Pilar's Lover

A series of micro-fiction, Where They Go, #1.

She loved the way her breasts fit in his palm, like it was the mold from which they were cast from. She loved the way he growled when they made love, and how he could never say the word without smiling. The off shade of his lips, his faded tattoo, all of those things he was ashamed of. She loved those things too.

After he had used her body, kissed her lips, and squeezed her hips, she would close her eyes and push her naked body against his. She could never sleep with the sweet smell of his sweat in the air. He would hold her close, one hand on her hip and the other under his head. She would lay perfectly still, keeping her smiling eyes shut behind her eyelids, until she convinced him she had fallen asleep.

Like a prince fleeing his kingdom for the night, he would slide from her bed with the crunchy white sheets, and slide his faded 501s over his lovely penis; carefully zipping them as if that noise alone could rouse her from assumed sleep. She would smile and pull those sweaty sheets to her face as she listened to the squeaky pedals of his rusted bike carry him home. The sweet smell of a Mexican summer, that man and his rusty bike with the faded tattoo, would be the thoughts that made her smile when she would make love to her husband so many years later.