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My clit starts to tingle, but I have never had an impending orgasm feel like this. It's intense, almost painful. Burning from the inside out, my walls igniting irritatingly. I can't stop the scowl that morphs onto my face, downturned lips, and clenched eyes. I don't want him to stop but it's getting worse, like everywhere he touches me is erupting.
Breathe, Mel, it's probably just been too long and your body forgot how it feels to have someone else touching you like this.
Except now it all feels wrong and I start to panic.
"Stop ... please stop." I force out, hating the words as they tumble from my lips, every inch of my core pleading to let him keep going but also begging him to stop.
He doesn't miss a beat, pulling his hand from me and taking a step back instantly.
"Fuck, did I do something wrong? You seemed into it, I swear I ..."
I'm not sure how to answer that. All I know is that even though he stopped touching me, the harsh pain keeps coming full throttle. I interrupt his sentence, doing my best to keep a straight face.
"I don't know, it's just ... burning. I literally feel like my vagina is on fire."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. What's happening?"
There have been a lot of firsts for me tonight. First time having a chick bring me into the men's room for a quickie, first time a woman has given me a condom to use with her, and thankfully the first time I have ever had a woman tell me her vagina is on fire. That last one is hopefully the first and last time I will experience it.
"My vagina feels like lava. What the hell was on your hand?" The words fall out of her swollen pink lips and I hate that instead of thinking more about what's happening, I am wondering how they would look around my cock. Her hair is still mostly intact, small tendrils tickling against her ears where strands have come loose from her updo. One reaches down to her clavicle where I see a faint imprint of my teeth. It's hot as shit. Hot as shit ... and then it clicks.
"I was eating these new ghost pepper wings at Orion before I came here. They were pretty good. I like a good balanced spice, you know the kind that leaves you salivating for a while like it's trying to cool your mouth down. I thought I got all of the sauce off my fingers but I guess ..."
"Oh my God, stop talking!" She interrupts, holding her hands out like a crossing guard stopping traffic. I should probably ask her name, but I'm not sure that this is the right time. Whoever she is, she fixes her skirt, the waistband twisted and hemline tucked into her panties. I get a glimpse of the black lace that is covering her drenched pussy and when I start salivating, I know it's not from the wings.
"Sorry, sorry. I ramble when I'm nervous. This is a first for me, I'm going to call an ambulance." I already have my phone in my hand, fingers on the dial pad, when she forcefully grabs it from my grasp.
"No!" Her tone is firm, much like the one my mother used on my older brothers, but never me. Being the youngest child has its perks and never getting blamed for any of the naughty shit my brothers and I were doing is by far the best.
"I mean a lava vagina is probably a good reason to get checked out by a doctor, don't you think? I mean, that seems kinda bad ... that ghost pepper is still in my stomach and based on that I can only imagine what it's doing to your insides right now." Another classic trait of being the youngest - having no filter whatsoever.
"What part ofstop talkingdidn't make it through your cranium? I'm not going to the hospital ... I'm a nurse, I can handle this on my own."
"Well, then we should probably at least get out of this bathroom and go somewhere more ... sanitary? So you can ... handle it or whatever? Can I bring you home?"
"No thanks, I can take it from here. Thanks for the ... never mind." She unlocks the stall door in a hurry, looking down at her outfit one more time to ensure everything is in its proper place, and then she storms out of the men's room.
"Hey! It's not my fault we had to stop before the good part!" I shout at her retreating back, running my hand through my hair in frustration. Okay, so it might be a little bit my fault.
And now begins the inner turmoil of a man being told he doesn't need to help the damsel in distress but secretly she might want him to follow her. Then again, this particular damsel seems unique in the sense I don't think she actually wants any help. It's refreshing and sexy - not like she needed any more help with that - a change of pace from the type of woman I am used to.
I leave the stall, making my way towards the bay of sinks. Washing her off me seems wrong, but it's tainted with ghosts of ghost pepper wings. I really liked them too - both her and the spicy sauced wings. And now I can't have either of them. Man, this sucks.
The soap bubbles as I rub my hands together, the faucet temperature set as high as I can get it to go, yet the water stays cold. I scrape under my nails, scrub my finger tips, and even consider washing my mouth out with soap to ensure this doesn't happen again. Yet again another lovely experience my brothers endured but I never did: the mighty backtalk soap wash. I guess I was smart enough to keep my smart-ass remarks at a whisper so mom never heard it.
The water finally heats up and I stand with the scalding water running over my hands for longer than I should, but no one is waiting for the sink so I don't care.
I make my way outside, ending my night early after everything with the mystery woman. This is not how I thought tonight was going to end. The New England air is getting brisk, the kiss of winter balancing on every gust when it hits my exposed ears. As soon as my shoes hit the pavement outside, I light a cigarette. My pack is almost empty - yet another thing I need someone else to help fuel my fix, I will have to ask one of the guys on site to get me another carton. The nicotine rushes into my bloodstream, wrapping its soothing smoke around every cell before I exhale. People passing by probably can't even tell that the smoke coming from my mouth isn't from my warm breath hitting the air.
My back hits the brick wall outside Galactic and I swear I can feel them pulsing with the beat of the music pounding inside. It's packed for a Wednesday night, but tomorrow is Thanksgiving so I'm guessing that is why. We are all getting our bonus weeknight party on before going home to our families. I bring the butt to my lips once again, pulling an inhale deep into my lungs, watching the tiny ember on the end glow against the dark night.
I told my brothers that I only smoke when we golf, but that was a lie. The truth is, I couldn't tell them that it grounds me, slows me down in the hustle of life. They would tell me that I am too young to be stressed out, that there's nothing to stress about since I don't have a wife or family, I don't own a business or have people who rely on me. But who are they to say that my burdens aren't heavy enough? I take another drag, my fingers starting to warm around the cigarette as the ember gets further down. I scuff it against the wall, letting the light extinguish before flicking it into a nearby trash bin, then exhale the last puff.
Tomorrow is going to suck and now I have blue balls to combat with.
The warm scent of turkey floats all the way to the side of the street where I had to park my car. Colton and Lucas - my two older brothers - got here before me and claimed the last two parking spots in the driveway. At least I won't have to worry about being stuck here longer than I want to be, no other vehicles are blocking me in and keeping me hostage.
I haven't had a cigarette since this morning, being sure to scrub my skin and wash my hair twice to erase the evidence, knowing damn well Mom will be able to smell it on me from a mile away. That might be part of the reason I brought her flowers - the scent is sure to mask any last remaining particles of cigarette smoke clinging to my clothes.
