Mask
The entire time sitting in the audience, listening to your husky sing-song voice, all I wanted was to run my fingers through your hair. Just to know if it felt like silk to the touch the way it looked, whether it will become messy or if it’ll fall back over your eyes to make you look like the boy-next-door all over again.
My usual photographic memory is failing me today. I can’t recall word to word everything you said up there. Little snatches come and go. In them, I can hear you talking in ‘yello’ to your favorites. Some part of my brain registers which of the little anecdotes will turn into memes over time and which of the favorites will keep repeating which pieces of that dialog. But unlike all the other days, I don’t care.
I’m here. Finally, I’m here… and if I can just muster up the tiniest bit of courage, I might even get to shake your hand at the end of the screening. Well, that is if you don’t run away to one of your rendezvous like the last time.
Before I could snap out of my black mood from that last thought, the conversation on stage was over and you and the rest of the cast and crew stepped off the stage and walked to the seats reserved to begin the screening. For a moment I had the flashback to season one premier where I dreamt of sitting next to you and secretly holding your hand while watching the first episode. Of course, it didn’t happen. I couldn’t even get in after waiting in line for two hours then. But that was then. I am here now with much better adjusted dreams.
I just wanted to see you and hear your voice. Well, that and maybe run my fingers through your hair!
Any other day, I would have laughed if anyone had suggested I would try that. But as coincidences go, your assigned seat happened to be in front of mine. And when the lights dimmed all I could do was stare at the back of your head. Softly glimmering, black hair lit up in a rainbow halo. I’ll never really know which part of my brain had the discipline to guide my hand, which artfully leaned on the back of your chair for a moment before lightly running a finger down the back of your head till it accidentally made contact with your neck.
All the times I’ve fantasized kissing your neck flashed in front of my eyes. Wanting to taste the salt on your skin, trace the curve of your adams apple hit me with such an aching that my fingers froze on contact. From the way you leaned into the hand it was clear you had done it many times till it became almost reflex. Someone in your real life must like to touch you like this too. I should’ve felt jealous or perhaps come to realize I was clearly invading your personal space. But in my defense, I wasn’t in control of my hand. When the index fingers traced the length of the neck from ear to shoulder I felt your shiver and saw the tiny goosebumps blooming when I had touched. I figured you’ll turn around and at a minimum give me your legendary smirk laughing with your twinkling eyes.
But you didn’t. Instead, you held my fingers open and slipped a card on to the palm.
It was a hotel room key card with some scribbles on it.
It should’ve surprised me. But it didn’t. I’ve known for years you ascribe to the five-minute love story principle. I know, much like sailors and pilots of old tales, you have a girlfriend in every country you visit. I know they all co-exist because it is the only way to have you, at all. I know that most fall apart when the five-minutes fade because no one can let you go.
I know all this. But holding that card, I also knew with absolute certainty that I’ll be in that hotel room before the night ends.
Damn the consequences of when the five minutes fade.
I didn’t stay to get your autograph after the screening. It wouldn’t be polite to ask you to sign where I want your mark anymore. But I promise, that will be the first thing I do get when I see you next.
—-----------
Two hours later, I was sitting in the dark living room of a luxury suite. Part of me wondering what came over me to get in a cab and drive all the way here. Other part slowly losing the last vestiges of courage that had brought me here.
Just when I had decided it was a bad idea, I heard the click on the room lock. But instead of entering the room I heard your voice addressing someone in your native tongue. It sounded like you were disagreeing with him on something.
That moment I understood the scribbles on the card. First line had the suite number. Second read, “coat closet”. Just as I closed the closet door behind me, the room door opened and the ever so familiar silky black head leaned in.
I didn’t understand the dialog but from the tone it was obvious your new bodyguard wanted to check the suite before letting you in but you weren’t being entirely cooperative. Through the crack in the doorway I could see you standing in front of the closet door gesturing him to do his walk through the rest of the rooms, making a show of taking your coat off and coming to hang it in the closet, which incidentally happened to be the size of a small bedroom in new york. I was standing on the far edge as far from the opening as possible.
The twinkling eyes that looked into the closet searching for me felt familiar in a way it shouldn’t be. Fantasizing about you was one thing. Millions did it routinely. I did it every day. But in my fantasies they might be the most inviting, sensual pair of honey brown eyes I saw. This wasn’t just sexy. These eyes had a velvet depth and tiny golden lights that were a universe to itself.
And they held a trace of surprise before closing the door again.
I wasn’t sure how to read that surprise.
Did you not expect me to be here?
Were you expecting someone else?
Was it the person that touch your neck the way I had?
Is this all a mistake?
Were you really expecting someone else?
Never have I wanted to sink into the floor quite like right now. What do I do if you asked me to leave now? Underneath the bathrobe I wasn’t dressed to leave.
The bodyguard’s voice came back. This time, much calmer.
The room door opened again and closed with what sounded like muffled goodnights.
Closet door opened and you reached in to take my hand and pull me out of it while walking back to the main door. Without a word you laid your ear on the door to listen. Out of curiosity I did as well. Through the door I could hear the bodyguards footsteps outside. I didn’t understand. Was he going to march in front of the door all night?
Moment I opened my mouth to ask you, I felt your finger on my lips shushing me, while your eyes and ears stayed trained on the door.
It felt like an eternity. Standing centimeters away from you and yet not be able to touch you.
What if the next thing out of your mouth is an apology that you made a mistake and an offer to call a cab to send me back?
Maybe it’s that thought that made me kiss your finger against my lips.
The slight flicker of surprise in your eyes didn’t last too long this time. But was replaced by the familiar twinkle and the all too familiar smirk with one raised eye brow.
“Did you just kiss my finger?” you whispered.
The rough huskiness in your voice was like a drug. I would’ve done anything to get another dose.
Given all that was mine at that point was your finger, I took it in my mouth and slowly ran the tip of my tongue on it before sucking it, watching your eyes the entire time.
That was the first time I saw the mask slip. That tightly held control drop a fraction before you closed the centimeters that separated us to grip my face and kiss me.
It wasn’t one of them silver screen gentle first kisses.
It was hunger and wildfire.
And I wanted to burn in it till the day I died.
—--------
I don’t know how long it lasted. It was both too short and the length of an entire lifetime.
The soft curve of your lips, the rough texture of your tongue, the taste of your mouth… the way your fingers dug into my face and slowly moved down to rest on on neck… the force with which your body crushed mine against the door till I could feel every line and curve of you… everything… I wanted more of everything.
Of course the kiss was too short
Of course it felt like I had lived an entire life in that… a life not nearly enough.
The kiss didn’t end abruptly. You slowed it in starts and stops. Almost as if you were surfacing for longer and longer breaths in between. I still didn’t want you to stop. I wanted to wrap my legs around your hips and hold you to me. But your hands had slid to my hips to keep them in place as your kisses grew shorter and shorter until they stopped altogether after one final soft one where your lips, exhaling on mine, lingered a little longer.
One final listen on the door and you reached for my hand and walked back towards the living area.
“He’s gone to his room for the night. But we still have to be quiet.” You weren’t whispering anymore. But your voice still had that roughness that only comes from kissing. I was instantly jealous of every woman who had ever heard this voice of yours.
“Guess my plans to make you scream my name won’t work then.” I knew the nonchalance in my words wasn't going to fool you. But it was still worth it to hear your laugh and watch the twinkle come back in your eyes.
“Sit” you pointed to the couch, letting my hand go, walking over to a fully stocked drinks cabinet. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure. A Moscato or a Scotch please.”
“That’s two end of the spectrum, isn’t it?”
“Yeah well, who wants to live in the mediocre, safe places.”
“Definitely not you!”
Handing me a wine glass, holding your own whiskey tumbler you sat on the chair next to the couch. The slightly surprised, quizzical look was back in your eyes.
“You know I thought you were someone else, right?”
“Someone who likes to play with your hair and trace the lines of your neck?” Raising an eyebrow was all the answer you gave. But it was enough of an admission to make me see green again. “Are you going to offer to call me a cab and send me back now?”
“You know I should”
“What then? You gonna spend the night writing in your journal all by your lonesome?”
“So you don’t want to go?”
“Maybe in a bit. I’ve never done the groupie fangirl thing before. Think I want to try my hand at that.”
“Yeah? They are dime a dozen. You sure that’s what you want to be?”
“When I leave you can decide how many dimes it’ll take to find another me, Sunshine.”
The golden hues of the whiskey drew dancing lines in your eyes as you watched me while sipping the drink for the next few minutes. Somehow, the silence wasn’t awkward. “How about you first tell me what’s with the mask?”
I finally understood the reason for the quizzical look. I had expected it to be obvious, but perhaps it wasn’t. Putting the wine glass down, I stood up and walked to stand between your legs.
“It's part of my outfit.” I said as I took the whiskey tumbler out of your hand and placed the end of the belt that secured the bathrobe in place.
Without breaking eye contact you slowly pulled the belt until the bathrobe front opened to show the matching lace corset, stockings and panty.
“Ah… it is indeed part of the outfit, I see.”
“Yeah… isn’t this how the other fangirls do it, then?” I leaned in and whispered as I shrugged off the bathrobe and sat straddling your lap.
It was no surprise that my fingers were in your hair. After all, that’s what started all this. Much as I wanted to kiss your lips, after the last time, I knew I’d drown if I did. I wanted to know every line and curve of you before I drowned. Starting with the taste of salt behind your ear, down to the adams apple and the little hollow between the shoulder blades. I didn’t realized my hips had begun moving up and down against you, until your fingers dug in, pulling me closer.
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to be continued....
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