Up In Flames

Chapter 3

No Lolita. No lady love. She had finally given me a name. Onika, but told me to call her Tanya. She was a mother, wouldn't disclose to me what kind. I didn't mind. We shared interests. Books. Foods. Arts. Choice of stress relievers.

We laughed, talked intellect, flirted. Her touches were soft and determined, calculated. She was older, had more experience than I, and that alone was stimulating to me. She turned on all of my senses at once, leaving me defenseless in the line of lust.

She was pleasing to look at with the eyes of the lynx, pleasing to hear with the erotic tone of the porn stars in pop-up ads, only this one was actually attractive. She was pleasing to smell, Chanel No. 5 her poison of choice. She was pleasing to touch, her skin soft and delicate the way skin felt when taken care of properly. She was most pleasing to taste, the skin of her cheek sweet and perfect. I had been looking for flaws in her the entire time, but I hadn't found any. She was perfect, to the untrained eye.

But it was not my job to find flaws in this woman. It was my job to see her as she showed. I couldn't see more than she wanted me to. She was lovely, articulate, powerful. She was Humbert, the obsessive, perverted professor and I, Lolita, the budding, innocuous little love. But this was not Lolita, and this was not as bad as that immoral and twisted situation. We were consenting adults, almost twenty years between us, the generations of differences showing up in our speech.

I liked them all this way, older, more experienced, poised, lovely, well-rounded, traveled, moneyed. I liked them caring, nurturing, affectionate. All supporting characteristics of a perfect mate. May it be for reproduction or cunnillingus.

"Still very hard to believe you're twenty-one."

"Even harder to believe you're forty."

I kissed her cheek again, let my lips linger on her for awhile, smelled her as I tasted her, opened up some more of my senses, touched her exposed skin with my hand. Sin felt so good, my sin in form of a married woman.

"I may be forty, but I work these hips like a new-age stripper."

"Don't tell me you're a hater of the next generation."

"I appreciate you all, and I hate you all. It's a love-hate relationship I have with your generation."

"Idem," I removed my face from hers, amazed at the fact that her hair hadn't moved out of place once the entire time we'd been sitting here. She was queen, even her hair stayed under her small foot. "Would you like to show me your new-age stripper hips?" I stood up, held my hand out for her.

She drowned herself in her fifth apple martini before taking my hand and allowing me to lead her to the floor. Jazz cascaded through the room and rolled down my back. Wondered how she would rock that little waist to this kind of music.

She was the teacher but she held my hand like a small child and allowed me to lead her. On the floor, she held her body close to mine, her back pressed against my front, her hips swaying slowly to the sound of smooth jazz.

Keeping up with her was a task needing to be fulfilled. She moved her body into a slow rhythm. She showed me that this was not a hobby, she was a professional with her body. She was hypnotic with the way she moved, her ass bumping into me, gliding up and down my front.

The arch in her back pronounced as she leaned over some. She was flexible, limber. Pilates body. She took it seriously.

Our bodies were in a strong game of Twister, needing to touch, wanting to feel one another's energy. My entire being craved her. I told myself this is bliss. I Imagined this is what Azariya and Galore felt.

She was impossible not to get aroused by. She made my flyaways stick up like static. She made my insides boil. She made it hard to even speak. My body spoke to her, standing firm against her gyrating body.

"I didn't know..." She felt my bulging mountain down below, but she kept on grinding, kept moving those hips like a new-age stripper. "Hope you're blessed."

"God's favorite," I wrapped her up in my embrace, my arms tight around her waist. She draped her arms around my neck, looking back at me with longing in her eyes. We grinded feverishly, in heat.

I wondered what her lips tasted like. She caressed my hair with her twelve carat wedding ring, guiding my lips to hers. They were sweet and soft, tasting of the icing for cinnamon rolls. I kissed her hungrily, continuing our hot dance like no one surrounded us. The jazz felt natural, like the instruments played themselves.

We pulled away from one another, staring as our bodies bumped and grinded involuntarily. I was dry humping a man's wife. A man that loved her twelve times over. The way she cradled me and kissed me and spoke to me ceased my moral high ground. I didn't know this man, I didn't even know his wife, but her energy was undeniable. I imagined this was how she seduced her husband before I was even born.

But she was older now. Had made a name for herself and created lives from her womb. Had built a castle with her bare hands. Had married the perfect man. She had done everything until there was nothing left. She was bored, and lonely. She wanted to feel twenty-one again, but her experiences lived inside of her, revealing her age, and making her irresistible to me. She felt neglected. Wanted some attention. Wanted to feel like a woman who still had good, useful eggs.

I slipped her my tongue and reached for her revealed thigh, easing my way up her silk dress. She leaned in to my touch, got tired of my teasing, and guided my hand to her lace thong. I was lost in her, forgetting that I was a guest here, forgetting where to even find Azariya and Galore. The power of sexual fervor was strong.

I had to remove myself from her, or we would end up on the dance floor, dancing with the devil. Her eyes called me back, but her mouth stayed partially ajar, her breathing unsteady. She was stubborn and proud, even in the most primal of moments.

I followed her back to the bar where she was working on a glass of Riesling. I sat beside her and tried to control my libido as she tried to free hers. We were at two different ends of the spectrum, but we both refused to lose.

"This is drink number six? How can you see straight?"

"I'm one drink away from allowing you into three orifices tonight."

I ordered her another glass, got carded, and the drink came. That tickled her.

Her Riesling was halfway gone, the alcohol showing in her bloodshot eyes. She was feeling the alcohol and feeling herself. Drink seven and eight would catch up to her. I remembered Azariya and stood to my feet. The pretty lynx with the nice eyebrows watched me.

"Riesling and Jameson must have you afraid."

"Riesling and Jameson have never scared me. Women like you have never scared me either. But I didn't come alone and what kind of guest would I be to leave my host?"

She nodded twice, the way people do in business meetings with heavy thought. She cradled that glass the way she had cradled me on the dance floor. Visions of her cradling me inside of passion filled moments flooded my mind.

"Tell the host I said hello."

I disappeared into the sea of dancing bodies, never looking back. But I felt her glazed eyes on me. I kept control, the way I needed to tame my throbbing erection.