Tennis Court Confessions
“You can start walking now, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Blood flows with anticipation; my mind wanders into sexual abyss.
He stumbles over his words, he’s just as nervous as I am.
I can see his throbbing member peeking out the zipper of his Levi’s.
A couple more exchanges of words and we transfer to the darkest area of the courts.
After a number of “Are my hands cold?”, “Let me take this off, it’s getting in the way”s later, we know exactly what positions we are supposed to play.
Bare ass laid onto the concrete of tennis shoe debris and athletic perspiration.
Occasionally peering out onto the street and the entrance to view the cars passing by and any possible late night tennis players.
Paranoia diminishes into euphoria.
My two front teeth sinked into the flesh of my bottom lip; my hands gripping tightly onto the small of his back.
My. Eyes. Closed. His. Body. Up. and Down.
-------
Untitled
A gentle breeze strikes the back of my neck causing the bumps on my arms to rise. I close my eyes and begin to imagine the wind as cold fingertips brushing my neck softly in intimate time intervals. The idea leads me towards reminiscence of you, and I. Wet, cold, fresh out of the shower and feet on the cold tiles of your bathroom floor. Padding ourselves down with our towels as quickly as we can so that we could make our way to your bed. We lay there, shivering in wait of warmth, bodies pressed against each other the way toes do in shoes that don’t fit, in hopes to form body heat. Your hand as cold as ice wrapped around my brittle neck. You push your body forward. Our lips meet. We are warm. I am warm.
A car alarm brings me back to consciousness and a gentle breeze strikes the back of my neck causing the bumps on my arms to rise.
I am cold.