Page 88 of Absinthe Dreams
I smiled and used the tongs to put a sugar cube onto the spoon, then deliberately turned the little knob on the spigot to get the water dribbling over the sugar cube. The sugar began to dissolve, and the green fairy was released, the clear green liquid in the glass turning into a milky louche.
I let the water continue until it was about a three-to-one ratio with the green liquid that I’d started with in the glass.
“A rush,” I answered her. “Slightly hallucinogenic, though I don’t think I tripped nearly as hard as the one time I tried acid. It was nicer, mellower than that. Colors were more vivid, and everything had this sort of vibrational outline to it.” I twisted off the water supply and tipped the slotted, triangular flat absinthe spoon into the glass, giving it a slight stir before setting it up on top of the glass I had poured for myself to getitgoing.
I held out the glass I’d just finished, I don’t know…brewingfor lack of a better word, to Gen, and she took it, smelling it first and smiling.
“Smells like Ouzo,” she said.
“That’s Greek, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Mm-hm,” she said, sipping. She smiled and said, “I love black licorice.”
I chuckled.
“Most people hate it.” I turned the spigot over my own sugar cube.
“I’m definitely not most people,” she said, and I laughed at that and shook my head.
“No! No, you are not,” I said and dropped the remainder of the sugar and the spoon, giving my glass a little stir. “And points to the lady for knowing absinthe is meant to be sipped and enjoyed and not taken like a shot.”
She made a horrified face and asked, “Tourists?”
“Tourists,” I affirmed, and she rolled her eyes and shook her head, clicking her glass against mine as we both sipped.
We found ourselves, drinks in hand, arms twined around one another, moving along the dance floor, swaying to the music of a slow, sad song. The alcohol swirled through our veins, relaxing and soothing us, bringing us closer together.
We murmured our thoughts and our feelings about the gleaming casket on the stage beside us, and she listened as I told stories of some of the shit that Cy and I had got up to. Some club shit that’d gone down in the way, way, back – and some, just, swampbilly shit, I guess you could call it. How I’d gone out to help him go fishin’, and the rope pull on our motor had busted, leaving us stranded.
How Cy had spent a couple of hours at it, sure, but he’d managed to twist some of the gator lines together to get something thick enough to catch, and how he’d gotten that motor started again and us back to shore, sure enough.
“There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do,” I said, choking up. She’d wrapped her arms around me tighter, had laid her head on my shoulder, and had just kept me standing and kept me swaying to the music.
The band played through two or three slow songs before wrapping up and taking a break so stories could be told among knots of us. And all through it all, the liquor kept right on flowing. Those of us in our prime got a little rowdy as the old-timers and the youngin’s left Landry’s and the stories got wilder and taller.
Gen and I were at least three Absinthes deep and sitting in a corner. Axe was still tucked in the same side of the booth he’d been in, but his little chippy was straddling him now, his hands on her hips and squeezing her ass as they kissed.
I didn’t have shit to say about it, as my hand was all the way up between my lady’s thighs, inside her panties, and stroking her clit as I kissed her chest where her dress plunged in the front.
She’d taken down her hair from its prim French twist and used it now to hide her face as she turned it from the rest of the house and panted and gasped in my ear.
I more fully slid my hand into the front of her panties and fingers up inside of her. She groaned, one hand sliding behind her, between us, to massage my junk through my jeans, as she threw her head back and panted drunkenly, her other hand grasping the back of my head to pull my lips to the side of her neck.
Her panties moved over my hand, and I looked down at one of Cy’s Cajun buddies, sliding them down her legs, hoping to get a taste. I put my boot against his chest and shoved him off, ordering gruffly, “Go find your own. I don’t share.” He lay on his back laughing, high as fuck on something, but pushed himself up and stumbled off.
He wasn’t a bad guy, I knew him, but he was damn sure barking up the wrong fuckin’ tree.
It was Gen who got up and kicked her panties off the rest of the way, and went to her knees, green eyes flashing with determination, her hands going to my belt. She undid it and opened my jeans, pulling on the waistband insistently, and taking them and my boxers down far enough to free my cock.
There was a lot of drinking and hard partying going on around us. Bennie had his girl folded in half over a table andwas pounding into her from behind. But then all I had were eyes for my woman as she stood up, and blocked all else from view, straddling me in my chair, and sliding her hot, wet, demanding, tight little pussy over me raw.
I tried to get her up so I could slide on a condom from one of my pockets, but she was in a mood and slapped my hands away, taking me in deeper.
I wrapped my arms around her and held her up, thrusting as long as my upper thighs would handle it, and quickly having to admit defeat and let her ride me.
I put my hands up under her skirt, her skin soft under my hands, and I was certain we were giving the room a show, but I didn’t care, and she didn’t seem to mind all that much either.
She wound her arms around my neck and crushed her mouth over mine, rolling her hips and grinding her pussy over the top of me. She was so hot, so wet, and so perfect, I didn’t know how long I could hang on; although the angle and the speed at which she seemed to be going at me was doing a lot more for her than it was for me at the moment, which I definitely did not mind.
