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It’s funny how things go in waves. Nudist night now has a group of people that must have all OD’ed on heroine to die. I really want to line them up and play xylophone on their ribs..
Our regulars are wonderful. They welcome just about anybody. I know I have said this before, but one of the cool things about hell is you look like you pictured yourself when you were alive. Anorexic supermodels now weigh 300lbs (fortunately they stay home for most of these nights).
Tonight we have several games lined up. We set up a sushi bar on whoever’s name gets drawn. Then we are doing a slave auction. Both are rigged (don’t judge me, I’m in hell for a reason).
He music is lower than normal tonight so that people can chit chat.
Being behind the bar, it is weird how conversations mld together. Listening to the intetrtwinings of about 3 different conversations now.
In one, where I think they are talking about their previous lives, “at times it was all just instinct. I would just react and hope I was right.”
A few chairs down, another conversation seemed o have a reply, though they were talking about people they had met since dying, “Yah I just turned around and there she was.”
Almost on queue, the conversation fades. Electricity fills the air. Before looking, I pour a cinnamon martini and walk to the edge of the bar. Where, even naked, her presence commands the respect of every eye in the room. Handing her her drink as the breath pours out of me, she smirks and says, “Thanks david. Good to see you again.”
Stunned that she would be here, on this night, struggle to gain composure as I reply, “The pleasure is all mine.”
“Fucking cheesey,” I think to myself, “come on David.”
“Watch the Bar!” I holler to B as I step around the bar to attempt to learn more about this lady, this presence.
“Three times in one week…”
“So far,” she interrupts.
I smile, of course. She perceived my lack of come back and just leaned in and kissed me.
I think I forgot what blushing felt like, but the warmth in my cheeks and the impending giggle made me feel like a 17 year old human again.
She giggled first. Contagious. For some reason, I am one of those that cannot contain giggling once others have started, so we laughed. No other sound in the bar except us. All my questions about who she is, how she knows me, and how she carries herself melted with each chuckle.
My lips draw to hers as I lean in, put my hand in the back of her hair, give it a slight tug, and kiss her. Her moan lets me know that I read her right. So entwined in the kiss, and lost in her eyes (dammit I love it when a girl will look in your eyes while kissing you), barely notice that she has one hand tracing the moon tattoo on my chest while the other is caressing its way lower.
Lost in her eyes, my own hands decide they have waited on my mind long enough and begin exploring her back. They split directions as one goes back to mingle with her hair and the other maps out the contours of her lower back and ass.
Some thought of the bar and the customers flies over my head, but my mind refuses to reach out and grab hold of it.
She whispers my name, “david.” Whispers is an overstatement. She mouths my name on my ear and my body shudders.
“Yes.” I whisper back and she just smiles, grabs my hand and pulls me to a booth. Not a booth in some corner, but, just the closest booth he could see.
She is still in control, but somehow makes me feel that I am taking the lead. The strangest feeling of comfort and freedom.
“I watched you the other night,” she whispers as she sits on the corner of the booth.
“The other night?”
“Yes. With Denise.”
“Oh,” I reply. Her reply was muffled by her full mouth and I forget what we were talking about. Locked in her eyes, all I can think is, “this is how it always has been.” I struggle to close my eyes and give into pleasure, but my eyes refuse to leave her gaze.
Grasping her shoulders, I pull her up to me, kiss her, and gently lay her down on the booth. I pull the table out into the room and kneel down beside her to kiss her. My fingers are tracing lines between the goose bumps all over her body as I begin kissing my way down. As I cross her belly, her back arches and she lifts her head then locks me in her stare again.
Every quake of her body throws me deeper and deeper into trance. The intertwined moans and grunts, calling like a beacon leading me to safety. For a second, the sounds stop, time stops and her body tenses. Then her cry cuts through me and for a brief moment I am aware of the rhythm of the music and the noise of the bar. Her eyes open, and I am lost again as I draw up to her, kiss her again and join her.
The music breaks in as the bass melds us into one body, one soul, one rhythm…

March 2017

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