Brief Intermission: Wilde & Reckless - "What's your story?"

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She didn't belong here, and neither did I. However, I needed a great escape before the city’s continuous thread of chaos caused me to have a nervous breakdown or worse at the tender age of thirty-six. Once upon a time, before politics and the betterment of my community became the forefront of my existence, this was my place of peace. As tumultuous and boisterous as the atmosphere was, it was where I unclogged my thoughts and developed the best strategies for my dilemmas.

“What’s your name?” I leaned forward, questioning.

She smelled heavenly, perspiration absent from her body. Strawberries and peaches with hints of lime. I couldn't help but wonder if it was her body wash or simply her natural aroma. As I waited for her response, I'd concluded one thing or another. She was intriguing.

“Are you here for a conversation or a dance.” She responded by grabbing each side of her ass cheeks as they tried connecting from the shaking of her legs. Baby girl was holding.

"Both," I admitted.

“Anonymous.”

“Anonymous?”

“Anonymous.” Anonymous nodded as she leaned forward until her fingers wrapped around her ankles, giving me a glimpse of her glory. Jeremih’s Whoosah track crept into the air, covering her performance and making her seem that much more desirable.

"This is the part where you throw your money." She peeped between her legs and instructed. I hadn't released a single bill since she'd begun and had no prior plans of doing so.

“Is it?”

“Yes.” She nodded, lifting and twirling as he rolled her hips.

Her skin was tinted, evidence of overexposure to the sun. Her messy bun had been traded for a sleek ponytail that hung down toward her neck, ending just before her back. Anonymous’s face was covered with a deep olive colored mask with navy blue finishing. It concealed nearly her entire face, leaving her forehead, lips and chin area exposed.

“What’s the harm in simply handing it to you? I find it disrespectful to throw money on the ground knowing that it belongs in your hand. Is that what you prefer? For me to toss it in the air as it falls on your ass on all over the floor. After we leave, you scurry to pick it up, keeping you longer than the hour I promised a dear friend?”

“Are you here to judge or have a d…”

“I’m just trying to make sense of it all. Once the hour has ended, I’ll gladly hand you the five thousand dollars I prepared for your time. In twenties.”

Without another word, Anonymous pushed forward. The bass from the speakers caused my empty cup to raddle on the wooden table next to us as she threw her leg over my chair, pussy in my face and head tilted backward. Her confidence had dissipated; movements unsteady and focus interrupted. Uncertain of where her mind had traveled, I summoned its return. I needed her here, in the moment with me.

“Where have you gone?” I inquired, lifting my arm and running it the length of her leg. She flinched before her head lifted and eyes stretched in surprise. “Tell me.”

“Touching is off limits.” She reminded me of the rules. Her rules.

Respecting her wishes, I withdrew my hand from her heated skin. “Where did you go?”

“Far away from here. Can you quiet yourself?” Frustration was evident in the crinkling of her cheeks and exhaustion in her tone.

"Usually, I'm not this talkative," I admitted.

“Then let’s keep it that way.”

“What’s your story?” Discernment being a gift of mine, I could sense her troubled heart.

“I don’t have one.” Anonymous removed her foot from the chair, spun around and propped it on the table beside us.

“We’ve all got a story.” I encouraged.

“Then, what’s yours?”

Grey HuffingtonComment