The Odd Ballerz

by Ruthie Robinson

  “That’s it… just… like… that…” he whispered into her ear, standing still basically, letting her do most of the work. “More…” he said, groaning under the onslaught of her hips, then it was nothing but the sound of her breathing, short pants that grew even shorter and then she released one long, heartfelt moan as he brought her to her climax, with that one little finger. He watched from above afterward, as her hips slowly, slowly slowed down to a stop.

  “What,” she said a few seconds later, when her head cleared enough to think about something other than his finger and the way it made her feel. His hands were out in front of her, holding his wallet in between them, frantically searching for something. A condom, she saw. His fingers shakily removed one from his wallet, before he let it fall to the floor. One tear of the package later and he was sheathing himself and bending her over, placing her hands low on the wall in front so her ass was at the perfect angle, pointed upward, and all his. He pushed her legs open wider, in a hurry now. He ran his hand over her core, ready and wet and his. He entered her on a groan, one slow sink into her warmth.

  He closed his eyes then, didn’t move; he needed a second to acclimate to his surroundings. All moist, warm, and tight was he in her. It took a minute before he pulled his hips back, not all the way out, just to the tip, watching the point where his body met hers. A beautiful thing to see was his erection, the tip just at the start of her. He moaned again as he slowly sank in again… so… good… he thought, or maybe he said it out loud, who knew, but he was pulling out to the tip of his erection again, only to push back in, and she felt wonderful, all moist and warm, and pulling him in, and out, and then in again, going with this slow pace of in and out for a while, until it wasn’t enough and he was pulling his hips back and slamming into her, finding a rhythm that would make this desire for her lessen, with a single-minded intensity; and it would be soon, whatever this was crawling over his skin. He wanted it released… now.

  She was panting, her hands falling away from the wall, yelping as she almost fell over at the strength of his last thrust. She giggled as he helped her up, placed her hands back on the wall and slid back into her warmth. He started again, his hands at her hips, pulling them back to meet the forward thrust of his, the strength of which had him readjusting his feet. He moaned, watching the beauty of her ass moving up and back over him.

  He moaned as Jones, without the aid of his finger this time, moved her hips to the right, then to the left, and “Oh… God…” ’cause her hips were circling his erection now, and he was closing in on his climax. And not more than two seconds later he was on his toes, pushing into her as far as he could, his hands at her hips, gripping them tightly, her ass meeting his hips, in place in front of him, just as she held his erection all snugly within her body. He closed his eyes and groaned. His head fell forward, and he let it come.

  It was quiet then, nothing beyond the sounds of breathing returning to normal, two people who had gotten lost in a moment of something incredible. She started laughing, causing him to disconnect from her.

  “What are you laughing at, Jones?” he said, pulling her up to stand, bemused and sated like you wouldn’t believe. He pulled her into his arms, his mouth on hers, needing to touch it, to be inside it, since he was no longer connected in the other way, mating with her tongue, as the last of his body tried to return to normal.

  “I don’t know why I’m laughing. It wasn’t funny. It was nice and more than nice, it was wow, and I could do that forever, but it wasn’t funny. I’m nervous, I guess,” she said.

  He kissed her again, lingering at her lips. “I’m with you there. Damn, Jones, that was nice, your favorite word,” he said, placing another kiss on her lips before stepping away. “Give me a second,” he said, his chest moving slower now. He disappeared through the bathroom door minutes later. She took the time to dress, to try and put herself back together again. She might look the same on the outside, but inside there were some major changes taking place.

  He found her standing in the doorway when he returned. He smiled at the beautiful picture of Jones in love with him, written on her face, although it was hard to think about much else beyond her mouth parted and lips open, inviting, and he couldn’t resist. “You’re staying the night,” he said, and it was far from an ask, before he leaned in and kissed her again, softly this time, lingering at her mouth again. He placed his hand behind her head to hold her in place as he plundered her mouth, for a while longer, just as he’d done to another part of her body a few moments ago and as he would so do again.

  “That works,” she said, smiling, and it was her turn to lean in for a kiss.

  #

  “Memphis,” he moaned, later on that night. “Memphis,” he said again—or moaned, she couldn’t tell which—into her ear as he pushed into her body again, a man on a mission since she arrived at his bed earlier.

  “Memphis,” he said again, his hand on her ankles, pulling them together, holding her legs up and in front of her body. In between his hips and hers was his erection, entering her again, and then again. “Memphis,” he said, spreading her legs wide later, placing one on each of his shoulders, as he continued the downward push of his hips. Dang, his hips were some kind of strong, and so were the arms that held his upper body erect and over hers and then as “Memphis” gave way to “M.”

  “M,” he said, as he pushed into her body again, unaware that he had switched to it. “M”, her ankles in his hands again, open this time and pushed back toward her ears, and he was thrusting into her again, and again, and harder. “M,” again, to accompany this next thrust, and he was moving her legs again, tucking them behind his back. It was “M,” falling from his lips for every downward thrust of his hips afterward. “M,” to every hard thrust into her, and oh God, she was coming. Another painful, pleasure-filled, mournful “M,” he said, as if he’d had to drag that letter from the depths of some place deep within him.

  “Oh God,” was all she could manage to say.

  “M,” in short bursts now… panting it out, now that he closing in on his climax. “M… M… M…” in time to the thrust of his hips, faster now that they were into the home stretch, the finish line shining brilliantly before them.

  She wanted to scream at the way this man released that one little letter, at the way he felt inside, all hard muscled and in-charge male, or at the way he made her feel, at seeing so much desire for her body, visible in his eyes. He was all pleasure-filled panting now as he stretched out his body above hers, pushing his hips down and up, and down and up; his arms holding his upper body away from her still; his hips the only thing in contact with her; eyes closed, sweat pouring off him, falling onto hers, face contorted in sweet pleasure and his hips moved, and moved, and that one letter, “M”, delivered like it was painful, yet so good, moaned out, one long M… a plea of pleasure as he came, bringing her along with him, and God he was beautiful.

  She closed her eyes, her climax forcing her to, rolling over her skin, leaving her twitchy and wired, and oh so satisfied. She could stay here forever.

  #

  The clock on his nightstand read five ten in the a.m. the following morning, the first thing she turned to check after opening her eyes. She moaned, and pulled her eyes away from the clock and back down to the top of his head, situated in between the valley of her thighs. She’d awoken on a moan, felt him, and then found him doing the thing he did so well to her, his tongue replacing his finger now without a hitch, and what a way to start the day.

  She moaned again, and tilted her hips upward, her hands in his hair, holding on, as her hips, with a mind of their own, responded to the touch of his tongue moving up and down and around. Finger or tongue or whatever, the man was gifted at pulling climaxes from her. “Oh…” she said, before offering up another moan of pleasure. She closed her eyes and let go.

  #

  “So should I expect you this evening?” he said, crawling up her body later, smacking his lips down on hers, after many tiny and not so tiny c
limaxes.

  “Do you want me to?” she asked when he pulled away.

  “I do,” he said, touching his lips to hers again.

  “Not too fast this thing, whatever it is that we’re doing?” she asked against them, looking up at him.

  “Is it too fast for you?” he asked, looking down into her eyes.

  “No,” she said. I’ve wanted you… this, since the beginning, was what she wanted to say but didn’t.

  “I’ll cook?”

  “Or I could bring something. I don’t want you to think you always have to feed me,” she said.

  “I like feeding you,” he said.

  “Fine, feed me then,” she said, chuckling.

  “So, do you have time or do you need to get to work?” he said, pushing her legs apart, settling his hips in between them now.

  “I have time,” she said, and kissed him back, wrapping her legs around his hips as he slowly slid into her warmth.

  #

  Thursday afternoon

  Lunchtime found Memphis standing outside of Charlotte’s door, needing to talk—to tell all. It had been all she could think about today: them, him, the things he’d said, the things he’d done; and she was going back this evening for more.

  “Hey,” Charlotte said, the baby in her arms, the only one too small for school. “This is a surprise,” she said, holding the door open.

  “I need to talk,” Memphis said, following her sister inside to the kitchen.

  “You hungry?” Charlotte asked.

  “Nope.”

  “What’s up?” Charlotte said.

  Memphis smiled and started to talk, and it all came bubbling out in a rush of surprised chatter filled with lots of Wows and Dang, that man, and happiness.

  “Well… well, that’s good,” Charlotte said, after Memphis’s words had slowed their frantic tumble out of her mouth.

  “Yes,” Memphis said, smiling.

  “I told you. I knew last year, the first time I met him, and I should have followed my instincts, and you and he would have been married by now.”

  “Okay, let’s slow ourselves down,” she said, and then laughed, but wishing right along with her sister.

  #

  Wednesday

  Aarik, Anson, and Alex stood off to the side of the football fields, watching as the last of the boys in his son’s age group moved off the fields, to be replaced by an older group of boys. A steady stream of kids, practicing and preparing for the upcoming season, was this place in the evenings.

  “Thanks for sticking around and helping me,” Aarik said.

  “Yes, thank you, Ms. Alex,” Anson said, sliding into the passenger side of his dad’s car.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, looking down at the small boy through the window. He was a cutie, a little version of his father.

  “I’m going to walk Coach Alex to her car. I’ll be right over there. I can see you, so stay put. Okay?” he said.

  “Okay,” Anson said.

  Aarik waited until they were some distance away from his son before he said, “Let’s say that for some reason you’re unable to make it to practice and I can’t reach you by phone. What should I do? You know, to make sure you’re okay?” he asked.

  “I could give you my sister Charlotte’s number, I guess,” she said, scanning the parking lot as she had done off and on all evening, unconsciously. It spoke to how spooked she was that she didn’t hesitate in handing over her personal info to him. It wasn’t just that, she was also starting to trust him. She rattled off Charlotte’s number and he entered it into his phone.

  “I’m a really good listener if you want to talk,” he said, smiling when he was done.

  “No, I’m good. Past history. And every now and then I get spooked easier than I used to, but I’m good.”

  “You sure?”

  “I am. It’s an old boyfriend that didn’t take my leaving well, and I haven’t heard from him in a while. Haven’t seen him here either, but I can’t shake this feeling.”

  “I’m not going to invite you to stay with me. You could if you wanted to. I don’t think you will, so how about staying with one of your sisters? Until whatever it is that has you afraid passes.”

  “I’m good. Really, but thanks,” she said.

  “If you need me, you can call me, you know,” he said.

  “Somehow I knew that. Not always did I know that, but I do now.”

  “It could be at any time, day or night. I like you, Alex,” he said.

  “I like you too,” she said, sliding behind the wheel of her truck.

  He stood, watched her drive away, and as he had done the other nights, he waited and scanned the streets for he had no idea what. Maybe he should call the sister, Charlotte, and tell her about the concern that he couldn’t name or see.

  SEVENTEEN

  Thursday

  They were out on his deck now, much later, both of them sated and hungry, he in his favorite lounge chair nude, legs stretched out before him, and Jones seated cross-legged in between them, wearing nothing but his t-shirt. Dinner was a bunch of different things, and all left over from earlier this week. He thought to cook for her, but after seeing her step out of her car earlier, food had been the last thing on his mind.

  “It’s hodgepodge, leftovers from the week,” he said about the meal before them, composed of fried chicken—which was great cold, she thought, taking a bite from a drumstick—and fresh greens he had mixed up really quickly in some spicy vinaigrette. There was some kind of potato salad made with those red potatoes, skin left on, and all of it great tasting.

  “My leftovers never, and I do mean never, taste like this. You’re a great cook,” she said, pointing her fork at him to punctuate her words.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “It explains the kitchen,” she said.

  “Yeah? What does it explain?” he asked.

  “It’s a gourmet kitchen, complete with all the new and modern gourmet gadgets. I know you know that. The rest of your home is not like it. And don’t take that in a negative way, it’s just that it’s clearly a focus for you, this and your studio; things you apparently like, and are good at. And oh, let’s not forget football. You’ve built your very own football field in your backyard. Who does that?” she said, chuckling.

  “Does what, build their home around the things they love? I don’t know but we all should.”

  “Sure we should. So… did you go to culinary school or something?” she said, clearly enjoying his food, not even going to pretend she didn’t.

  “Nope,” he said.

  “Who taught you then? Your mom?”

  “I taught myself. Ended up being in charge of cooking for my little brother. Started out making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, boiling eggs, that type of thing, and it grew from there. My parents were always busy doing other things so I became the cook out of necessity.”

  “So you’re good at everything?”

  “No. I was dyslexic, remember? School was a bitch,” he said.

  “Right,” she said.

  “It didn’t get in the way of your art, your dyslexia?”

  “Nope. One of the easiest things I do, then and now.”

  “What’s your favorite thing to make?” she asked, getting back to discussing his inventory. It had been cut short Wednesday evening.

  “Lighting for the home, chandeliers, using my designs. It’s where I spend most of my time… creative time, that is. Most of what you saw in the storeroom is considered more production pieces and less art. Made from molds, mostly. Believe it or not, most of glassblowing is for production. It’s what pays the bills. Very few of us glassblowers become hugely famous,” he said.

  “Who taught you?”

  “My family. I grew up in an artist commune of sorts. Not all of them were glassblowers, no, but they were all into art. My aunt, my father’s sister, taught me the most,” he said.

  “She lived near you?”

  “Yep,” he said.

  �
�That’s nice. Your family sounds interesting and close knit,” she said.

  “It was. They are.”

  “You work at night?”

  “Not usually, but I will if I have a deadline to meet.”

  “Saturday is a deadline?”

  “Yep.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “Good.”

  “So communicative are you. You have help?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Yes, Meredith is helping me. She’s good at what she does,” he said, smiling.

  “I bet. I heard you two that morning, by the way.”

  “What morning?”

  “Last Saturday morning and here I am, wow, sort of doing the same things, probably making the same sounds, and that was quick. Maybe not for you, but for me. So what, I’m the new Meredith? Is that what I’m doing here?” she asked, meeting his eyes.

  “What, fulfilling a mutual need?”

  “Is that what you two were?”

  “We are friends mostly, but yes, we were that too.”

  “Oh,” she said, not sure if she was okay with that, even though she liked being here with him.

  “What you heard was all it was ever going to be with Meredith. Nothing beyond friends with the occasional benefit.”

  “Where there is room for more with me?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How much more?” she said.

  “I don’t know. Do you?” he asked.

  “No, I guess not,” she said, wiping her hands on the napkin. Done eating. “What about the woman last year?” she asked.

  “What about her?”

  “You like her?”

  “I thought I loved her,” he said.

  “Oh,” she said. Hadn’t expected that answer. “So what happened?” she said, surprised by his admission.