to go. What was his name? Miller? Hector? Something like that.

"Hey He-...Sweetie, wake up."

He spun around again, away from her touch. There was a subtle snore rising from his body.

"Sweetie, wake up," she tried again, though this time she dug her fingernails in his shoulder, enough for him to think she wanted Round Two. Slowly, he turned to her, rubbing his eyes like a little boy.

"Oh, hi babe. Again?" He reached for her. She let him touch the soft, smooth skin of her bare thigh. It would help.

"No, Sweetie. It's time for you to go. I have work." How many times had she said that very phrase this week?

"No, it's okay, I'm off tomorrow. I can wait for you. Or...you can stay in too." Victor smiled, turning toward her completely and pulling the sheets off of his body.

Any chance of her even considering the notion of spending the day in bed with this strange man evaporated at the sight of him accentuating his flaccid penis. "Sweetie" was neither a grower nor a shower, and seeing him in all his "glory", as if he was doing her a favor, shit. In an even more perfect world, she would have engineered some cartoonish mechanism in her bed that shot her partners into the stratosphere when she was done with them.

"Can't. You have to go," Lily said, crossing her arms, not caring that her bulbous breasts flattened underneath them. He sat up, tossing his now-loose hair back. Crap, that poor pillow would never be the same.

"Uh, okay? Well...can I have some coffee or something, or do you want to get breakfast-"

"Listen," she interjected. It was 3:25 in the morning. "You're cute. And this was fun. But it's over. Time for you to get back to your life and me to get back to mine. Thanks though, Sweetie. You were...God, just amazing."

He stared at her with wide eyes, but then scoffed and rose from the bed, gathering the pieces of his khaki suit. "Fine. You don't have to be such a bitch about it. You could've just asked me to leave like a normal person."

It took him about two minutes to get his things, and Lily stood near the bed, her arms still crossed. This was a very delicate time. Any wrong word, any wrong move (well, that he deemed wrong) could end up with her bloody and beaten on her bed, or worse.

Oh, what insanities people commit to just to be touched by someone.

"So...can I get your number at least?" He stood right next to her, his 6 feet to her 5'3. She tensed, and shook her head. Victor laughed.

"Wow, slut much? Oh and don't worry my Queen, I'll let myself out. See you never," he said, slamming the door behind him.

She sighed and went to her bathroom. For a one-bedroom apartment over a Deli, her bathroom was huge. It was done up in teal tiles, and it was spotless as opposed to the rest of her apartment, which resembled a Basquiat-esque vortex of clothes, candles, and containers of Chinese takeout. But it was dark, cozy, and true to its disorganized self.

The bathroom, though, was different. The tub, glistening white, was squared off and the size of the interior of a small car. The toilet, adjacent to the tub, was meant for an ass much larger and more royal than hers. The sink was a clear deep basin with a long silver faucet. She switched it on as she looked into the large oval mirror She had to piss, and there would definitely be a shower afterward, but like all the other nights like this, she had a date with her mirror first. Her reflection stared back at her with slightly brighter grey eyes than hers. She flipped her head back, which would have been much more majestic had her tight curly brown hair been longer. Now, with it just reaching past her chin, it was more of a frail leap.

Lily edged closer, and began to make faces in the mirror.

She puffed her cheeks, frowned like a clown, bared her big teeth, smiled a smile her mother would have begged to see. She could thank her mother for the balloons on her chest. She lifted one, then the other, her back aching with gravity's pull. Her mirror was massive, and she was able to inspect her torso all the way to the tiny, twirling hairs growing on her navel.

Everything was intact, but different. Her skin felt alive. Like finally scratching that damn itch. It was good to be in this olive skin right now. It was okay most of the time, but now. Now.

Tomorrow, if all goes well, again.

She would shower and sleep deeply in her grey disheveled bed, naked but for a pair of briefs and thick socks. It's not like she had to be up for work.