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Backward Date October 20, 2006, about 15 miles northeast of Dallas A sharp kick connected with my shin under the table. I jumped, beer bottles rattled on the table, and I cursed loudly. Not that the other patrons could have heard anything. The music was too damned loud. "I hate this place," my drinking buddy muttered annoyed. "We've been coming to redneck central every Friday for the past six weeks. I'm tired of playing straight. If you don't get a move on tonight, you can come here by yourself next time." A pause. "And if I hear Garth Brooks whining on the jukebox one more time, I'm gonna scream." Same old bitching, though I was beginning to feel pretty much the same way -- country music was driving me mad. The drive out to this little shit hole of a bar with its greasy grub and grimy regulars wouldn't even be worth it if it wasn't for Jamie. But she had grown to expect our presence at happy hour. "Look," Sonny continued. "The first time was okay, you know? Come out here to see that girl. Couldn't blame you for not asking her out right away. Second time was fine, too, you just needed to warm up to her a bit. But now? Dammit, Casey, just tell her what's up. Tell her you're not coming out here for the food." He poked at the country fried steak and snorted. Then he pushed the shot of Tequila he'd ordered ten minutes ago closer to me and waggled his eyebrows in a none-too-subtle hint that plainly said, "Take a shot if it'll give you more courage." That's why he'd ordered it to begin with. I scanned the crowd until I saw her at the far corner, chatting with a regular, wearing those short cutoff jeans that were part of The Red Fox's uniform. Nothing like a sexist joint with a boss who has a leg fetish, who picks only good-looking girls who look sexy as hell in their shorts and tight, white T-shirts. Add that and fifty cent domestics from four to seven o'clock and no wonder the place is always packed. She turned and met my eyes. She flashed a smile and started to wind her way over to our table. Maybe she thought we were trying to get her attention, like we needed more drinks. I glanced at the table and realized our Miller Lights weren't even half empty yet. I looked at the shot, reached for it, downed it quickly, and bit the lime. "Hey," she said. "Hey," I kind of grunted back, my throat a little tight from the Tequila. Sonny snorted and followed the sound with another sharp kick to my shin. "You need anything?" Jamie smiled and I could have sworn there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. But it was one of those things -- the second you think you notice it, it's gone. "Yeah," Sonny said. "Yeah, she needs …" "Another shot," I hurriedly interjected. "Okay, I'll have it out in a minute." She turned and headed toward the bar. Sonny sighed in a most exasperated way and lighted a cigarette. There was an odd drumming sound. It was his fingers, rattling on the table. The way the night was going, he was likely to make good on his threat of never coming back. And there was no way I was going back there alone. The way people drank at that bar and approached anyone who wasn't there with somebody else … Let's just say I wasn't in the mood to get my ass grabbed by any of those drunks. I had to do something. The end of happy hour was quickly approaching. Jamie's shift ended about an hour after that. Then I wouldn't see her again until Monday, at her other job, the place where we both worked together, where we’d met, and where I'd instantly felt a draw to her that was driving me nuts. I couldn't approach her there, not where the cubicle rows divided us and the boss circled the office like a shark, searching for happy-faced punching bags. The firm was a suffocating place for anyone under thirty, in my opinion, but that was another story. She'd started working as a part-time clerk just two months ago, the only woman close to my age, the only one who smiled and laughed and ignored the boss' scowling. She was sharp -- a quick learner -- and always cheerful. She wouldn't last long, and I knew it. Maybe another few weeks, just long enough for Mr. Jenkins to find a reason to fire her. He liked his employees either scared of him or at least pretending to be, and she didn't fit the bill. I snagged a cigarette from Sonny's pack and struck a match from the matchbook I'd been fiddling with. I contemplated how bad I was at flirting. I'd never needed to flirt. I was good looking enough, kept my mouth shut most of the time so I wouldn't say anything stupid, and the girls though I was one of those quiet, passionate types. And they were pretty much right. It was so easy to find a girl at the local dyke bar -- find one with no strings and no complications, the way I liked to keep my life. Uncluttered and clean. But then there was Jamie's soft smile and pouty lips, her swaggering hips, which curved just enough, her shaggy auburn hair that begged to be touched … She was complex and generally everything I didn't want in a woman. She was deliciously frustrating, like a frightfully odd dream that's both intoxicatingly beautiful and terrifying, where you can't quite tell if it's a nightmare or if you're simply losing your mind. I let slip a long sigh and grumbled at my curious incompetence when it came to her. "Here she comes," Sonny said and touched my hand, a silent indication to tear my eyes away from the bar and look at him. "Here's what we're going to do." He paused for effect and I sat up a little straighter. "We're not going to sit our asses here until she leaves and then go to a real bar." He stressed the word 'real,' meaning, of course, one of our regular haunts out in friendlier Dallas. "We'll sit our asses here until right around the time when she's about to leave. Then you're going to ask to have a word with her in the parking lot. I'm going to go to the bar across the street and wait for exactly half an hour. If you blow it, come find me and we're never coming back here. If you don't show up, I'll just head out. Understand?" He gave me hard eyes, not like he was mad, but it was the same serious expression he gave me whenever I needed a swift kick in the butt. A second passed, then two. Finally, I nodded -- half-desperate, mostly excited. "Yeah, okay," I muttered, then took another drag. He smiled self-satisfied and leaned back in his chair, looking suddenly over my head at something else. "Say, Jamie," he drawled with a smirk, "you know the food here kind of sucks. And how about you whip me up a decent cocktail -- something fruity with a kick. I'm tired of beer. One for Casey, too, okay?" Her laughter rang right over my left shoulder. I turned slowly and met her smiling face. There were two Tequila shots in her hand, not one as we'd ordered. She set them on the table and pulled out a chair. She did this sometimes when we came to visit her. She'd sit down with us for a few minutes before rushing off to fill more empty glasses. Jamie tucked a stray hair behind her ear and rested her elbows on the table. "Take it with me?" she asked, looking directly at me. Without waiting for an answer, she picked up one of the shot glasses and slowly licked the salt off the rim, not breaking eye contact, then tilted the tiny glass to her lips and knocked the contents back. She sucked on the lime, licked her lips and smiled. I was having a little trouble focusing and reached for my cigarette to take a drag, realizing with embarassment that it had burned itself out. "Your turn," she said and pushed the other glass toward me. I followed suit, trying not to flinch as the stuff hit my throat. I tried to play it cool as the warmth began to spread in my stomach, and my head started to feel a little fuzzy around the edges. She laughed, probably at the expression on my face, which was likely much less sophisticated than I had it pictured in my head. Jamie leaned back in her chair and chatted about the firm, made fun of Mr. Jenkins, complimented Sonny's new silk shirt, verbally abused the regulars at the bar, asked about my plans for the weekend, and abruptly ended with, " … gotta get back to work," before rushing off to another table to take an order for more beer. Sonny leaned in close and, trying not to laugh, said, "The way she took that shot -- if she's not trying to give you a big-ass hint, girl, then I'll become a regular here myself." He pulled back and I could feel him watching the progress of redness creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. So maybe it wasn't just me imagining things, I thought, and felt considerably lighter. According to "the plan," I had about forty-five minutes now to figure out what I'd say. There wasn't a damned thing that came to mind. Sonny shook his head in amusement when I mentioned that. "What do you say to the girls at Sue Ellen's?" I thought about it and smirked. "They buy me a drink, dance with me for a bit, then ask if I want to go see their place. I generally say, 'yes.' That's about it." Sonny burst out laughing, right about the same time Jamie showed up with our drinks. They were an ugly, suspicious-looking green. I raised my eyebrows at her. "Don't ask, just try it." I took a sip. It was strong as hell but tasted fantastic. Sonny gave her an appreciative nod, chuckled, and said, "I said a kick, not a punch to the gut. Did you put every liquor in here that you have?" "Only the fruity liquors," she said and laughed, then left the table. After a few minutes and a cigarette later, Sonny resumed the subject. "So, what else do you say? There's got to be something, I mean, especially when you get to the girl's place." I thought about it for a few seconds, then leaned in and whispered my answer in his ear. He pulled back with wide eyes, shook his head, and said, "Damn, girl. You're crazy. Does that work?" I nodded. He snickered. He took another sip of the green drink and said, "You should say that to her." Now it was my turn to give him wide eyes of half-shock and mostly amusement. "No way," I muttered. "Yes, way." I cuffed him in the shoulder playfully and he dropped the subject. It was nearly eight o'clock entirely too soon. The drink had worked its way through my system and I was beginning to believe that Sonny's suggestion was a good one. The thought of what might happen if she didn't run away was making my breath come a little faster. I'm pretty sure I had a stupid grin on my face, because when Jamie showed up to announce, as usual, that she was "outta here," she took one look at me and knew something was up. Before she could ask, I grabbed my keys off the table and said, "Let me walk you out to your car. There's something I want to ask you." It was now or never. The sentences came out in a rush, but at least I'd said them. I was feeling quite proud of myself. Because if things went downhill from there, at least I'd tried. Sonny nodded approvingly and got his own keys, grabbed his sunglasses, and headed out the front door. Jamie gave me an odd look but nodded. She took my arm and lead me toward the back door. The wind was crisply cool outside and a tiny shiver ran through Jamie's body as she lead the way to her car in the far corner of the lot. I watched the shiver shake her shoulders, travel the length of her spine, down toward those tight, short shorts, and felt myself shiver a little, though I wasn't cold. "Here it is," she announced, turning toward me. "So what's up?" And there it was -- that moment I'd dreaded and fantasized about. It felt like my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth and all the words in the English language evaporated from my tipsy head. All I could think about was how her nipples were hard and straining in the cool night breeze against her white T-shirt. She cleared her throat and I realized I'd been caught staring. It was incredibly hard to force myself to meet her eyes, but I managed, realizing with a shock how close they were. "Um," she tried and stopped, laughing softly. "I said what's up?" "Oh, right," I muttered, internally cursing myself. I tried to ignore how soft her lips looked. "I was wondering if we could, you know, maybe hang out sometime, or maybe, if you don't mind, that is …" I trailed off lamely and gave myself a mental slap. Jamie searched my eyes. It felt like I was being weighed and measured. She rested her hands lightly on my shoulders. It took me a second to realize she was leaning against the driver's side door of her car and that our faces were inches apart. It took me another second to realize where we were and that this was not one of my fantasies, and that a drunken redneck could come out at any minute and yell God only knows what in surprise. And then it took a full five seconds to force myself not to pull back, that her hands on my shoulders were not pushing me away. Hell, I didn't even know if she batted for my team. But they say body language doesn't lie. And suddenly, as if a fog was lifted abruptly, everything became as crystal clear as it possibly could. Just to make sure, to test the situation, I shifted just enough to erase another few inches of space separating us -- not enough so that our torsos were touching, but enough to make it so there could be no misunderstanding. To hell with questions and answers and silly chit-chat. Jamie froze. Her lips parted. She was utterly silent, something that made me hesitate if only for a moment. But then she laughed again lightly and I could almost feel her relax. "Look," she started, but I put a finger on her lips to silence what I was sure was coming, namely, some spiel about either not knowing what she wants, or maybe about there being someone else. I meant to pull away and say goodnight. I really did. But things were still fuzzy upstairs and the logical part of my brain had shut down for the night. I leaned in closer, brushed my cheek against her cheek. "Don't worry," I whispered as I breathed hotly in her ear. The conversation with Sonny was on my mind. I breathed in the scent along her neck -- an herbal shampoo, cigarette smoke from the bar, something else that was musky and intoxicating. There was no sign of protest, her hands had wandered to my back, like she was pulling me in. I trailed my fingers along her arms. And just like that, my vocabulary returned. The first few sentences certainly weren't part of my usual bedroom talk, but what would follow certainly was. "Here's what I want, Jamie. I want to take you to a nice, warm place where we can have diner and talk. I want to hold your hand and caress your face in a very non-platonic sort of way." I nipped her ear and felt the tremor run through her body. I brushed my cheek along her cheek, went for her other ear, bypassing the lips that had parted automatically, registered that her eyes were closed. I reached my target and continued murmuring softly against the backdrop of bar noise and passing cars in the distance. "I don't know what you want from me," I continued, pausing long enough to run my tongue along the ridge of her ear, sucking on the lobe for a moment before reluctantly releasing it. "But if you want a woman, me, to kiss you long and hard, I'll do it. If you want a woman, me, to run her hands along your body, to pinch your nipples and bite your neck, I'm more than willing." A gasp escaped her lips and I shifted enough to let my hands burrow between our bodies, finding those hard nipples I’d been gazing at. I cupped her breasts and massaged them slowly, searching for the moan that erupted from her lips within seconds. She wanted me, there was no denying it. Her hands were on my neck, pulling, and our lips nearly met, but it wasn’t right yet. There was more to be said. I slipped past her face and grazed teeth along her neck. Her pulse was hammering against my lips and I sighed appreciatively. It seemed stupid, then, to think of how timid I’d been around her, how I’d been tongue-tied and forced to watch but not touch. I felt flushed and wet, ready to take her in that parking lot. And to hell with the rednecks. “If you want me to slip my hand into your jeans and fill you up, I’ll do it. If you want me to taste you, to bury my head between your thighs and make you come … Oh, Jamie, please let me do it.” Her fingers dug into my back. I pulled away and looked into her flushed face. She was trembling. Her eyes opened slowly, as though from a deep sleep. She ran a shaking hand through her hair and sighed -- so long it was almost a moan of protest. The front of my body felt suddenly cold, not being pressed against her, my center throbbing painfully. And then Jamie chuckled softly, shaking her head, standing up a bit straighter. She opened her mouth to say something, blushed furiously, cleared her throat and finally found her voice, though it was barely a whisper. “You never talk, you with your one-syllable answers. And now this,” she broke off, staring at me like she was seeing me for the first time. A few seconds passed. “And, err, anyway, what was your question?” “Question?” I asked, surprised, feeling as though I had missed something. Then I remembered. I’d told her in the bar I needed to ask her something. “Right. Question. So my question is: What do you want, Jamie?” She laughed. “I thought that was pretty clear, guess I was wrong. I’m not blind, you know. I’ve seen how you follow me with your eyes. If I wasn’t interested, I’d have told you already. You want to know what I want?” I nodded, biting my lip. Despite her reaction, she could still shoot me down. Women are funny like that sometimes. She closed the distance between us, wound her fingers into my hair, and said fiercely, “Everything. All that you’ve offered and then some.” She crushed our lips together in a rough kiss, eliciting a moan from somewhere deep inside me that I didn’t even know could burst from my throat into her mouth. It surprised me so much I felt my knees try to buckle. Mid-kiss she abruptly pulled my head back, breaking lip contact. For a split second, I thought she’d changed her mind. But before I’d completed the thought, she hoarsely whispered, “Not here. Come with me.” She snagged my hand, gave me a sultry smile that made my fantasies seem colorless, and dragged me along the fence to a gate, pushed it open, and led me across a poorly-kept property until we reached what looked like a large garden shed. “Supply shack,” she explained, fumbled with a set of keys, unlocked the door and wrenched it open, pulling us both inside. She let go of my hand and took a few steps, yanked a chain that hung from the ceiling, and light flooded the dusty floors and shelves of liquor bottles, office supplies, and a variety of canned foods. I didn’t have time to have a proper look around. The second I closed the door behind me, she grabbed me around the waist and resumed kissing me with those soft, soft lips, making small sounds in the back of her throat. I spun her around, forcing her back up against the only bare space of wall I could spot. A low growling filled the room. Somewhere in the back of my head I registered that it was coming from me and nearly jumped in surprise. A soft trembling in her shoulders let me know that she’d caught the surprise and was shaking with silent laughter. She cupped my ass with both hands and squeezed hard, crushing our hips together, kneading with fingers that were strong as hell. It was that kind of borderline pain that makes you want to come on the spot, where part of your brain is warning you that there will be bruises later and the rest of your body tells you not to give a shit and let it happen. I broke the kiss and groaned, grabbed a fistful of her hair at the back of her neck and yanked her head back, sinking my teeth into her neck so that she yelped and sagged. I wedged a thigh between her legs so she couldn’t sink to the grimy floor. Her hands wandered upward, tugging at my shirt so hard I heard fabric snapping. Let it rip, I thought, but released her hair and neck and tore the shirt over my head, tossing it over my shoulder. I wear no bra. Jamie looked at me and bit her lip, raising trembling hands to caress me and I let her. The hairs raised all along my arms and legs and it was delicious. “Take off your clothes,” I said without hesitation. Now that the doubts were gone I felt more myself -- in control, ready to take her just the way I wanted. There’d never been a dusty supply shack in my fantasies, but that didn’t matter. We could get dirty and clean up later, then get dirty again. I felt the sly grin slide across my face and watched Jamie’s expression go from surprise to half-lidded anticipation. I took a step back to let her follow my order. She slipped out of the white T-shirt and tossed it on the ground. She shivered in the cold air as she struggled with her bra, never breaking eye-contact. Then she slowly unbuttoned her shorts -- torturously slow -- and slid them past her knees, letting them drop to the floor. She wasn’t wearing underwear. Jamie stepped out of her shorts and took off her shoes and socks, then smiled seductively and said, “Now, Casey, you’d better make good on all those promises.” My mouth had gone dry and I swallowed hard, nodding weakly. Jamie was a Goddess -- all smooth, milky skin, with sexy curves, and large, pink nipples. I dropped to my knees in front of her and began a slow, sucking worship of her breasts, marveling at the muscles along her thighs that quivered under my hands. Jamie moaned low at first contact, and the sound was more beautiful than I could have imagined. What I wanted was to kneel there and caress her and tease her and lick her skin for hours. But neither of us could have survived that and we both knew it. I could smell her excitement, felt her slick curls brush against my chest while I loved her breasts, her hips beginning that rhythmic rocking. My center was hot and aching, begging to be touched. Jamie cried out and it was my undoing. There was no holding off. “Tell me, Jamie, tell me what you want. I need to hear it,” I growled, my face pressed against her stomach. She moaned and twisted, thrusting her hips against my chest. She groaned in frustration when I did nothing. “Dammit, Casey, do something, anything,” she drew a rattling breath. “Fuck me.” I nibbled along her ribs and slid my fingers up her thighs until I felt her excitement, ran my hand the length of her folds, before thrusting two fingers deep inside. She gripped my head and hissed, “Yes, Casey, yes.” She was so wet, so slick. My fingers slid along her inner ridges and I could feel the muscles throbbing. I added a third finger, stretching her, filling her, swirling so that she writhed against the wall and cried out with more frequency. It wouldn’t be long now, and I wanted to taste her before she came. She felt wonderful in my mouth -- contrasting velvet and short, coarse hair. Her taste was musky and laced with a touch of something citrus, like a drop of lime in salty water. I couldn’t stop the moan that mingled with her cries. The way she hissed my name was making me weak and the throbbing between my legs was increasingly painful. I rubbed my thighs together so that the seam of my jeans agitated my clit in a most pleasant way. “Close,” she kept saying, “shit, Casey. Fuck. I’m almost there. Damn.” She was growing so tight inside, my fingers were almost trapped. The muscles along my arms were beginning to burn and a thin sheet of sweat ran down my back. Was it ever cold? My clit was going to be rubbed raw. Just a little more. And then I felt tiny contractions pulse through my body, a small orgasm that came at the same time as Jamie’s, that I felt when muscles clamped around my fingers hard so that I couldn’t move. She cried and thrust and trembled and went suddenly limp. I caught her around the waist with my free hand, struggled to ease her to the floor without withdrawing my fingers. Finally, her naked ass was securely on the ground and her head rested against the wall, her eyes closed. I kissed her perfect lips, which formed a grin. She began to chuckle softly. “Damn,” she managed between gasping breaths. “I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life.” She opened her sea green eyes and blinked at me a few times, sighed, and said, “Um, so what now?” I gave her my best self-satisfied grin. “Now we go see a movie and you return the favor.” I paused and let the picture form in her head, watched the sultry smile return to her face. “You could call this a backward date, I guess. Sex first, movie next, dinner last?” “Sounds like a plan,” she whispered and leaned forward, wrapping lips around my earlobe and running her tongue along the ridges of my ear for a few seconds before continuing with hot breath on my neck, “But before we go anywhere, I’m going to fuck you. My way. And then we’ll go see a movie, and I’ll fuck you there, too. And then we’ll have dinner -- takeout, at my place, in bed.” “Mmm. Good plan.” And that’s exactly the way we had our first of many backward dates. I never went back to that grimy hole-in-the-wall bar, but I’d always think fondly of its supply shack. Feedback? E-mail me at kimberlylafontaine@yahoo.com. |