Red, Dyke and Blue Fourth Of July Fuck-A-Thon
I’ll never forget the night I met Raye. Although our first direct, unmediated eye contact was postponed by the designer sunglasses she wore as she pulled into our mutual friend’s driveway, I sensed intense chemistry impending and felt immediate electricity. Everything about her was stylish, flawless — all the way from the exposed top of her shiny convertible down to the pointy toes of her (utterly scuff-less) red leather knee-high heels. She oozed confidence. And I mean the really fucking hot kind: that perfect medley of assertiveness, shamelessness and comfortable self-assuredness . . . perpetually simmering on “Low” condescension heat.
It’s been almost 6 years since my first ride in Raye’s convertible, but I still remember how flustered I felt as I hoisted myself into the backseat that first night. I remember the flurry of questions playing (and replaying, and replaying and replaying) on loop in my head the entire way to the concert . . . . or to whatever/wherever it was she was taking us. I can’t remember what it was.
How the fuck am I just meeting this girl tonight?
How could our mutual friends have failed to introduce me to the girl who was bound to be my new fatal attraction? Where did she come from and how the fuck is anyone THAT gorgeous? Is that even possible??
Mostly I remember being completely mesmerized by Raye, magnetically drawn to her. A powerful, full-body visceral attraction I couldn’t have ignored even if I’d wanted to.
Throughout the night, our friends we had arrived with scattered, and mingled. Occasionally regrouping to buy more rounds of drinks — but Raye and I flitted around each other all night, our proximity remaining always within eyesight. And how could I take my eyes off her?
I complimented her boots, trying to engage her in the most meaningful “small talk” I could muster. Eventually, she took her sunglasses off, returning my flirtatious chattering with unbroken eye contact with some cross between the most piercing of soul-piercing gazes and bedroom eyes so sultry they bordered on hypnotic. Being close to her, feeling her eyes on me, and (when I could stand to) looking back into them made me feel high — a strange head rush of complete disorientation and complete clarity simultaneously.
Before long, she offered to buy me a drink.
Then another. And then another. And then I was the last passenger in her car after she’d taken everyone else home — and then I was in her apartment. Then we were in her bed. And then our clothes started coming off.
To make a long story short, Raye and I have had an ongoing play partnership since that first night. We get to visit each other two or three times a year. This weekend she’s finally cumming back to me . . . and I am going to be doing something a lot hotter than sitting out in the muggy night heat getting bit by mosquitos and watching fireworks — I’m going to behave one of my favorite semi-annual fuck-a-thon sextravaganzas!
