A Short Story: “Carnal”

There had been little discussion and even less recollection about where she had been the night before. It was New Year’s Eve and when the large hand of the clock touched “12”, her inhibitions were tossed into the air along with the confetti. She had a copious amount of Jack Daniels dancing in her veins. Her rouge lips matched the chair in the modest hotel room, the dark liquor matched her dilated pupils, and noise-makers drowned out the sound of better judgement…

They saw each other in passing on numerous occasions, at the “vibey-est” events at the most sought-out venues in the city. They knew each other by name but chance never allowed them to converse. She was typically with one or two other earthy, but glamorous women. Him, always with a group of well-groomed men who smelled of success and worn books. That night was no different.

The air was chilled, so she wore tights under fishnet stockings and a bright blue dress that hugged her breasts, cinched her waist, and cupped the underside of her small butt ever, so heavenly. The air in the city was festive and bright. A new year brooded, anxious for its debut.

There was something carnal in the air begging for her attention, burgeoning. She noticed him while sipping on her third neat glass of Jack Daniels. Maybe it was the way he wore his white peacoat, with a dark brown hat and dark brown loafers, a perfect trio. Perhaps it was the alcohol, casting iniquitous whispers in the wind. We can possibly consider pheromones. But she decided that this would be the night they would become more acquainted.

At 11:50 PM she strayed away from her company and floated toward him. She lightly brushed against his arm as she landed by his side. His gaze met her coy smile and he smiled back.

“Hey, happy new year”, he says. They were standing close enough at the suddenly crowded open bar for her to get a whiff of his breath. It smelled warm and fresh and distinctly, him. She echoed his sentiments.

11:57 PM she decided that she wanted to taste the lips that wished her a new year of happiness. She wondered what his mouth would feel like. Jack was making suggestions and she was calculating the perfect moment of opportunity.

He shifted his weight and looked at her at 11:58 PM, in idle conversation with associates but obviously distracted. Her eyes were low and she rose them just enough as her lips and tongue delicately grabbed the cocktail straw. They were still standing closely. She could suddenly feel his warmth through her fishnets and something stirred.

Her back was against the edge of the bar top and his back was slightly turned to her as the countdown began. At seconds to midnight she reached out and gingerly touched the back of his left shoulder. He turned and their eyes locked. It took one step for them to be chest to chest. He knew.

“…Two, one, Happy New Year!”

It was slow motion. Their lips met and she felt like she had found home for just the briefest moment. He tasted like trouble and passion. Like complexity and security. He was indeed fresh and his tongue moved around hers like he’d been there before.

She pulled away as they began to go deeper, confused by how much she succumbed to her sudden desire of a semi-stranger. She looked at him and smiled.

“Come with me” he bent his long neck to whisper. He took her hand and led the way. She held up her pointer finger as she walked by her friends whom shared quizzical looks; “One minute” she mouthed and grinned.

How easy it was to be whisked away into the elevator. Their fingers were interlocked and they stood in silence as the floor numbers increased. This was tantric. She was suspended in air like the elevator shaft. She was in her right mind, which made her actions even more puzzling but she refused to talk herself out of her recklessness.


He pulled her to him as the room door closed. The passion in their kiss had increased by tenfold. There was a tsunami forming under her dress. As he found his way to her neck, her legs wobbled like a newborn giraffe. She was losing control.

You could still hear the fireworks and cheering from downstairs as he sat her on top of him on the red accent chair. She pulsated. Her knees kneed the cushion as he began kissing the softness at the top of her breasts. Lower. Kiss. Lower still. He grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head. She rocked against him. He stopped only at her subtle insistence that he begin to undress as well. She kissed his chest, rubbed her face against the coiled hairs, inhaled deeply and exhaled control.

She knew that the night was not about romance or love. It was about letting go. A freedom of exploration and gratification. He reached under her and the room flooded. She rocked against his hand as he rubbed and kissed. He was gentle but handled her deliberately.

“Please” she moaned. She kissed his smirk as he lifted her to the bed. She was a fountain, a spring river and he lapped and suckled. She hadn’t realized that she had a void until he filled her up. He fit like he was tailor-made for her womb. It wasn’t until her moans drowned out the multi-colored explosives, that she realized she had a voice. It was electric. Fire.

6:45 AM she woke up in a tangled mess of limbs and sheets. Her head was spinning, she was sore and her phone read 20 text messages and 6 missed calls.

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