she only misses it with you

The girl misses the intimacy, she tightens the grip of her index and middle finger’s that are squeezing her cigarette butt. The girl flicks the un-finished cigarette to the curb; the cracks in the pavement smoke the last of it. The girl goes back inside the dark dingy warehouse where there is a party in full swing. Dodging past writhing, clammy bodies on the dance floor she heads for the bar. The girl grabs a handful of peanuts from the miniature steel bucket. The girl loosens her grip a second later, spilling peanuts all over the counter; the girl has a disconcerting thought of that sweaty man’s hands all over them. God knows what he’s been touching.

“hey you…yeah you, Liz Taylors love child”

“ha-ha, you’ve got to be kidding me, flattery does not wash with me”

Although the girl was playing the whole blasé game, inside her whole body was quivering. The girls’ palms were beaded with sweat. The girls’ throat was brut and empty. The girl twitches as the guy whispers seductively in her ear,

“I saw you outside, you smoke like a pro, you know like them snobs in the old 1940’s films”

The guy gives a cocked smile and a muted chuckle.

The girl ruffles her brows and says

“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment? Sounds like a pretty dick thing to say”

“Take it however you want baby girl, I’m outta here, love ya”

The guy links arms with a thin blonde thing that walks past and struts out of the warehouse, lowering his hand onto her perfectly rounded buttocks as they get further away.

 

The girl feels a fool; she feels her checks burning up. The girl knows she misses intimacy but she knows she only misses it with you.