Reality

Conversation Killers

Aubrey

I fall back onto the bed, the soft white sheets fluffing up around me. The air in the room is a cold contrast to how hot my body feels as sweat dots the top of my forehead. My breathing comes in quick and heavy as I feel lips travel up my neck. A pair of hands grip the sides of my body, the feeling foreign yet familiar.

It only takes a few moments until I'm back at it with this stranger. The two of us skin to skin as we move in sync together. I can feel my hair sticking to the sweat on my body, my nails leaving red marks along the stranger's back, his fingertips moving down south in an effort to satisfy my need.

Despite the several hours spent together flirting in the bar, dancing amongst the crowd, and having sex in his apartment, I'm unfortunately left feeling unsatisfied. There's an unfamiliar sensation of disappointment that floods through my body. Whether or not it's the sex or my own actions from the night, I'm unsure.

Although, I don't know why I would be feeling disappointed in my behavior. This is normal for me. This is how I spend most of my nights back home in New York City. I go out to a bar or a club, find a stranger that looks decent enough to keep me busy for the night, and sneak out the next morning with a few extra bucks in hand, usually spent on a cup of coffee at the nearest shop.

Am I getting to the point where I don't want to be doing this? Am I reaching the point in my life where these one-night stands are unsatisfying? It didn't seem this way two weeks ago. So what could have changed?

Maybe it's just the sex. This stranger can keep going, as I have come to learn, yet I'm left hanging each time.

And this round, I'm not really into it. I can't help if my body reacts in a way that contradicts what I think. I know that mentally I'm somewhere else, but my body is still yearning to be touched. And this is especially true when the stranger, whose name never stuck with me, collapses on top of me. His heavy body presses against my own, pushing me down on the bed sheets.

I'm left there on the bed, feeling a little disappointed in how the entirety of the past eight hours has gone, starting with choosing this guy at the bar.

He finally moves off of me, rolling to the side and staring up at the ceiling. Neither of us say a word as we lay there together. There's something about the whole situation that makes me feel naked and exposed, and not in the literal sense because that's just an obvious point.

I grab one of the bed sheets and pull it over to cover myself. I wrap the entire sheet around my body and stand up from the bed in search of my clothes. I can feel the stranger's eyes on me as he doesn't say a word, watching me get dressed. A mirror off to the side reflects my disheveled appearance. My eye makeup has smeared everywhere, my hair makes it look as if I just walked out of the jungle, and my red lipstick has smudged all over the place.

"There's a bathroom just outside the door," the stranger speaks up, startling me as I continue to stare at the image of myself.

Nodding my head, I walk into the bathroom and do my best to clean up the mess on my face. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes are slightly red from my effort of cleaning my makeup, and my lips are barely swollen. It takes me a few minutes before I walk out of the bathroom and into the tiny hallway, adjusting my dress as I pick up my heels from the floor.

"So I'll drive you home then," the stranger notes, not once looking up at me as he pulls on a sweatshirt.

"No, I'll call myself a cab."

He glances down at the watch on his wrist, flashing me a confused expression, "It's half past six in the morning. And do you know how long a cab will take to get here?"