It’s the first party after the quarantine, and no one is really sure what to do. In the familiar loft, we all stand with drinks in our hands like its prom, and no one is sure if it is cool to dance.
Desperation is everywhere, palpable, and real. It’s sapped our charm and ruined our game, and so we are awkward and vulnerable as we stand there waiting for the firestarter, waiting for the starter pistol, waiting for something.
When Beth rushes through the door, she tackles Sarah and pushes her against the wall. They make out furiously, animalistically, and everyone seems to gasp.
Getting out of their way, Emily steps back and bumps into me. My hand instinctively goes to her waist, and I hear her breath catch. Her hand is on mine, tight, and she pulls my arms around her from behind. She pressed back against me, and my lips find her neck as my hand moves up to cup her breast. Her eyes close, and her head falls back, and her moans ragged, needy whimpers.
That moment is the spark that ignites the room. Suddenly everyone is on each other. In pairs and threes and piles on the couch, we are all touching, hungry fingers on skin. Kissing, forbidden kissing, is the primary act. It seems lurid and almost more illicit than fucking. Open-mouthed, tongues, sucking necks, biting skin, lips on lips, and lips on flesh.
I look around for a moment before diving back into Emily’s neck, and I see red eyes, tears around the room, all dams have broken. We’ll flood the room with tears and come.