Pho Real

Untitled Part 1

She laughed so hard I thought she might pee her pants.

Or maybe that was me.

She was doubled over, hands at her waist, gasping for breath.

How many drinks had been delivered? Did I drink them all? Had she had any?

I checked in with my body; I was definitely feeling like a fishbowl existed in my belly. I had to pee. I was past tipsy, well into drunk (that slightly wavy feeling helped me establish the line).

It didn't matter, though. We were both laughing, drinking. Soaking in the experience.

This was what I'd wanted for weeks. Months.

She was touching me freely, giving me tingles as her fingertips grazed up the middle of my spine over my shirt as we'd walked in the door.

The music was so loud, I wanted to kiss whoever was in charge of that. Every time she leaned over and whisper-yelled in my ear, it was a fresh reminder of her mouth, her lips, her tongue.

In the heat of the moment, the excitement of it all, she'd grabbed my hand, lifting them both and bouncing.

I tuned out everything but the music. I was there to enjoy this, and while her presence was a benefit, the band was my goal. Feeling the bass move through me, the beat and rhythm of the song grounding me. The singer's voice, calling right to me.

When the night was over and we made our way back to my place in the Lyft, we shared that ubiquitous awkward moment.

"Do you want me to..." I left the sentence dangling, hopeful, but motioned to the couch.

"What? Fuck no."

She pulled me by the hand into my bedroom, where we quietly stripped down to our underwear. Her first, of course, because I was trying to let her lead.

I knew how I felt. But what about her?

As soon as we were under the covers, she hummed and whispered.

"What?" I asked, much louder than a whisper.

Of course she laughed.

"Shh," she said, putting her finger on my lips. "I'm right here."

In the glow of the city street lights, I could see her face, see her watching and looking at me. Her finger didn't leave my lips, and I wondered if this was my moment.

Do I suck her finger into my mouth? Bite it?

She answered that for me, dragging it along my lower lip before tracing my upper lip, and then booping my nose. We both laughed.

Was she trying to break the tension? Was she just kidding about the dragging finger thing? Maybe I'd misread her signals.

If they even were signals.

Looking down at her lips, I kept wondering if I'd get a chance to taste her. To feel her. I shifted my weight, suddenly sinking quickly down into dirty thoughts of her mouth forming words and syllables as I pushed my fingers into her and explored.

I didn't get too far down that line of thought, though. She brought me back and surprised me with a feather-light brush of her lips against mine.

Wanting nothing more than to take her panties off and face plant between her thighs, I tried my hardest to be right in the moment, feeling her lips, tasting the hours old whiskey mixed with cherry, the stale cigarette, and mint of her gum. It was a combination that made me feel more drunk than any of the vodka or whiskey before it.