[ Post a Reply | Smoky Kisses ]
Posted by macduff Rose of the red red lips sat back and lit her cigarette. FIND MORE STORIES LIKE THESE AT... OR OUR MSN GROUP AT:
on June 24, 2005, 6:38 am
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--- In smokingtales@yahoogroups.com,
"Mick"
And I watched.
Watched.
Hell.
I gaped.
Rose was the kind of woman you gaped at if you had even a little bit
of anything left inside you. She was sexy like Rita Hayworth or Lana
Turner or Eva Gardner were sexy. Old time sexy. Punch the breath
right through your chest sexy. That kind of thing that oozes out in
the air and makes it so you can't think straight when you're looking
at her or even when you're just picturing her in your head. Drop dead
knock you on your ass sexy is what Rose was.
It all started with that face. That mouth. Those lips. Rose had the
kind of mouth that blinds a man. Lips thick and full of juice, with
just the hint of a pouty knowing kind of smirk when she looked right
at you. Lipstick so red it could make your blood boil. You'd swear
you could see the lipstick she wore right through the dark. And then
there was that India ink black hair framing it all. Hair so black the
world seemed to disappear into it. Those lips, that mouth, that pouty
angel face, they all seemed to jump right at you out of the blackness
of that hair. And once you got past the face, past it, not over it,
you never got over a face like that, there was the lethal curves of
that body of hers. Everything packed tight into all the right places
in clothes that showed it all off without getting pushy about it.
Curves. Drop dead curves. Every kind of curve that mattered and legs
that looked made to squeeze a man right into a happy grave. Yeah.
Rose was sexy alright. Knock you down and beat all the common sense
right out of you sexy.
They don't make girls like Rose too often. Which is probably a good
thing because Rose had an effect on men, and women, that stopped time
cold.
You bet I gaped.
The girl did everything better than right. She lit her cigarette with
a match. Not one of those cardboard book matches either. A wooden
match from a box. The kind you never see anybody use anymore. She
brought that wooden match up to the tip and inhaled the smoke so deep
her cheeks caved in and those red red lips puckered around the cork
filter. The tip took to the flame and crackled and flared like it was
alive while her eyes so dark and deep they were almost blacker than
her hair looked right into mine.
It started to get real uncomfortable on that stool. Not just because
it wasn't so easy just about then keeping everything where it was
supposed to be. But because of this itch that started in my gut and
bolted back and forth up my spine like little flashes of ball
lightning. It made sitting still seem like it wasn't going to be an
option.
I don't know how she knew, but she knew alright.
She knew. And what she did next left no doubt that she did. What she
did next pretty near knocked me right off my stool.
Rose leaned back a little and opened her mouth so I could see the
smoke curling backwards on her tongue. She smiled at me. Those eyes
danced and her red red lips curled up like she knew everything there
was to know.
And then Rose leaned forward so close those red red lips of hers were
near enough to kiss and those dark deep eyes made me feel like I
would fall right into them and keep on falling. So close I could
smell her breath. A real woman's breath. A little tang of nicotine
and something more. Not flowers or gum or anything soft and girlie
but something musky and dangerous. Something that filled me up with
unclean thoughts and a gut wrenching need to taste those lips, that
mouth.
And then Rose blew.
Rose of the red red lips blew the smoke right into my face, right
into my mouth and she kept on blowing. A thick white cloud filled the
space between us while steams of pungent smoke poured into my mouth,
filled my nostrils so that all I could see, all I could breathe and
taste and smell and even hear was the smoke coming out of Rose's
mouth. I breathed it in, sucked it in with all my might and it had
exactly the effect it was supposed to. Every pore of my body was on
fire. Every part of me was pounding with hot blood and need and
pleasure. If I had of died right then it would have ended on the
highest note I could think of. It was better than anything my brain,
my dreams could ever come up, better than anything I could of hoped
or asked for.
That moment was about as good as a moment can get.
And then something else started to happen. Something strange.
Strange, but not so bad. Not so bad at all.
The smoke kept pouring in, pouring all over me and all of sudden
everything about me started to float. Like I was sleeping with my
eyes open. I started to drift like I was in a dream and the more
smoke I breathed in the more I started to float. All of a sudden I
felt like I didn't want to just throw Rose down on the floor and fill
her up with as much of me as I could find. I wanted to make Rose
happy. I wanted to do anything Rose asked me to do to make that smoke
keep coming, to make that floating dreaming feeling last forever.
I sat there on that stool floating and watched Rose smiled at me from
a long long way away.
I knew she'd done something to me with the smoke. I knew she'd pulled
something over on me but I didn't care.
Whatever Rose wanted right then was okay with me.
I don't remember much of what happened after that. Everything about
that night seems to be lost in the thick fog from Rose's cigarette.
I know I got took somehow, I know Rose got something out of me that I
wasn't supposed to be giving up, but the way she got it made
everything seem alright. A hell of a lot better than just alright.
Rose of the red red lips got one over on me that night.
And the thing is, the rotten thing of it is, I'd let her do it again.
I'd let her do it to me all over again just about any time she asked.
Just to see smoke coming out of those lips, those red red lips, one
more time.
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