Mr. Gatsby

He is lounging on the couch watching some sci-fi thing when I arrive. We make out. He fondles my tits. He loves my tits. He is a boob man. I fuck him, straddling him on the couch.

“Don’t move, let me fuck you,” he says. My body became inert like a dear frozen in its tracks at the sound of twigs breaking in the woods. He is thrusting, making my body do that trembling thing. Why does it do that?

I collapse on top of him when it is over. I can feel his heart pounding. “I guess this is the point where you always leave,” he says dryly.

“Do you want me to stay,” I ask tentatively.

“I want you to do whatever you want. I like your style, Badass.”

“Mkay, well maybe tonight I’ll stay,” I say with a teasing smile.

We move to his bed and he is wrapped around me like a koala bear and snoring within 30 seconds of his head hitting the pillow. Damn, earplugs would be a godsend right now. How do couples sleep with the deafening roar of motor boat-human nostrils pressed up against their faces? I manage to stuff part of the comforter between my knees so they aren’t awkwardly collapsed together when he spoons me. God I miss my body pillow.

I awaken by the feeling of his dick growing hard on my leg. It’s still dark. I check my phone on the nightstand. 5:03am. We fuck again.

We hear the whir of police sirens below. “Last night before you got here, the police had quadrated the whole town,” he say animatedly. “They had a squad car on every block for ten…fifteen blocks. They’re looking for someone.”

He rises and walks to the window. He stands there naked, holding binoculars. I stare at the gentle curve of his spine which disappears into his small, round buttocks. His skin is so alabaster it’s almost transparent.

“They’re throwing two people down on the sidewalk and handcuffing them,” he tells me, excitedly. I come to the window and he hands me the binoculars. Three squad cars are parked and two more screech to a halt, forming a semi-circle. Two men lay face down and motionless, defeated after their drugstore robbery at gunpoint, or whatever infraction that had them on the run all night. Entranced, I watch the showdown from up here on the 13th floor. Even with binoculars, they look like ants.

“Hey, while we’re up, you know what I’ve always wanted to do?” he asks, his voice growing in excitement. “Watch the sunrise from the jacuzzi!” “You want to?”

“Yeah, sure, ok,” I say, a smile sneaking across my face. Watch the sunrise. When was the last time I did that? When I was about eighth that time my family climbed that mountain in Kauai?

He makes coffee standing naked in the kitchen. I watch shyly, also naked, leaning against the counter. I feel like a beached sea-lion.

“I’m so not comfortable with this much physical exposure,” I say with a snort.

“Oh yeah? Me too,” he smirks. “There is major over-exposure happening here without my boxers on!”

“Seriously, I’d be much happier in a hazmat suit,” I blurt out.

He laughs. “A hazmat suit,” he repeats chuckling.

“You’re hot, you know.” He pinches my butt. “Seriously.”

We step out onto his balcony and the cold breath of the early morning assaults my skin. He peels back the jacuzzi cover and I step gingerly into the gurgling caldron. And then, warm bubbling water envelops me. It’s heaven. We sit facing each other, him sipping steaming coffee, me sipping strong, black tea.

“Look at the hills,” He says. “They look like ocean waves as they start to crash on the sand.” I look. The hills beyond the city are baby blue, layered with mist. They do look like the ocean. I watch as two seagulls coast majestically across the horizon.

“I love seagulls,” he says. “Some people don’t like them, but I think they’re amazing.”

“Yeah, I didn’t realize they came inland so far,” I say. “They are crazy beautiful.” Then the rest of the birds begin waking up. I hear chickadees, geese, and a single mallard quacking in the distance.

“That clicking sound is a humming bird,” he said. “Can you hear it?”

I strain my ears, but I can’t.

“It sounds like this,” he says, and he clicks his tongue a few times.

Then I hear a faint clicking. “Yeah, I hear it,” I say excitedly. There is a bird choir all around us now. The chirps and squawks and quacks fall into harmony with each other as if a master conductor were cuing each bird individually to chime in on cue. It’s the real live Vivaldi “Spring concerto.”

“Look” he says. “It’s happening.” I watch as the glowing haze grows brighter and brighter over the mountains.

And then…the sun. It shoots up. Perfectly round and orange. A burning gold coin.

I stared at it, riveted through the steam that rises off of the bubbling jacuzzi. I am staring straight at it. This ball of fire. This burning torch heralding another day.

I let my gaze soften and I see spots and squiggly lines in the atmosphere. I used to do this all the time when I was a kid, stare at the sun until I saw spots.

“You know those round sparkles that look like atoms that zip around and disappear when you relax your eyes? What do you think that is? Energy?” I ask.

“I think it’s something that happens at the back of your eye,” he said. “Some kind of optical illusion.”

“I think it’s energy,” I say smiling. “Or magic.”

My head feels light, discombobulated. Am I dehydrated? Hungover from last night?

Something is happening inside of me. A feeling that feels too large to inhabit my body. A feeling like the elements are encroaching, and I am resisting…resisting…then half-surrendering as I grip the smooth interior of the jacuzzi. 

I get a flash in my mind of that scene in “The Little Mermaid” when her and the price are floating in that canoe and he’s trying to guess her name because she’s under a spell and can’t speak. The fish are jumping in and out of the water. There are crabs dancing on the oars as he rows. Her and the prince are staring into each other’s eyes as the aquatic choir sings “Kiss the Girl.”

We are exiting the jacuzzi now. He steps out first and gentlemanly, holds a towel out for me. I smile sheepishly.

“Let’s hit the shower,” he says.

I never do this – shower with someone. I mean, how is turning into a drowned rat in front of the person you’re sleeping with supposed to be sexy? Oh my god, fuck it. This is happening.

I let the gentle stream of water wash over my face and I feel the ecstasy of it, the water cascading over me with him standing there, his hand on the small of my waste. He turns the water off and we towel off again.

“What are you up to for the rest of the day?” I ask.

“Not much,” he responds. I locate my jeans and begin squeezing into them. He is watching me as he towels off.

“I can’t believe you’re getting dressed,” he said softly, eyes glinting. He comes up behind me. He gently pulls my jeans down around my ankles, and peals my underwear back. He is inside of me again. Again? Feeling delicious. I moaned quietly.

“How does it feel?” he asks.

“Fucking good…I’m going to fall in love with you.”

Did I say this out loud? Oh shit. Nooooo.

I am trying to swim back to reality, but I am fucking soaring and don’t care and I want to grab a hold of love…like I want to grab a handful of sun…like I want to take home the bird symphony, make it replayable, distilled into something easily slapped into a car stereo.

He pumps a little more and then became soft.

“Get dressed floozy,” he says, spanking me lightly. I do. My mind is running in circles. Shall I tell him that I say stupid shit when I am being righteously fucked? Would that just draw attention to it?

I am dressed now, floating out into the hall waiting for the elevator. He is standing in his doorway, staring at me.

“Awkward,” I say with a little laugh. “You standing there starring at me. It’s awkward.”

“Yeah, ok. Have a good day,” he says, stiltedly. The elevator dings, then opens. He is retreating into his house. I am being transported down 13 stories to the world of the hustle and bustle. The elevator dings at ground level. I am walking to my car. The corners of my mouth are turned up without me realizing they are.

‘What the fuck did I say?’ I don’t care. Seriously, if he runs for the hills now, fuck it. I felt something today. That thing that I forgot I was allowed to feel once I was what society deemed a “grownup” – with a mortgage and back pain and an amazon shopping addiction.

The wind whips against my face, causing my cheeks to sting as I walk to my car. My phone dings with a text inside my purse. I look up. There it is. The sun again. Stately. Still rising. Rays of light spilling through maple branches. I feel tingles spread across my skin.

What’s the name of that Collective Soul song that I used to play on guitar?

Love is in the water
Love is in the air
Show me where to look
Tell me will love be there

Hey sun, let your light shine down on my face, baby, I fucking love it.

Leave a Reply