It was one of those coincidences that happened a lot in the city. A friend of a friend. I’d met him at a party, on a rooftop, one a day much lovelier than the one of which I speak. We’d had too much wine, or I had wine and he had whiskey. We talked about art and the death of certain media. Somehow a conversation about Marina Abramović turned into something about kink and I made some vague comment about my own twisted predilections. He picked it up and and we danced around the subjects of bondage, S&M, roleplay.
Eventually I leaned back against a wall and wanted him to lean into me and he did. He was slightly unshaven and handsome in his glasses and he was very taken with me and it made me feel a little powerful and a little tipsy and I thought it would be nice to kiss him, but he didn’t work up the courage or maybe he just didn’t want to kiss me.
Anyhow, the coincidence was running into him on the train. It was a month after the party on the roof and he looked at me across the train car and his eyes first scrunched up as he tried to remember where he knew me, I suppose, and then his face lit up with a smile when he remembered.
He was clean shaven and in a suit and it he looked like a very different person, but still handsome and still containing those bright, curious, and sort of imposing eyes.
He made his way to me and I felt like a mess. It had rained on me and I had one of those little moments when I walked to the subway in the rain sort of in love with the city and the feeling of being rained on. Now my hair was a black mess pasted to my cheeks and my bare legs were cold and I very much didn’t want to be seen by the handsome boy from the rooftop.
He said hello and I smiled. It turned out we got off at the same stop. He offered me his umbrella, but I couldn’t take it. He then offered to hold it over both of us and I nodded. Then we were walking just a little too close and his hand was on the small of my back and I was suddenly aware of how much taller he was and how my cold wet legs felt against each other and how his hand was warm on my back.
He told me about his job in the few blocks we spoke and I told him about him. On the corner where we had to part he asked if I was sure I didn’t want the umbrella and I told him I liked the rain. He seemed charmed by that.
I stood in front of him getting rained on and swinging my pocketbook and waiting. I was always waiting for boys to get the point.
“Can I kiss you? I wanted to that night,” and I told him he shouldn’t ask.
He frowned and said that actually he should ask. It’s important to ask and I supposed he was correct. I nodded and told him he could kiss me if he put down the umbrella.
He kissed me and I wasn’t really prepared for how well he kissed, how full his lips were, how much it would affect my body.
The rain picked up and we kissed more, people passing by and his umbrella on the sidewalk next to us.
“I have to go home,” he said sadly.
“Don’t go, kiss me again,” I asked into his ear.
“Then what?” he asked into mine.
“What else do you want? You’re fond of asking,” I said, suddenly wondering if that sounded mean.
“Go somewhere and pull of our wet clothes and stumble into bed?” he said pulling me into another kiss.
“Would you?” I asked.
“I have plans, but I can break them. You’re beautiful you know, your lips are amazing,” he was hard under rain soaked gabardine.
“Would you hurt me, if I asked you to,” I said into his ear and he looked surprised.
“I would like that,” he said, reaching behind me and taking my wet hair in his hand and tugging slowly until I winced.
And so I pulled away and we walked hand in hand as the rain came down in thick sheets.If you liked this story you can send me a tip via paypal.me/writingdirty