She told the story like someone unwrapping a keepsake—slow, smiling at the memory before the words even formed.
“We weren’t together,” she began, swirling the ice in her glass. “But for those few hours, it felt like the road only existed for the two of us…”
I didn’t arrive with him.
But I knew he’d be there.
He’d mentioned a few days before: ‘I’m playing with your band this year.’
And just like that, J’ouvert promised more than the usual powder, paint, friends, rum, music. This year, it had him.
I saw him before he noticed me—posted up near the speaker truck, bass thumping through his chest. I walked right up behind him, gave his left ass cheek a quick squeeze, caught his eyes, smirked, and kept walking like it never happened.
He smiled.
That quiet, caught-off-guard smile that said, So this is how we’re starting the morning?
From there, we floated in and out of each other’s space. We weren’t glued together—that’s not how we move. I stayed with my crew, flinging powder, laughing loud, waistline on autopilot. But I kept him in sight. Like a compass. Or a secret I didn’t want the crowd to swallow.
Once or twice, from across the paint-slicked madness, I flung him kisses.
He caught them all.
When we finally crossed paths again, he asked, “You good dancing with me?”
I grinned. “Only if you’re good being seen dancing with me.”
It was never vulgar. It didn’t need to be.
It was sweet.
Intentional.
The way he held me felt like something promised between beats.
He didn’t pull. He followed.
He didn’t lead. He listened.
We swayed in rhythm—not just to the music, but to each other.
He stayed near the speakers—where the bass rattled deep in your chest—and I stayed with him. Pressed close. Moving slow.
Sometimes I drifted off into the chaos. Sometimes he did. But it was all part of the game. Being close enough to feel each other’s heat, just far enough to keep it ours.
He danced with others. Took photos. I did the same.
But every time we found each other again, it felt like a soft return.
The most intimate moments didn’t shout.
They lingered.
No labels. No hiding.
Just two people playing in plain sight—
Sensual. Untouchable.
And, somehow, perfectly ours.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please keep comments respectful and relevant to the blog post. Comments may be moderated before appearing. :-)