Icarus's blog: "Hope- by any other name."

We've got a problem here.
Someone's cheek sweat is chaffing my thigh
She's good... she's better than good, she's great.

Still got no idea who the fuck she is, or why she'd have anything to do with a skinny ginger like me.

No stupid porno shit, nothing her friends told her I'd think would feel good.
Why the fuck do women think they'd know anyway?
Blind leadin the fuckin blind- just respond, or better yet
fucking listen.
You give me cues, I'll return the favor, whatever gets these pocket rockets to fire faster.

Guys don't sit around and tissle and teehee about this shit, because we already know its like finding a retarded cow in a minefield full of more cows.

Yeah, you think I just said something crazy, but its true.
Also, I kinda wanted to make this last, so I had to go somewhere else.
Thinkin about cows stepping on landmines was better than baseball, or focusing real REAL hard on a color.

I dunno why that works, but it does, but innevitably I think about the girl, and a field of that color, and matching underwear

I dunno why, but its usually green...

I don't even like green.

The light gets bigger anyway, and I ice her tonsils.
May as well, she's still playin catchup.
Said her hips were tired.

Something about a mouth that's so humiliating and twice as erotic while halving the intensity.

Just something about it.

She's grinning rather satisfied with herself.

Good job finding the retarded cow, but its pretty easy when it announces its presence sending half fried hamburger and flying shanks in every direction.

... hope she doesn't want a kiss.
We don't really have that relationship, but there's that deranged expectant look on her face.

It's different for guys than girls.
You're just tasting a naturally occuring lubricant
you kinda want me to taste my own genetic material

I don't fry you your own fuckin omellettes and serve em to you.
Don't expect me to gargle my own soldiers.

"I so wanna smoke a bowl right now."
...

that's fucking terrific, can you give me back my jock and wash your face?

"Whatever you want, its your place"
I step into my jeans and pat for my smokes.
Not that I need to smoke, I just... kinda need to step out and away from this shit for a second. Need some alone time, and any excuse to not be around that giggling haze.

She meanders to the bathroom, hopping as she tries to put her panties on as she walks.
Her mocha skin glistening in the new light, my pale freckled body still in the moonlight filtered through multiblinds and the stale sex-air of the bedroom.

I don't mind having her scent on me, and I pause for a second wondering if I should put on my shoes and shirt, text her from the car after I light up...

Pretty tempting.

I thumb the numbers "Sorry babe I gotta pick up Chris from the bar- call me tomorrow?"

I had her name queued and was poised over send.

Fuck it.
Delete, ruffle my hair and step out pulling an entirely too expensive rillo and lighting up
should give her a minute to get high
and potentially
exponentially
stupider.

"You can smoke in here, I am."

"No thanks, have a moment."

I hear no flick and bubble, she pops the door and plops her nearly naked ass next to my jeans and pale shirtless powers.

Nuzzling up to me with her mixture of sweat, sweet, and me.
Puts her arm around, her noze and lips on my neck.

So of course I have to switch to my left hand to smoke, careful not to flick ash in her hair, or blow in her eyes.

"why do they call you roadkill?"

"Long story."

"What ya thinkin?"

"thinkin about moons".

"moons"

"yeah"
moons.

New moons. Blank spots. Kinda like my mind.

Pretty lil thing... why's this takin me so damn long?
Normally I'm ready to propose before the first date.

Why the fuck is she wearing my shirt?
Isn't that a little presumptuous?

Always takin things too fast. Is it a girl thing, or a girls that are into me kinda thing?

I sigh.

...
shit.

God, please let her misinterpret that.

She stares straight into me, a guilty uncomfortable sensation is creeping up my neck and threatening to appear on my face... well, more obvious than it already is.

She keeps getting deeper.
Clawing into my onyx, and I vanishing into that mottled hybrid's green and hazel flecks.

Is she getting closer?
Or am I just falling into her soul?

Lips
wet, warm, soft, thick lips
that husky inhale and a dart of wet flesh and saliva dances with my tongue
soft thin fingers along my beard and firmly pressed over my heart.

My eyes roll into the back of my head, and I noticed several minutes later that my cigar had escaped off the terrace into downstairs neighbor potted-plants.

Her eyes had closed.
Her back had arched, her round firm ass raised in the air waiting for another studding.

And with the passion behind that kiss, I would've happily mounted her then and there, braced against the iron grating of the fourth story porch.

... and why shouldn't I?