Locked Out

Things started so innocently before you pushed me up against the door to my building. We were locked out, searching for a way to access my less than secure apartment building. It was your last night in town, and probably the last time I’d ever see you again. You smelled like cigarettes and Colgate, and a faint waft of some generic cologne¬†put on when the night was still young and possibilities still felt endless. We ended up in the same spot we always do; you next to me at 5:30 in the morning, stumbling and giggling our way up the stairs to my apartment to inevitably continue poisoning our bodies and elevating our spirits with whatever we could get our hands on.

This time was different. You slipped your hand into mine as I searched for my key. I looked up, startled, and your lips met mine in a frantic, messy, all-consuming kind of way. We broke apart, panting slightly my jaw slack with confusion and satisfaction. “What are you doing?” I whispered, the words replacing your lips. Instead of a reply you silenced my thoughts with your mouth, my desire overtaking my confusion. I could hear your breath catch in your throat as you pressed yourself against me, the lust palpable.