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Anton’s Intermezzo

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I remember the pounding beat and flashing lights and bodies writhing in ecstatic unison, clutching a moment.

From across the table, I watch her finger tracing the velvet rope of her mouth, bending her kiss. My tongue darts out, knowing her taste… her scent. My cock crushes headlong into the prison wall of my zipper: abraded and chastened, and as repentant as a bull. Watching her, her eyes glinting amber-gold like the Chablis at her elbow.

We remember, together, the glory of it. Our companions, our unwitting spectators, chatter aimlessly. And She flows with them, guileless, even as she winks at me! At a later hour, I distinctly recall saying something-or-other. It must be correct, for I will remember I hear laughter, before the conversation laps away. And still, her lioness eyes never leave off searching my face.

I remember watching her earlier approach, as if a kestrel detaching from a mass of creeper… this wonder in black and white; blowing vapor, like smoke, as she neared. ‘I remember you,’ I said.

She nodded. She did not touch my cheek, but I almost felt it. ‘It’s been a while, old friend.’

‘Careful with ‘old’…,’ for I was ashamed of the three white hairs I’d found in my beard, just that evening.

She grinned, no trace of sorrow, ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘Oh,’ Lynde, the Ever-Graceful, had sung, ‘you KNOW each other? Anyway, Anton: Diana… Diana: Anton.’

‘Oh. We’re OLD friends,’ Diana’s mouth arched over the “old.” And cuffed me with the first of many winks. The insufferable wench! I was struck dumb, and led along, and plunged into the light and darkness and the din-that-was-silence, in the club.

We found a table. Evelyn-Call-Me-Dean threw up his hands, and said, ‘Drinks?’

‘Talisker, if they have it, Glenfiddich if they don’t.’ Lynde put in.

‘He knows,’ She said, and indicated me. But does he remember? contained in a wink.

‘I guess I’d better come along.’ I said, faux-desolated.

I guess you’d better… Her eyes were spurs. How could NOBODY see it?

I followed confrere Ev to the bar… He of broad shoulders and curly hair: hard to lose him, in even thick crowds. He got all the girls in school. Almost.

Listening, then breaking apart his order from the chorus washing us. ‘… okay, I think she’ll be fine with a rusty nail. And a pint of— what’s on tap? You gotta be kidding me! Ahhhh— Blue Moon, I guess.’

Bartender jerked his chin in my direction, in the universal signal of, ‘what’ll be…?’

‘Glass of the house Chablis! And a JD and Coke, short.’

Bartender jerked affirmative and bowed to making.

‘I Kuşadası Escort got this.’

I acceded. Why not? ‘Next round.’ I said, automatically.

And, presently, four filled glasses. Lynde’s carried by Ev. Diana’s clutched with mine. Giddy as a school boy. I almost dropped it all. Yet he never noticed.

Back with the ladies. A kiss to Lynde’s cheek for commencement of apologies. ‘They had nothing, Doll. I got you a rusty nail.’

‘With what?’


Lynde made a face, that quickly dissolved. ‘Liquor’s liquor, I guess. Slainte!’ She slugged back half, like punching herself in the mouth

And we all followed around. Diana alone sipped delicately.

‘At least,’ Lynde groused, ‘it’s not Johnnie Walker Red.’

Yet, Lynde dissolved in the heat of Diana’s approval. And poor Lynde never know she was molten, even as she turned into a candle, in my mind. For I remembered.

Diana thanked me… her wink a kiss, her kiss a promise. ‘Dance with me,’ she said.

Diana, I would turn into a stag for you. I made the toast with one last mouthful, and we glided to hardwood… her hand in mine.

‘They’re playing our song.’ she murmured, as she collected around me.

I smiled, remembering. For every song was our song, at one time — especially the slow ones. ‘Yeah.’

Hand in mine, entwining fingers. Warm and cool. Second hand, curved on her hip’s cusp. The music moved us. She swayed, sinuous: smoke through water. I led as best I could, power to her grace, ground to her water, and mystified all the same.

‘Mmmm, where you been all my life?’

‘Here and there, Dee…’

She looked at me. Almost stopped, but her hips maintained heart rhythm. She didn’t SAY, ‘more there than here.’ And I NEVER even thought, more than briefly, ‘more your idea than mine.’ We knew. We knew. She looked at me, eyes filled with crystalline regret. One tear fled down her cheek, and then others and she pressed her chin into my shoulder.

‘I miss you.’ She said.

My grip tightened and I inhaled, almost a spasm. Dee, I can’t tell you how much you are missed by me. Every day, I never will, in terms you can actually HEAR.

We swayed, never realizing for three bars, that the DJ had slipped on. Dee clung to me: rained-on, downy and innocent. ‘I’m a mess.’

Wellsprung from my lips, ‘Nooo…’ I brushed a tardy escapee from her alabaster cheek.

‘Shut up.’

‘It’s not a lie, Dee. You look… amazing.’

‘Yeah, right.’

I chewed on my reply; bitter and unsatisfying.

She led, and we weaved away, and to… Kuşadası Escort Bayan Avoiding traffic, and meeting our friends less than half-way (as they, also, must dance).

‘Hey kidlets, having fun?’ Lynde saw blindly, and it didn’t register. ‘Gunna make my old man sweat. Can you watch my purse?’

‘I gotta go freshen up,’ Diana said, not hiding her reddened nose behind a fist.

Lynde flashed an accusation at me, ‘Anton, what did you say?’

‘Nothing!’ I lied.

‘It’s just that song.’ Diana lied better.

Lynde was at about eighty-six percent mother hen.

Ev flashed me a look of Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?

I flashed back a shrug.

Lynde regarded Dee and I. Her gaze never fixed, though she settled on Diana. ‘Do you want me to…’

Diana shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’ She waved her magic hand, coming away with Lynde’s silver clutch. ‘Dean’s sweating already. Make the man earn it.’

Lynde was prepared to be convinced, Ev pulled on her wrist… And they merged into the blue-green sea of dancers.

‘Take that,’ she said, briskly; slapping Lynde’s purse to my chest. She left me then. There standing, pounded by a surf of noise, and the tail end of the crowd.

I could not feel more foolish, standing alone, accompanied by Lynde’s vanquished rusty nail, Ev’s nearly gone pint, Diana’s just-tasted Chablis… and me, holding a purse. I looked glumly at my glass: melting ice and weakly sizzling milliliters of alcoholized pop. I ignored it, having lost all taste for it. And so, because I could not feel more foolish, I sallied forth, purse couched like a lance.

Tracing her scent through the crowd, getting leg, then elbow, room… Coming on a barren place, and the door marked ‘Ladies.’ I reconnoitered with a glance, and ducked on through.

Diana looked away from the mirror. ‘You’re a prick, you know?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Stop saying you’re sorry.’

I stalked closer. ‘I’m sorry for saying sorry.’ I kissed her, then, as an apology, more an offering. My lips addressing hers, tasting, searching, questing… Undeniable, no matter her resolution.

Her mouth made urgent, sucking, whimpered words; and yet, heedless, I kissed her, worth of five years in abeyance. So then she was released, and her eyes flashed soft fire.

‘You’re still a prick.’

‘I know.’ I turned to the wall, arms planted. I said, ‘arrest me, officer… I’ve been a bad boy.’

She blinked, ‘arrest…’ OH!’ and she did not blink again, for she remembered. She approached me warily, ‘how ‘bad’ we talking?’

‘Pretty bad. I think broke Escort Kuşadası a girl’s heart.’

Her hands laid upon me, searching me. ‘Naw, you just royally pissed me off, I think. I thought you’d forgotten about me.’

I set to explain that was impossible. Instead, I grunted. For, her treacherous hand invaded my groin. Grasping me and squeezing. ‘I missed HIM, too.’ She pulled on the lever with a frisson of mischief.

I maneuvered around. Held her tiny wrists with cabled fingers. I grinned, ‘no brutality, officer… I’ll be forced to file a complaint.’

Her mouth found mine, and she bit. ‘File away. See what that gets you!’

Her voice was music and whip, enticing and driving.

I kissed back, lips recalling: tongue also, even as it tasted the renewedness of her. My hands explored the hidden pathway of her spine. Urgency and madness… This eye of the sucking maelstrom. This current. This undertow. Caught; clinging… flowing.

Kissing the arterial throb on her swan’s neck. Her cheek turned. I pursued, kissed up her jaw. Finding her encircling lips.

Low moans as we kissed and kissed and kissed… my fingers clicked on her buttons. Her urgent growls, as approval, as I popped open her bra clasp in the front. My hot hand on her quivering breast. The nipple inscribing creases on my palm. Here is your love line, and here and here…

We wrestled out of shirt tails and zips… pushed and pulled, and fell into the stall-door. There was laughter (ours), and vague notions of music and thunder (outside). I could hear her heart. I could smell her… taste her… every point of contact was an axon. I could look into her eyes… and look and look and…

Buried, then, in her, and wrapped up… The World Entire, in two striving bodies.

Ah, so. Blushing, my bride. Fingers addressing buttons, and eyes downcast. I touched her with a smile. She looked at me, her eyes kindling.

‘Hi, Love,’ I said.

‘Hi.’ She looked away again, her rosé deepening to burgundy. Her gaze traversed grout lines, and crossed and recrossed, as her slender fingers clicked up her ivory buttons.

‘We’d better be getting back,’ I said.


‘They’ll be missing us.’

Nod. ‘Lynde will, anyway.’


My smile a salute, I permitted her to duck out. (Which is to say I watched her ass roll dizzyingly on the current). After she left — boldly, I followed, tracing her steps.

So now, here I stand: equidistant, and different. They do not see it: neither Ev, nor Lynde. She does: Diana. She flashes me a diamond-hard glare of recognition. Behave!

And so, I neglect to mention that her fourth button down is floating free. I neglect to mention that her flushed cheeks are a beacon. I see her, and am swept up in knowing her.

I recognize… we are dancers. And we will come around, and come around, and come around.

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