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Saturday, April 9, 2011

Wordless Love by Scarlett Blackwell

Thick dry ice pumps out through the semi-darkness. Flashing lights from the dance floor illuminate couples entwined in every corner. I sip my gin and take it easy.

It’s Friday night.

This is the night I live for every week, all the way through my shitty job and my quiet weekdays at home. I loiter, in no rush, because all good things come to those who wait.

I wait for him.

If I don’t see him tonight, I’ll die.

I don’t know his name. All I know is our mutual flirtation is seven weeks strong and last week progressed from coy looks and smiles to full on heavy action in the back room.

I’m shy. I had done nothing but catch his eye and look away during the previous five times I saw him. He was always with friends, drinking, dancing, never seemed to be on the prowl or interested in guys blatantly hitting on him.

But he noticed me. He looked at me steadily until I blushed and averted my gaze and this carried on for five weeks with neither of us making a move. Then last week, he caught my eye and after regarding me for a long moment, he set off towards the back room, lithe hips swinging, glancing back at me pointedly.

I froze in place, staring. I couldn’t quite believe that all my Christmases were about to come at once. I was half in love with him when I followed behind him. By the time he’d finished with me in there, I was hopelessly, one hundred per cent smitten.

He led me right into the back, where the shadows where deepest and the noises the loudest. There he leaned against a wall and pulled me into him and in the darkness our lips collided. I tasted rum and smelled spicy cologne and his tongue found mine as he thrust a thigh between my legs.

I dry-humped it helplessly, groaning into his mouth. He clutched my buttocks, kneading them through denim, grinding me against him.

I thought I would come. His mouth found my neck, left lingering kisses which made me so hard I could barely think.

The strength of his desire shocked me. It mirrored my own.

His hand unfastened my jeans and slid inside my boxers. Warm fingers curled around my erection. I bucked into his touch moaning helplessly.

I felt him smile against my mouth, then he dropped abruptly to his knees and my evening moved on from all my Christmases to all my birthdays. He pulled my pants and boxers down. I thought I would explode as he took me in his mouth in one hot, wet slide. I had to balance myself with one hand on his shoulder as I trembled in bliss.

He knew a thing or two about sucking cock. I put my hand over my mouth to stifle my groans even though the music drowned them out. I was embarrassed that he might know how easily he drew me towards a premature orgasm.

His hand weighed my balls, squeezed them gently. The other hand ran up my shirt, zeroed in on one nipple and rubbed it into erection, pinching it lightly.

I cursed and moaned, trying not to thrust into his mouth. But he gripped my hips then. He rocked me forward firmly and took all of me down.

My head thudded back against the wall. I writhed and trembled and called out to God. Never had I been so uncontrolled, so desperate. I felt it rising from my balls, the ache consuming me.

Abruptly he pulled back. I stood gasping, mouth open in protest but he wasted no time. He grabbed me, spun me around face first into the wall, bending me over, kicking my feet apart.

I panted for breath as he produced lube, feathered a dab between my buttocks with light fingertips. Then he rubbered up and his cock rested in my cleft, sliding wetly against my entrance.

I shivered and shuddered. I pushed back, trying to impale myself. With a firm arm around my waist, my lover pressed into me, taking his time, moving nice and slow.

I shouted, my back arching as he entered me, his lips clinging to my neck, teeth grazing. My legs shook; I spread them further and I tried to breathe through the shock of penetration.

My lover was well endowed. I had no complaints in that department. He filled me so full, took such control with me that I could do nothing but try to keep upright as he fucked me and my climax knocked for admission.

As it reared on the horizon, I pushed back against him, taking every inch. His mouth found my ear, sucking at the lobe and his hand felt around me, enclosing my prick, pumping it slowly in time with his thrusts.

Our love was wordless. He made no sound as he brought me steadily closer. I turned my head to his and his lips captured mine, clinging softly, his kiss almost tender.

I lost my mind. My legs bowed so he had to hold me upright against the wall. I shuddered violently and cried out as I spurted endlessly into his milking hand.

He liked it, I know he liked it. He held me so tight, kissed me so passionately on the neck, came to his own climax within seconds. A silent one, his mouth open.

For a moment there was no sound, only our bodies pressed together intimately as though we were alone.

He drew away. When I had made myself decent and turned around, he had gone.

I blinked, standing against the wall like a love-sick fool and feeling crushed. I went back out into the club but didn’t see him again that night.

So you might be wondering why I’m waiting here with such anticipation after his exit last week. A man who took me against the wall in the back room with no words and left without giving his name. I guess it doesn’t paint a good picture of the man I profess to be in love with.

Perhaps if I tell you that when I watch him with his friends, he uses sign language, you might understand better. At the bar, oftentimes he writes down the name of the drink he wants and shows it to the bartender.

My crush is a deaf mute. But when he rocked into me in that back room, I felt him doing it to the vibrations of the bass coming through the floor. His sense of rhythm is impeccable along with everything else about him. I don’t need to communicate verbally with him to know he has won my heart.

Turning around in reverie, my eyes are drawn to the dance floor.

There he is.

Tall and lean, wearing faded jeans and a black t-shirt, he sways to the music as though he hears every word. He’s blond, blue-eyed, angelic of face. He grins at his friend, teeth white, using elegant hands to make a sign. I wish I knew what he said.

Suddenly he senses my gaze. His smile drops. He makes a sign to his friends and comes off the dance floor, heading in my direction. My stomach and heart collide and I can’t breathe.

Flashing lights illuminate his pale face as he stops in front of me. Then he holds his hand up to his chest. He rubs his clenched fist in a circular motion. I don’t understand the gesture he makes, but I read his lips just fine.

I’m sorry.

I stare, a lump in my throat, my palms clammy. I’m careful to enunciate my words so he can read them.

That’s okay.

He smiles and I swear I hear birds sing. He steps closer, cups my head, kisses me. I melt into him. I feel his heart beating against my chest. Words aren’t needed. Nothing is needed but this feeling, this love and adoration for this stranger I know is mine.

About the author: Scarlet likes cats and hats and firmly believes that the only thing better than one attractive man is two attractive men.

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