I knock on her door anxiously waiting for her to open it and get this thing started. After what feels like a lifetime, she opens the door and leans against it, smirking, “Come on in.”

I step in the house but manage to brush up against her and become fully aware that she is not wearing a bra. She shuts the door and I push her against it, devouring her mouth. She was never content to not be in control of the situation so she pushes me back, putting her knee in my crouch, “Couch, floor or bed?”

I pant and try to regulate my breathing in order to answer her. All three suggestions sound good but after having my ass kicked by Marty, who demanded I get the routine down pat before I was allowed to leave for my little booty call, I could use something soft, “Bed.”

She doesn’t even wait for me as she removes her knee and starts walking up the stairs in those leather boots I love so much. Reminds me of the first time we ever hooked up. She was drinking a martini at this elite bar when I walked up to her and asked if I could buy her another one. She turned around, pressed her body up against me in that tight, v neck red dress with those boots and whispered in my ear, “You could do a lot more than that.”

Her bedroom wreaks of simplicity, though she is far from it. Black comforter, white walls and black and white photographs of the city nailed into place. Her oil paintings on easels are set up by the window awaiting inspiration. She has the most beautiful view of New York I’ve ever seen. But then again, it is the penthouse. I would expect nothing less from her.

I pull my shirt off and throw it to the side, picking her up and tossing her onto the bed as she emits a small groan, wriggling out of her skirt. I pull each boot off and connect my lips to her leg, going up until I reach her panties and pull them off with my teeth. She loves the rough stuff. Nothing pretty, nothing soft, nothing romantic and most of all, nothing emotional.

She pulls of her shirt and I rid myself of the last constricting piece of clothing, lying on top of her and I position myself and invade her. The friction between our bodies is what I love the most when we have sex. Her skin becomes hot and the more she rubs against me the harder I get. Her silk nails dig into my back and I’m sure after this my back will look like I got into a fight with a cat. No, I went to bed with a tiger.

I thrust harder as she moans for more, “Fuck me.”

My hips move faster and I thank Marty for the ability to do things in bed I couldn’t two years ago. I owe that guy a raise. Suddenly she pushes me back and I slam onto the bed in shock. She groans and hops on me, riding me so fiercely it makes me wonder how much experience she’s had. Not that I ever thought she wasn’t… practicing her craft but this is like something out of a movie that you watch and end up dreaming about. Halle Berry has nothing over her.

A few more thrusts into her and I collapse, going limp underneath her as she collapses on top of me, rolling right off. Never one to relish in the moment, she opens the bedside table and retrieves a pack of cigarettes. She snaps the lighter until fire comes out and puts it to the cigarette, puffing away.

“Those things will kill you,” I say.

“You haven’t even opened your eyes. How the hell can you smell the smoke already?”

I open my eyes, “Because I know you. We have never had sex and not had you light up afterwards.”

She lets a corner of her mouth turn up, “Habit. The first guy I was ever with used to smoke a cigarette right after we had sex. I guess I just picked it up somewhere along the way. Besides, who are you to question me when someone was doing pot last time I caught you at my daddy’s house.”

She has a point though I would never admit it out loud. That girl has won one too many battles for me to admit I’m wrong. I watch her close her eyes and blow the deadly smoke out her nose. I take the cigarette from her hand and put it out in the ash tray beside her, “You don’t want lung disease.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever you say.”

My hand goes between her legs and sits on her thigh for a few minutes before she pushes it off. Her number one rule is apparently still intact. No affection. There is no touching her for any reason except for sex. She sits up and slips out of bed, letting the sheets puddle at her feet. One thing I will give her is she was never self conscious about her body. Not that she has a reason to, it’s been kept up. Her daddy would have stood for nothing less from his only daughter. He raised a JonBenet.

Faster than I can blink, her clothes are returned to her body as she brushes her long blonde hair to make it shine. She looks back at me through the mirror and that’s my cue to get dressed and be on my way. I reluctantly find my clothes and put them on, watching her reapply her lipstick that came off during our tryst. She can’t even put on lipstick without giving off the image of sex kitten.

“What?” she asks having apparently noticed I was staring at her.

“Nothing,” I lie.

She walks out of the bathroom and pulls on her boots, looking like the last half hour didn’t happen. I stand up and look her over, “You got plans?”

She sighs, “You mean do I have plans and yes, I have to go meet Tim.”

“You’re still seeing him?”

She quickly makes the bed and every sign that I was there is erased as fast as one changes the channel on the TV, “As much as I’m still seeing you.”

I nod, “Well I guess that’s it then,” I respond, turning around to put my shirt on. The second I turn my back I feel her fingertips on her back, “Did I do that?”

I don’t move as she runs her fingers down the scratches, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

I turn around slowly, “It’s okay.” These are the moments I live for. They are so infrequent that I know not to expect it but hope to God that it might me that blue moon. It’s part of the reason that I stick around like a whipped pussy.

She immediately pulls away and shuts down as she brushes her moment of sincerity away like a wisp of fog, “I have to go.”

I walk down the stairs with her and follow her out the door. I feel like a fucking dog following after her like this. She clicks the remote on her car that unlocks it, “I’ll be seeing you.”

“Yeah,” I call after her.

She opens the door and slides in. I watch her and right before she closes the door I call out to her, “Meg?”

She lifts her head up and raises her eyebrows, “What?”

I stutter for a minute, “If you need someone to talk to, don’t hesitate to call.”

She laughs cynically, “Yeah, if I ever get lonely I’ll call.”