Turning Point

We all lined up at the front door, waiting for management to usher us out like sheep. After all, we were on a time crunch.

I stood, placing headphones in my ears and removing a cigarette from my pack. “Hey,” she asked, positioning herself beside me. “Do you need a ride home?”

I turned to her and noted the twinkling in her eyes. I nodded. “Yes. Yes I do.”

That’s how it all began. Before I knew it, I was sitting in the passenger seat of her white Toyota, yapping away about my old band and aspirations of being a filmmaker. I didn’t even realize she had deviated from 3040 and sent us southbound on I-35E.

The lights of Dallas came upon us and the conversation had turned to her. She was upset about leaving North Texas behind. “Then why go?” I asked her.

“Because I can’t afford to stay up here and I miss my family.”

Legitimate reasons, absolutely  We turned back around and returned to Lewisville, this section of the ride being more silence than chatter. She took the roads like in a trance. I could tell there was something on her mind.

My apartment was in front of us and the car sat idle. I turned to her and thanked her for the ride, to which she smiled and nodded in acknowledgement. Before my hand grasped the handle to open the door, I smiled and offered her wisdom.

“Sometimes, things just happen, you know? There’s no rhyme or reason to any of it. Life curveballs you and all that can be done is to accept it and move on from it. Life is too precious to dwell on what might have been, you know?”

She nodded and smiled. “Thank you,” she expressed. “It kind of sucks that this is the only time we’ve actually hung out.”

“Why is that?” I asked, drawing closer to her.

“Because…” Her voice became breathy as our lips slowly met. Our tongues danced and passions ran wild. We had given in to something that I don’t think either of us realized had been there in the first place. Quickly, the car pulled out of the parking space and hit the road again.


Her bed was large — and very comfortable. She was swallowed by the sheets and blankets. Her hands explored me, taking in every inch of my olive skin while my lips gently traced her from earlobe to shoulder. She looped her fingers in my belt loops and pulled me closer to where my hardened anatomy could feel the edges of her underwear through her thin pants.

In but a moment, she had flipped me over and become dominant, unbuttoning my pants with her teeth and unzipping them. She placed her hands on my sides — at the ribs — then slowly slid them down, grasping the hems and removing them in one fluid motion. I was exposed.

Over the next hour and a half, I was in a state of passionate bliss I hadn’t experienced in a long time. We touched each other, running our hands over every curve and experiencing every texture. Our lips gently grazed, met full on, and explored through the entire process. Our hips waltzed. She was so soft and warm.

I hadn’t made love to someone in a long, long while.


About Robert L. Franklin

Ah, the About Me section - social networking's excuse for you sounding like an elitist prick. Hmm... what to say? What to say?
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