She walked out of the bathroom in a tank-top and jeans with her hair slicked back and a hand towel hanging around her shoulders. This is not what she looks like. Not ever. This is my good girl, my sweet girl, with her hair hanging messily over one eye and slight curls at her neck. My baby in her favorite, softest shirt that drapes lazily over her curves and shows off her tits. My girl walked by me looking like somebody else. Still wet from the shower, strutting by me like a boxer.
I sucked in my breath and stared. “Damn, baby” I said, getting an eye roll in return. She thinks I’m joking. “Damn, baby,” I say, “for real.” She walks right by and out onto the deck. It’s a rare warm night. We never get warm nights in Oakland. It feels so good I’m afraid to say anything. As if this isn’t supposed to happen and the fog will come rolling over us the moment I call attention to it.
She’s leaning over the railing, looking down on the dead weeds and sticky plum pits below. California is painfully dry but somehow the plum tree in my backyard produced more fruit than ever this year. Hundreds of tiny, yellow plums showered down night after night for the animals to nibble. So much abundance, the squirrels take a small bite and toss the rest, not caring enough to finish any single plum, just wanting to taste them all. Tonight there’s a mama deer and two babies. I lean to look over my sweet girl’s shoulder and watch them graze. It’s magic.
We love the deer. She watches for them every night. As she bends further over the railing for a better view, I lean back to look at her. My fingers hover over her muscled back, so visible under the flimsy white cotton tank-top. I feel my clit throb at the thought of touching her and feeling her stiff muscles under my fingers. This is my girl. Her body drives me crazy. Tonight she looks hard. Muscled. I let myself touch the back of her neck, just under her wet, slicked down curls. I trace the pink ink of her tattoo.
Feeling her tense muscles, I pinch the back of her neck between my thumb and first two fingers. I am always massaging her, petting her in some way or another. It’s not because I’m sweet. This gets me off. My fingers run through her hair for hours when we curl up to watch a movie. My hand strokes her side and back as I hold her in bed at night. I dig my thumbs into the deep muscles around her shoulder blades. She moans with the release and each noise she makes gets me hard. So fucking hard. I get myself off petting her. She groans with pleasure, her head in my lap. I squirm, gripping her hair and balling my fingers into fists.
Now, on the deck, in the soft, warm air, she lets her body sink onto her forearms against the railing as I press deeper into the rods of muscle just below the base of her skull. Her ass leans into me and one knee slightly buckles. I wrap an arm around her low belly. “Curl over my arm,” I whisper and press against the back of her neck. She backs up, pushing her ass more firmly against me. I step back and she follows. Another step. Two. She bends over with a flat back, her arms reached out in front of her, gripping the railing. I watch her fingers crawl for a solid grip on the wood. I’m bent over her, my hand still firmly on her neck.
I am whispering into her back. My mouth against her spine. The ribs of her tank-top rub against my lips. I’m speaking garbage. Nothing I want to be saying. Nothing worth repeating. I’m speaking without thinking, by rote. I tell her how hot she is and how turned on I am. I say the things that anyone says to anyone else and everyone says to someone and mostly it’s how they feel but not always. I want to tell her the truth. I want to tell her that she breaks me down. I want her to know that it scares me the way I feel about her. I want to tell her that sometimes she’s my Daddy and sometimes my girl. I want her to feel how wet my pussy is with this, just this. Her muscled back and shoulders, her slicked back hair, her ass shoved against me, my fingers hooking into her belt-loops.
I pull her jeans down. She says something about the neighbors and I look up, but no one’s out tonight. No one I can see. I keep going. I slide her panties down far enough to see her pussy peeking out between her thighs. I trace a finger around her hole. Drag my thumb through the close cropped hairs on her swollen labia. I can see her pussy get wet. She shifts on her legs from side to side, rubbing against my fingers. “No,” I hear myself whisper and I don’t know what I mean until I grab my belt. My fingers fumble with the buckle and the leather strap slips away and slaps the deck below. I jerk my pants open with a single tug that unbuttons and unzips my jeans enough to make room for my hand.
I am so wet. I tell her this. “I’m so wet,” it comes out in a jerky, hoarse voice I don’t recognize as my own. My clit is so hard and aches so bad that I can’t jerk myself off the way I always do. My fingers frustrate me, trying to find a way to rub my rock hard clit. I pinch my shaft and pull, tugging myself, burning. My body is demanding something new. I’m trying to figure it out, clenching my teeth. I can feel sweat on my forehead and on the back of my neck. The warm air is heavy with moisture and I feel the sweat start to roll down between my shoulder blades.
She pushes back, rocking. The backs of her thighs, the hint of her pussy, her ass. She rubs herself against me. All I see is her hard, flat back. Her shoulder blades cutting against the edges of her tank-top. Her slicked back curls sticking now against a very wet neck. “Fuck me,” she says and I know what she means. I keep my hand in my pants. I’m flicking the tip of my finger against my clit now. Hard. Painful. I feel like I’m going to shoot. There is this angry need climbing up inside my body, up the backs of my legs, up into my shoulders and arms. I feel angry and growing. I feel as heavy as lead. My legs start to shake. I’m heating up hot, so hot, I see my skin flush darker. And I come with a jerk so hard, I shove her forward and hear her skin scrape against the railing. She gasps louder than I do. I’m biting my lip. Stifling the explosion. Unable to let it out, all out, even now.
My chest is heaving. I’m still out of breath, panting, when I slide my hand out from between my legs and reach for her. I stare at my wet hand and drag two fingertips up and down her pussy. “Get off for me,” I tell her. She opens her legs a little wider and stands up. I can’t see her fingers on her clit, but I watch her body shake a little as she starts to jerk off. My hand disappears between her legs, the backs of two knuckles rubbing low, near her hole. Wet. Pushing into her just a little. Feeling her open up. With one finger crooked tight, I grind against her hole. Circling.
“Feel me,” I tell her and she starts to moan. Her hole grips my knuckles, holding me inside her. She’s louder now, moaning in that deep way that sinks into my skin. “Feel me,” I say again, “I want you so much.” And all the words pour out of me. Everything I want to tell her. I whisper every word. Soaked in this heat. Feeling the trickle of sweat on the backs of my knees. My right arm starting to shake out of fear or exhaustion. I say it all while she moans louder, coming hard in this night, on the deck, with the sky turning dark, and the neighbors must hear her. Her sweet moan, so loud. My voice so soft in this sweet, warm night.