I’m On Fire

Editor’s note: This piece first appeared in 2011 over here. It was based upon a prompt for a writing group I was participating in at the time. I moved it over here so that it would be backed up and protected like the other posts you find on this blog.

My seventies girl has jet black hair, dark eyes and legs that look like they could wrap around me twice. I look out the window and watch as she parks the car. She looks up at the building and for a moment my heart stops.

I know that she can’t see me, but I can’t help but step back from the window. My phone rings but I don’t have to look at the Caller ID to know that it is her calling me. It is early in the morning so my voice is husky and a tad deeper than normal.

“I am walking to the elevator now,” she says. I don’t realize that I haven’t answered her and I stare out the window and watch as she walks towards the entrance. “Are you still there or did I lose you,” she asks. I apologize and mumble some sort of excuse as to why I didn’t respond.

My mouth is suddenly dry and I worry that my breath stinks. I squeak out a “See you in a moment” and make a dash to the bathroom to brush my teeth again. I look in the mirror and say “relax” through clenched teeth. The face that looks back at me isn’t the one that I want. I see a million flaws and am certain that she’ll see them too.

I tell him again to relax and suggest that he try to be like Danny Zuko in Grease. He rolls his eyes at me and says not to be stupid.

There is a loud knock on the door and I yell that I’ll be there in just a minute. A new challenge has crept up, one that is specific to men and I am afraid to answer the door as there is no way to hide what has happened. I look at the reflection and say “think of something really sad or really disgusting.”

Even though I am not sweating profusely I imagine that I look a little bit like Albert Brooks in Broadcast News. The big distinction is you can take care of a sweaty forehead with a towel. That won’t quite work in this particular situation.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath but all I can see is my seventies girl staring back at me. My “problem” hasn’t quite disappeared but I can’t keep her waiting any longer so I try to imagine what Roseanne looks like naked. That does the trick and I walk to the door and open it.

My seventies girl glides into the room and I wrap her up in my arms. I feel her squeezing me and listen as she whispers in my ear. I am as happy as I have ever been.

I am lost in the moment and barely aware that I am running my hands up and down her back and hips. She takes my hand and leads me into the room. I hear music but the stereo is off and so is the television.

This moment feels like the culmination of a lifetime of waiting and I find it all intoxicating. She smells so very good and fits so perfectly in my arms that I can’t imagine not spending my life like this. At this very moment the earth truly is standing still and if she should ask me to get the moon I will do everything in my power to make it happen.

She is sitting on the edge of the bed looking up at me. I look down and watch as she traces patterns across my stomach. I am lost in those dark eyes and transfixed by her smile. I want this….moment…to last for as long as possible.

We aren’t using words any more but there is no doubt or uncertainty coming from either of us. Her hand moves from my stomach to my leg and I feel my whole body twitch.

I am on fire….

This post was based upon a prompt from The Red Dress Club.

If you are interested in reading past submissions you can find a list of them below:

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