After And After

He lay there with her head cradled in his arm. The room was cool and dark despite the clear May afternoon. Her breath was blowing across his right nipple, and a light breeze was drying the aftermath on his cock. She was thinking—strategically. He could feel it. He wanted to see what was oozing from her, but the palpable tension and lover's exhaustion prevented him from making his mildly perverse plea. He was regretting the soon to be missed opportunity, and all of the other shortcomings of the affair.

She broke the silence with "Where are we?"

Vague and purposeful, the question seized in his chest, and provoked his "here we go" thought. He said, "We are in afterglow."

She stalked in the silence. His cute answer made him deserve the looming inquiry. "Why can't you feel about me like you felt about her? I'm jealous. I want what you had for her."

He lifted his hand, took a lock of her hair, and brushed her shoulder with it while saying, "People can't make that happen. It just has to happen. Besides, you're already in love with alcohol. You either need to quit, and find a man who's also recovering, or you need to find another drunk and party both of your livers away."

She rolled her hips and shoulders until her chin rested on his chest, and she looked into his eyes. "I appreciate your honesty."

"What good would lying do?"

Her eyes wandered a bit, "You sure know your way around a woman's body."

He appreciated the flattery for what it was, and said, "Thank you."

"What are we going to do?"

“Take care of each other for a bit. Maybe until we get bored or something. I don't know. Let's get dressed and go get some dinner... maybe close down a bar."

"You got money for that?"

"Yeah, I had a good week."

"What are we celebrating?"

"Freedom. Freedom and honesty."

Things blew up a few days later. There was some little infraction that set her off. She became much angrier than necessary. He knew what it was. She couldn't handle the concept of mutual use. She couldn't throw down with using one another to keep the loneliness away. He exited her apartment after the blowup, and left her alone.

Eight months later he saw her at an after hours bar in the next municipality. She was with a couple of men, but she didn't look particularly attached to either one. She stood out in the trailer-park-karaoke crowd. She was dressed like she had been partying at a good restaurant. He watched her from a safe distance. The men drifted off for a moment. He saw her puffing a cigarette, holding a wineglass, and looking statuesque. He went over to say hi, and see if the wound had healed over.

She turned and caught sight of him when he was next to her. He said nothing, just smiling broadly. She smiled her tipsy smile, and said, "Well, hi!"

"Hey."

She foamed, "You look good. You look better than I've ever seen you look."

"Thanks. You look good too," and the surrounding crowd gave them an excuse to brush their slow-dance anatomy together.

"Sorry things went all wrong. What happened anyway?"

"We wanted different things."

"Well you look goood," she wobbled.

"What are you up to? You still living in the same place?"

"No. I moved in with my honey," and she flashed some apparently significant ring at him.

He recoiled and felt vindicated in his lack of desire for a relationship with her. "Jesus! You're that serious? Our genitals touched!"

"Yeah, they did."

Her escorts returned from whatever mission they were on. "Which one of these dudes is the lucky guy?"

"Neither. My boyfriend is working tonight."

"Oh. Well it was good to see you," he backed out of the confusion without trying to make sense out of things. It was time for him to go. Alcohol, impaired judgment and infidelity could have her and the night.