Monday, July 6, 2009

Pickup Artist

Lesbian Angels stock 42 by *Tigg-stock on deviantART

You said the best part was when I told you your hotness was unbelievable. I remembered emphasizing that lie by telling you that I felt like an ice cube melting in the desert. You giggled even though you knew I was on my second drink. I realized now how you never stopped me while I was laying on the metaphors by comparing you to a bolt of lightning. I was slurring my words, stringing descriptions like illuminating, flashy, destructive, and dangerous. And yet you felt like I captured your essence; that I was different from the people you associated with. I just nodded my assent, because telling you that it was the fourth drink talking would alert you to the fact that I wasn’t even trying to warm up to a more original territory.

I thought about how you wanted to take me home that night. The desperation was evident enough in the plasticine quality of your skin. I remembered how fascinated I was by the way alcohol made your makeup even more grotesque under the lights. And I could almost recall you mentioning a boyfriend, if I wasn’t so distracted by the ample cleavage that stared at my face. I ordered another drink before I took you to my place, where we danced the mattress jig—might I add—none too gracefully.

Doing it with a girl was a first for you, you said. It wasn’t for me, but I would never tell you that, not sober, at least. I was thinking how to shut you up, but then you decided that moment to give me a kiss. I gave in – another lie that won over the decision to be kind. And as you drifted off to sleep, sighing, I thought about another guy, whose name would be the last thing on my lips.

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