Page 2 of Night Fever
Ha.
There are a few other reasons why I still feel like a girl and not a woman, and not least of them is the very same reason why I feel so unsatisfied merely touchingmyself.
I walk. I walk the streets I know and even turn down a few I don’t. I think about the past year of my life, as this is something I believe has to be done on the anniversary of one’s birth, and even though it still isn’t my birthday quiet yet, it would be soon, and it’s probably a good idea to get a jump onit.
I’ve accomplished a lot in the past year - I graduated from college a year early, having been able to transfer my AP credits from high school over to a full year of college coursework so I’d only have to be enrolled in, and pay for, three years of college. That extra year I didn’t have to be in college surely delighted my parents. It would be one extra year I’d be able to make themproud.
But of course, I know that in the end and the successes and failures are added up and balanced out on the ledger of our lives, that extra year accounts for nothing at all. It would be there on the books whether I was in college or not, and as it turns out, I’m in the one place that is very similar to college: graduateschool.
In the past year, in addition to graduating college early, I was accepted to an elite MFA program in Brooklyn, which is why I am living here now. Again, this is far enough away from my parents that I wouldn’t run into them, and close enough that they’d, at their insistence, be close enough that if I ever needed anything they’d bethere.
I don’t know what I’ll need from them. I dig my hand into my pocket and feel the jingle of spare change. I won’t need them for laundry quarters. I won’t need them for money - they’ve already taken care of that, and then some, in the form of a trust fund that dispenses an embarrassing sum of money for me in the form of a monthly allowance. Sorry, not allowance.Stipend.
Stipend makes me sound less like a littlegirl.
Grinding to a halt at the end of a small street where all the lamps overhead are either burned out, punched out, or just not there at all, I look around. I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know how long I’ve been walking, but I notice a small bar on the corner, a park across the street with a dog run and playground, and my campus down the street to the left. I don’t know how I got here, but I suddenly know where I am - I’ve just never been behind my campus, or I should say on this side of thecampus.
The door of the bar on the corner opens, but strangely, no one exits. Maybe a ghost just went out or in, or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention wellenough.
Either way, there’s something drawing me to this bar in particular. It’s out of the way enough that I wouldn’t have to come back ever again - easy to avoid - but close enough to things and places I do know that I could come back here again if I wanted - easy tofind.
I walk up the few small concrete steps on the corner and pull the old, heavy door open to stepinside.
It’s small and narrow, and smells good, though I suppose I should think it smells horrible - the faint scent of manliness, something I can’t pin down but is drawing me in even more, mixed with a vague scent of alcohol and sweetness. And the faint smell of sweat, too, but somehow this scent thrown into the mix doesn’t put me off to theplace.
This is the kind of place that’s been here for a while. Maybe the walls could tell a story. It’s the kind of place you overhear someone saying that some obscure author or senator from back in the day came and wrote, or debated big ideas or discusseddemocracy.
I don’t know what the hell I amdoing.
But I know what I want - to find something that will cancel out the ache inme.
Thehorniness.
There is really no nice way to putit.
It’s something primal and needy. Not a want. It’s like the thirst late at night that I can’t satiate. It’s a sense in search of a stimulus. An eye in search of something to see, a nose in search of something tosmell.
Fingertips in search of something to touch, something tofeel.
I know what I have to do, no matter how fast my heart beats. I don’t have to come back here ever again if I don’t want to, and no matter who I choose for tonight, I never have to see themagain.
I’ll make sure ofit.
Hendrick (Him)
The girl doesn’tbelong here, that much Iknow.
She sits down at the first seat she spotted, and her eyes search the room after her plump little ass perches at the edge of the dirty, cracked leather stool. She orders something by narrowing her eyes and pointing at a bottle of liquor, and she squints to see what’s printed on the label. When she does it, she moves forward in her seat a little and her ass lifts up, and I lean back a little in my own chair at the other end of the empty bar to get a better look at thatass.
Round, firm, and a little bit big, just the way I like it. Her waist is small and narrow and in that tank top her tits push out, searing the fabric into my mind as I try to memorize the swell and curve of her body before peeling my eyes away fromher.
She fiddles around with the edge of her napkin after the bartender puts the drink in front of her. Sexually frustrated, I think, even though a slice of woman like her could have men lined up down the block for a taste. I look back over at her, past the row of empty chairs. Almost midnight at a place like this and only three other souls in the place besides her, me and the bartender. That should have told her this wasn’t the place for her, and I’m intrigued by her verypresence.
When I look over again, this time I focus on her face instead of her body. Every few beats, I want to look down at those delectable tits in the white shirt, but I can’t take my eyes off her face now that I’ve really seen it. High cheekbones and pretty lips, and big blue eyes like she’s stolen the sea. I can see the color from ten feet away, even though she doesn’t look over atme.
I push my hand through my hair and put an elbow on the bar. She moves against the edge of my vision and the chimera disappears briefly, then reappears in my periphery, then comes and sits down right next tome.
She smells like pure damn fucking innocence despite the perfect ass and tits and waist. I look over cautiously because I’m in the presence of something different. Something I don’tunderstand.
