Hypocrite Without a Clue.

1

She had been waiting outside of the house for around fifteen minutes now.2

There was a frigid fear in the pit of her stomach, a tremble in the lighter that she brought towards her mouth, the shake of a cigarette as she tried to ignite it; failed, tried again. 3

It’s always the same, she thought, looking up at the doorway, a welcoming beacon. She had been invited here, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to come to the door, knock, and have them open it, judge her.4

It’s always gonna be the same, she whispered to herself. They’re all predators; they all want to have what’s kept just outta reach. Her outfit had been chosen purposefully, down to the last detail. The black pants were tight enough to show the line of her legs, which were drawn up tightly by three inch black stilettos. The tan, billowy shirt revealed enough of her chest to be inviting, without being whorish. The small black jacket likewise left her open, yet gave her coverage. Her make-up was flawless, done in the retro style that she preferred. Her hair, naturally waving after being left to dry in a bun softened the look, made her alluring. She shivered, though the unforgiving humidity coupled with nervousness was already making beads of sweat roll down her forehead. She wiped them off with the back of her hand while cursing silently. 5

Forcing herself to take the steps, she moved forward, hoping she didn’t do something dumb like trip, or fall. Look down, check to make sure there are no rocks, no piles of shit, and if there are steps, walk carefully, she reminded herself. She put her hand out on the banister to steady herself up the three steps to the porch. Why did she do this? Why go and meet people that she didn’t want to meet in the first place?6

Putting out her cigarette, she knocked softly on the door, her breath catching as she did so. Keep your head high, keep your shoulders back. You don’t care what he thinks, you don’t care. The door opened, and a man in his mid to late 20’s answered, staring at her with something akin to hunger in his eyes. He wore a baggy t-shirt and baggier pants, a single bracelet around his wrist, and a single stud in his left ear. Vaguely, she couldn’t remember which ear meant that you were ‘gay’. 7

She gave a sheepish smile which was immediately devoured by his welcome. He hugged her tightly, her breasts squeezed up against him. They always want to hug you, like you’re old friends. I don’t know you. Why am I touching you? You could be a wacko, or a perv. You could be a rapist. She asked herself. The tiny answer to her question never came as she walked into the front door, took a quick look at her surroundings, saw the other person perched on the edge of the couch. 8

A little safer was the feeling of another human soul there. Strength came in numbers, even if it was a stranger’s look and touch. It was less private; less intense with someone else in the room. The problem would be when he left-what would they talk about then? She introduced herself quickly, placing her purse next to her on the couch. She sat stiffly, hoping that she didn’t look as ridiculous as she felt. She could feel their eyes roving all over as she pretended not to notice, staring all around the room to avoid meeting their gazes, which would flicker to her eyes uncertainly once they realized that she had turned back to them. She faced them slowly, allowing them time to recover gracefully and stare at her eyes instead. When she did look at them, they were very attuned to her face. She gave a shy smile, started an awkward conversation. 9

This is dumb. I’m sitting in this house by myself with two guys who are bigger and probably stronger than me, and I have no clue who they are. She thought to herself. They could have been the kindest souls in the world, but unfortunately, a woman was always prey to some predator, and she didn’t want to get caught unawares. Also unfortunate, was the feeling deep inside of her that screamed for her to be likeable-to be someone that they found attractive and funny, witty and entertaining. The words were hard to bring to her lips as she saw them beginning to roll up a blunt, packed over with green leaves. She felt herself quavering. 10

Please don’t make me twitchy, she whispered inwardly as he lit up the rather large blunt, careful to burn the paper evenly. Her hands were sitting uselessly in her lap as her brain struggled to find some way to communicate on their level. She tried asking them questions. 11

What do you like to do for fun?12

What sort of work do you do?13

What kind of music do you listen to?14

The answer, of course, was to turn the speakers up loudly while he took a careful pull of smoke, blew it back out. It was so loud that her teeth were rattling. She stared at him, unable to form the words, unwilling to sit and stare awkwardly at him. She contented herself with looking around the room, her eyes resting on a tiny bracelet here, a small toy there. Signs of children, obviously gone for the evening. The rest of the house was cold, with pictures that seemed placed merely to take up the wall space, instead of causing interest. Every time her eyes scanned the room, the other friend’s eyes scanned her body, her chest, taking her in. She wanted to scream. She felt like she was on display. There was still bass and bone rattling music pouring out of speakers all around her. She wanted it to stop, she wanted to go home. 15

Finally the music stopped, and she quickly resumed her ‘what’ questions, hoping it would give her the chance to stop him from turning the music back on. For a while it did, but the two men merely talked with each other over the laptop that was in front of them. She tried to involve herself in the conversation, tried to pay attention as she smoked and wished that she were somewhere-anywhere else. 16

It was hell to sit and have nothing to say-not for lack of her trying, but for lack of aptitude on his part. All of her statements were answered with “Oh yeah?” as though her word were in question. She knew it was just a method to portray interest, and perhaps he was just as nervous as she, because they were both there to judge the other, to size up personality and appearance and decide if it was something they wanted to fuck. At least, that’s what it boiled down to. This man wasn’t looking for a relationship, as he had stated on the site where they had found each other. He was looking for a screw. He didn’t even seem to mind the predatory way that his friend watched her, his eyes taking in her every movement with interest. Was it the drugs or simple awkwardness? Normally, pot calmed her down, made her chill out, but tonight was different. Tonight she may as well have taken three shots of espresso before stepping out of the house.17

There is nothing to say, this guy doesn’t freaking talk to me. Just stares. Just stares and nods like I’m talking his ear off. I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know what to do. I wish this was less…stupid. She sighed inwardly, frustrated, and trying to come up with a way to leave the house without seeming rude. Her host disappeared, suddenly, going into the back room, leaving her with the stranger’s lusty stares. After a few tokes of the blunt, he had stopped trying to disguise his stares. He didn’t care that she was looking straight at him anymore. She turned, rummaging through her purse, trying to find her cell phone. The stranger got up, walked to the back room as well. 18

Oh great, now I’m alone, have nothing to stare at, no one to talk to, and the music is back to bone jarringly loud, she thought sullenly. This entire encounter could have been a middle-school melodrama, of what not to do. They were all adults-why did she feel so strange and young? The awkwardness was nestled between each and every one of them in the room, even burning strong, now that they had left. She knew they were discussing her. She knew that the ‘date’ was telling the stranger that he would need to leave soon. She didn’t want to give him the chance to be alone with her. 19

It wasn’t that she was afraid of him, just afraid of what would happen. The pressure of the situation unnerved her, and compliance was a part of her nature. Push her too hard, too far, and all you would get was stubborn resistance, but a man who knew how to gently push in, breakdown her walls, and get through would get the prize. It always happened that way, when she ended up staring up at them with wounded eyes, her head spinning, and her thoughts blaringly asking how she had gotten to laying on the bed? She didn’t want this evening to end that way, but she was so lonely that she couldn’t even think of a perfectly decent reason to leave the house of a man that she didn’t know. 20

Why was she here? Perhaps she did know the answer after all. Why did she let him touch her? Because she wanted him to smell the perfume of her skin, and the shampoo in her hair; she wanted him to feel how good it was to hold her against his body, the way her curves leaned into his bones and naturally complemented his strength, like it was him who held her up. She wanted him to understand how natural it was that his hand found the small of her back, like a delicate resting place against the sway of her hips. She wanted that touch to lead to thoughts that were dark and heavy, bruising and crushing and curious and strange in the moonlight. She wanted him to lust, because her body was just a tool-it was another way to get rid of the awful, clawing loneliness that threatened to consume her. 21

They came back out, and shortly thereafter, the stranger bid his farewells, and she told him that it was nice meeting him. He nodded at her dumbly, his eyes not finding her face, but the illustrious line of her breasts as he swept out the door, shutting it gently behind himself. She did not care that he had been interested, because he did not matter. He was not the alpha in the group. The man in front of her, boring and dull and staring at her hungrily, he was the one to focus on. He was the one the others looked to. He was the one that quietly took possession of a group and held it. She had seen him guide the other, when he was there. 22

The power play had been subtle-perhaps it was only because he was at home, comforted by his surroundings, and the woman inside of them? No, she thought. He is always like this I’d bet. Always some measure of control. The power was what had kept her keen focus on him, instead of on his shy friend who had been staring at her for an hour. It was the dominance that intrigued her. Perhaps she wanted to be dominated, if only for a while. 23

He invited her over to take the seat that the stranger had vacated. She gingerly sat on the edge, careful to keep her posture though her spine only wanted to relax. She could feel the tug at the base that wanted to lean back against the cushions, but she wouldn’t allow herself. She could feel the heat from his body, this close to her, rolling off in waves. He was aroused by her presence, but then, he was male, they were stoned, and alone, and he believed her vulnerable to him. They made small talk, which was only a slight variation of what had occurred before. After a while, a movie was suggested, and she eagerly agreed, if only to have something that they could focus on, other than the tension and awkwardness between them, thicker than the air they breathed. 24

She knew that since the couch was at a right angle to the television, that, most likely being right handed, the man would want to sit to her left, to better accommodate the moment that he chose to make his move-which would be made, during the film. She forced herself to relax as he pushed the DVD into the player, letting the drugs do what they needed to and calm her down. Sure enough, he circled around to her left, plopping himself close enough that their legs were touching, but leaning his body backwards. She could tell from the angle of his body that it was a position that could easily accommodate sitting upright and leaning back slowly, bringing her with him. She felt a tingle of nervousness along her spine. 25

It was five minutes into the movie when he suggested that she lay back against him, since he would be able to see better. He slid his hips to the left, forcing her in between his body and the couch cushions, her head resting on his shoulder. With his right hand, he stroked her hair, her neck, his hand nuzzling and searching, taking and asking permission in the same moment. If she had protested strongly, she would not have even been in the situation. If she had protested strongly, his hand would not be headed down, his eager fingers playing with the cloth along her chest. If she had protested strongly to begin with, he would have believed any refusal to touch her, but now? Now she was his. It was all a matter of how long, and how much of an expert he was at the game. 26

She shivered when his hands wrapped around her breast and squeezed tightly. With her left hand, she carefully reached closer to his groin, while he pressed and massaged, almost making the action seem involuntary. Now she turned her head to the right, away from him, allowing him to draw down closer and breathe at her neck, his teeth nibbling the base, just below her ear. Now, the tingle was changing into anticipation. Gently, she began to run her hands along the top of his thigh, never getting too close, always leaving him pushing his hips forward, hoping to cause her hand to stray against the building heat in his jeans. 27

By now he was kissing her on the mouth, passionately and full, his own mouth claiming possession of hers, telling her that he wanted her; telling her that she was going to be his no matter what. She leaned into him, occasionally flicking her tongue out against his, opening her mouth and inviting him further in. It didn’t take long until he was nearly on top of her, his lust budding more and more as they felt the motion begin, the natural sway that was creating the naked rhythm that they would follow in a moment. She felt her breath catching, her mind swimming. What was it they had been watching? Did it matter? 28

She moved against him, her breasts pushing ever so gently along the soft fabric of his shirt, and his left hand, which had moved to cradle her head returned greedily to the breast below, rolling it around in his palm while she moaned lightly with pleasure and moved deeper into his hand. Entranced, caught in the moment, she felt his fingers snaking further south, the warm skin playing a tug of war with the button on her pants. She pushed his inadequate hands away, undoing the button and the zipper, while her hands returned to his groin, now getting closer, rubbing along the outside of his jeans while he tried and failed to focus on getting her pants off. 29

“Take your shirt off,” he said huskily, his voice octaves deeper than it had been. In his eyes was the predator’s glint, the primordial lust that said that he was claiming her. She obliged, watching with warmth in her belly as his eyes dilated at the sight of her naked form, panties the only object left on her body. She helped him strip out of his shirt, and watched as he threw it across the room. It landed on the table by the door, knocking over a picture frame there. Instead of going to right it, he brought his mouth down to her chest, closed it around each breast and bit and tugged gently while she dug her fingernails into his hair, urging him on with tiny gasps and moans. She unbuttoned his pants while he buried his face into her chest, taking time to delight her senses and run a finger along the inside of her underwear while she worked at undoing the zipper on his jeans.30

Finally he was naked in front of her, his eyes suddenly dark, and she felt like a lamb, baring its throat to the wolves. Stupid. This is stupid. She whispered. She knew all of the moves. She knew what he would do to get her here, and still, she had allowed herself to be led to this point. This was no return. She could try and end it now, when they were both on fire, and the passion in his eyes would turn to hatred. She couldn’t bear to see it if that happened. She didn’t want to leave feeling worse for hurting him. As twisted as it was, she would feel dirtier if, having gotten to this point, she flatly denied him and walked away. He could see the indecision in her eyes, and he waited patiently while she worked it out. In a primal state, they did not need to communicate with idiotic questions. Instead, he focused and read in her eyes the moment that her mind had been made up. He plunged into her, fast, and then slow, bringing her to the cusp once, then twice, and a third time for good measure. The movie credits were rolling when he collapsed over her, spent and exhausted, and they were little more than animals, soaking sweat into the furniture. 31

Tired and satiated, she felt herself drifting to sleep, and soon the man above her did as well, his gentle snores taking up the space next to her left ear. Still inside of her, still wrapped around him, she could feel just a bit of the edge wear off. The loneliness had abated for the time, trapped outside of her, far away. After a few hours, she woke up and gently pushed him to the side, and when he protested, grabbing her arm and trying to bring her back to his bed, she insisted that she had to use the restroom. Carefully gathering her clothing, she snuck to the bathroom, dressed quickly, and kept her shoes in hand while she grabbed her purse off of the table. Opening the front door gently, she slipped outside, never looking back to see if he was awake or not. 32

Walking back to the car, she started it, staring at herself in the mirror. Its always gonna be the same, she thought to herself. We’re all predators; we always want what’s kept just outta reach. She sighed, pushing her hair out of her face and starting the car. She backed out of the narrow driveway and turned her wheel to the left, setting off down the road to home. 33