The Playground.

The true tales of our Bareback Cowgirl, and her steamy life behind the barn.

Courtesy of iheartit

“It’s cyclical. I think you’ll like it.” Mr. Carlton takes her to a school playground at midnight – where she took him on their last date two weeks ago. “It’s cyclical.” She tries the weight of the word in her mouth and likes it. Likes him more for using it. His arm is around her shoulder, her hand is clinging to the fabric on the back of his baby blue V-neck. Two strangers too close.

When they arrive at this primary-coloured fun-ground, she takes off her shoes and he keeps his on. He does pull-ups while she hangs upside down in a dress. “Well, now you’ve seen my undies. It’s only fair I see yours“, she tells him with a smirk.

To her surprise, he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants, revealing boxer briefs that all too clearly describe his personality; black, hemmed with a stark white; fashionable, but indistinct. They are both alcohol ridden and questionably into each other.

The alcohol has given her drunk-goggles, which, happenstance would add, are making him unbelievably good-looking to her. Sitting across from him in the bar earlier, She’d noticed how all the traits she usually backed away from were suddenly fading into the distance: his small set mouth no longer made her skeptical about his kissing abilities, but blended into the undeniable symmetry of his face, and his apparent nerd-lisp was overridden by the chiseled charm of his jawbone. His eyes, his skin, his hair; he looked almost like a movie star, sitting there across from her, drinking a foreign-brewed beer.

Still chuckling to herself at this blatant revealing of his underpants, she plays mouse to his cat on the jungle gym, taking great pleasure in the fact that he’s been edging closer and closer, while she’s been deviating away. He steps up onto a ladder that reaches the platform she is standing on. His eyes are staring at the back of her knees. She turns to face him. He tells her that she should probably come over to him. so she steps.

“Closer.” She obeys.

“Closer.” His hands come up to rest upon the back of her calves. He is examining her legs up close, rubbing his hands up and down her thighs “Mmm…”; a body worshipper.

Courtesy of iheartit

He climbs up onto the platform with her. His face is at her face. And he kisses her. Passionate. Tongue. Pressure. No teasing. His hands are devouring her. They’ve taken complete and utter interest in the figure of her waist. Every now and again bringing his fingers under the straps of her dress, playing with the idea of pulling them off her shoulders; debating whether it’s a no or a go.

It’s a go: she feels her straps fall. She feels his over-stimulated hands momentarily cupping her boobs. She smiles. He says “may I?” but doesn’t wait for the answer. Next thing she knows, his lips are around one of her nipples and her head falls back to see the stars.

He pulls back. Pulls her straps back up. She can’t remember how it comes up, but he asks her if she’s emotionally attached to him. She says “I’m getting there.” He retracts like he’s been shot. He doesn’t understand what this means to a girl who dates boys just to see if she is capable of forming some long-term commitment.

“Sorry?“ She tries to explain her lack of emotional attachment, but her explanation seems vague and lengthy. And since she really just wants to sleep with him, she dramatically throws her arms around his neck and says “YES MATHEW! I expect you to marry me come morning. Hope that’s alright.” As planned, this exaggeration seems to ease his mind as the next question he asks is: “So, my apartment is a mess, but it’s a bit more private than this…What do you say?” So she smiles and says “sure” because that is something she is capable of.

They walk to the subway not touching. They sit on the subway not touching. He says with his gut, “This is going to sound crazy, but I can’t do this.”

She says, unaffected, “Okay” because all she had been thinking about at that moment, was, in fact, THAT particular moment sitting on the TTC with a cute boy beside her. No further, no farther. No hopes, no wishes. Just easy-peasy.

Later that night, upon returning home, she sees him online:

“I have one request” She writes.

“Yes?”

“Whatever it is you decide you do or don’t want, don’t try to friend me”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll end up sleeping with you anyways.’’ But she gives other reasons.

“Okay.” He accepts, albeit somewhat perplexedly.

–Bareback Cowgirl.