At the Country Bar by Kori Linn
“Caught somewhere between mortified and ravenous, she nodded”
Fiction by Kori Linn
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The first thing she felt was a trickle, and then a red so dark it was almost black, drawing a line down the inside of her bare leg. She looked towards the bathroom but instead caught the eyes of the dark-haired cowboy. He smiled, and she flushed. The rush was really coming now, and if she didn’t do something about it soon, the mess would be evident.
Breaking her gaze, she headed for the bathroom. He was a half-step behind her, his hand closing on hers as she reached for the door. He pushed her inside, not ungently, and she turned to object. He was almost on top of her before he caught her pause. She looked up at him and he looked back. He cocked his head to the left.
She thought about it for a split second, and then she made her choice.
She pulled him in and kissed him. And then her back was up against the wall, his body hot as he leaned into her. One callused hand slid up her thigh to where the stain originated, smearing the line as it went. She closed her eyes and turned her head away. The cowboy peppered insistent kisses along her neck, nipping lightly at her collarbone.
With his clean hand, he lifted her dress up and then he sank to his knees in front of her, his mouth on her belly, grazing her hip bone as he made his way down. She couldn’t think straight. This couldn’t be real. The cowboy’s lips on her thigh said otherwise. He hooked his finger through the soaked piece of cloth between her legs and pulled it to one side. He looked up, waiting for her permission. Caught somewhere between mortified and ravenous, she nodded her head only once. And then he turned his attention back to the work at hand.
He leaned into her, one hand holding her panties to the side and the other curling into her waist through the rumpled cloth of her dress. At least it wouldn’t get stained, she thought momentarily, before his tongue made her forget all about stains and clothing and the world leaking out of her body.
She began to move against him, hesitantly at first, and then with more and more force, giving in bit by bit to the wave that was building inside her. She began to whimper and then to moan. He was feverish, squeezing her thigh with the hand that held the damp underwear, burying his face into her. The wave doubled and then doubled again. She arched back and pushed his head into her body, crying out as the wave finally broke.
After she’d regained her ability to stand and he’d washed his face in the bathroom sink, they turned to look at one another.
She smiled at him and he smiled back.
“You want to get out of here?” he asked.
“Definitely,” she said.
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If you enjoyed this piece, you might also enjoy "Life and Death Sex," from a column called In This Body, by Fiona George, here.
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Kori Linn likes to imagine the worst thing that could possibly happen and then find a way to make it strangely magical. It’s a wonderful/terrible obsession. In her spare time, she teaches personal narrative writing workshops designed to help people unfold the story of their past in a way that serves their future. She writes everyday and publishes her work online and in tiny, homemade books. Find out more at www.korilinn.com.
[Cover image by Kaethe Butcher, whose work can be seen here.]