Trapped In Indigo Pools


The disco at that time of night was dark, smoky and had that vibrant, electric quality only achieved with drink, drugs or sex. The room was dark and crowded, more couples coming in as the clock showed 11:30. You’d been watching the two men dancing the night away. One, the taller of the two was handsome and flaxen blond, his long legs moving rhythmically and his smooth chest showing beneath his sky blue, satin shirt. His friend was as dark as he was blond. His curls were a shock of mahogany atop a face as ruggedly handsome as any you had ever seen and he smiled wide, showing even white teeth as he laughed a loud fruity sound at something the blond said. They made a good couple. He was night to the other man’s day, the yin to his yang or the sensually evil to the angelic good.


You’d been watching all night, trying to pluck up the courage to attract his attention, but he was wrapped up in his own company and that of the blond, enjoying the night out and so you decided to take the law into your own hands. As the blond one went off to the little boy’s room, you made your move and walked slinkily over to the bar, standing next the tall man close enough so that you could hear him breathing, close enough to smell the sandalwood fragrance that wafted around him.


You reached across him to get to the peanuts on the bar top and he looked sideways at you and then handed the little pot to you.


Hi’ he said.


You smile back. ‘Hi yourself’.


‘You come here often?’ he asked.


‘What sort of a chat up line is that?’


He chuckled. ‘I guess I’m outa practice. My names Dave’.


You told him your name and he asked if you wanted to dance. You said yes and he guided you onto the dance floor. It was a slow dance, the Stylistics belting out a love song as he took you in his arms. You felt the masked power of them as they held you close and you rested your head on his shoulder, breathing in his essence.


At the end of the song, he lead you back to the bar and you leaned against him, pushing your body against his as he ordered a drink for the both of you. His friend returned and he introduced him.


‘This is Ken, my partner. We’re cops’ he explained as you raised your eyebrow.


‘Nice to meet you Ken’ you said, but your eyes were all on the brunet. You smiled at him and whispered in his ear


‘Are you bored? Would you like to go somewhere quieter?’


He nodded and said something to Ken who smiled, patted him on the shoulder and then you left, following the broad back out into the night air, his hand leading you through the crowd.


His car stood in the parking lot – a red and white striped car, some kind of Ford. You never were good with cars, but he opened the door for you and you got in, making sure you flashed just a little bit of leg at him. You watched as he trotted around the front of the car, watching his hips wiggle in his tight palest blue jeans and as he got into the car, he leaned over and kissed you on the lips. You answered the kiss, parting your lips a little and he reciprocated, pushing your mouth open with his tongue before claiming your mouth as his own.


He sat back up, tenderly touching your face with his hand, fingers drawing small lines of fire down to your chin and drove away back to his apartment, a first floor place with steps leading up to the front door.


The drive wasn’t too long, and you sat sideways in your seat, admiring the feral grace of the man, his hands caressing the steering wheel as he nursed the big car though the late night traffic. It was obvious that he enjoyed driving and for a few moments you were forgotten as he and the car became one, a marriage of man and machine. And it gave you time to etch every line of his face into your memory, saved away for later, when he wasn’t there in front of you.


He pulled up outside his apartment and glanced almost shyly at you


‘Ya want a coffee?’ he asked in a low sexy New York drawl.




‘Just coffee?’ he asked, his eyebrows V’d


‘Can you handle anything else?’


‘Ya gonna fight it?’ he asked with a sparkle in his deep blue eyes.


‘Maybe’ you answer feeling the dizziness that comes from a new conquest. The animal sensuality of the man made your breath hitch in your throat and you moaned to yourself. Could you handle this man?


He opened the door of the car and helped you out, and you noticed one brief flash of something – pain? ride across his face. You looked questioningly at him, but he seemed to ignore the moment and instead, he took your hand leading you up the steps to the front door. He opened it and you went in, looking at the polished floors and the settee with its colourful throw.


‘Coffee?’ he asked.


‘I thought that was a euphemism’.


‘I have no idea what that is. Do you want coffee? Or something else?’ he pushed against you shyly at first, as though this was something new for him, the first time, or maybe the fist time in a long time? The dichotomy of the man intrigued you. He seemed so self confident out there on the dance floor, with the big blond at his side. And he’d said all the right words when you’d given him the come on, but now he seemed hesitant, as though he was trying to remember how the night should go.


You pushed him away to look at him more closely and he gazed back at you. You were drowning. Trapped in the indigo pools.


‘You playing games?’ he asked.




He crossed to the settee and sat down patting the seat next to him and you joined him, hitching your skirt up just a little bit more. His eyes watched hungrily.


‘It’s a while since I had a nice girl back to mine’ he said softly.


‘Who says I’m a nice girl?’


‘Aren’t you?’ he asks, his look taking on a predatory quality, but at the same time his eyes held a certain vulnerability.


‘I’m adaptable’ you said, wanting to encourage but not force him.


‘Ya wanna maybe…erm. Ya wanna play? His eyes sparkled dangerously.


‘Why do I think you’re not talking Monopoly?’


‘I can play whatever you like’ he said, his mouth close to your ear. He breathed against your neck and you melted against him and then pushed away.


He took hold of your wrist firmly, almost bruisingly, but not quite. You pulled back and he grinned wolfishly.  He leaned forward and his shirt opened so that you could see his chest. Its was furred with brown curls, but there were tramlines of stitch marks alongside long pale pink scars across his chest, nipple to nipple and one from the hollow of his throat disappearing into the shirt. You gasp, the breath catching in your throat and he stops; freezes, then pulls away.


‘M’sorry’ he mumbled and started to move away, but you caught hold of his arm, pulling him back.


‘Whats wrong?’


‘Nunthin. Its just…..I’m outa practice. I thought I… you…’


You pushed him back, seeing the fear in those eyes now. A fear of rejection and some pain. Was that what you’d seen downstairs? Was he in pain?


You popped open another couple of his shirt buttons and pushed the material aside. He tried to stop you, putting his hands on yours, stopping your fingers.


‘S’ok, you don’t have to’ he mumbled, refusing to catch your eyes. But you gently pushed his hands away, taking hold of one and you kissed his fingers, suddenly wanting to comfort the man, rather than seduce him. What hold did he have over you? You’d only met him that night! And yet, he had a magic quality to him. He was adult and child in one, the caring protector and at the same time the small boy who needed to be reassured. You found the combination alluring.


He held his breath as you traced one of the scars across his chest lightly with your finger nail and he hissed, shivering beneath your touch.


‘You were hurt?’ you asked, leaning down to gently kiss the scar.


‘Yeah, a while back. You’re the first girl since…..’


‘Are you afraid?’


His eyes flashed at you showing a measure of defiance, then softened as he realised there was no threat in your question.


‘A little’ he admitted. ‘I wouldn’t exactly pass through a beauty pageant any more’.


‘I don’t care’ you told him and pulled him back towards you. ‘I think they’re beautiful’.


He snorted. ‘Yeah right’. But his voice held something else. Hope?


You leaned forward again, pushing the shirt from his shoulders so that you could see the lines of scars, the deep pits from tubes and drains invading this incredible man’s body. Instead of feeling the repulsion he thought you ought to, you found them alluring. This man had been through so much and yet had survived, endured. You caressed his chest again and you felt the tension leave his body.


Almost as if he was giving himself permission he leaned over and suddenly his mouth was on yours again, and your tongue explored him, kissing away his hurt and anxiety. He moaned and you felt his hands shyly move against your breast, hesitant at first and then more confidently as you responded to his touch. He smiled at you and you melted, whimpering at the absence as he left your lap. You re-arranged your clothes, no longer intent on seducing the man, and more content to take this meeting slowly and gently, to let his confidence heal with each touch of your hand.


He returned, handing you a glass of wine and looked at you appreciatively. He sat by your side and put his arm around you as you started to unbutton his shirt, one more button at a time. As each one popped open, you leaned over and kissed the new piece of exposed skin and he shivered, clasping your hand.


‘Its ok’ you told him. ‘Really it is’ You pushed his hand away and kissed him as he looks at you doubtfully. He’d tensed again, ready once again for you to have changed your mind; for the rejection he felt must surely follow, but you continued your exploration until his whole magnificent chest was exposed and you could lean forward and kiss each square inch, stopping to rim your tongue around his navel as he threw his head back and sighed.


You looked up at him, his face turned to the ceiling as he luxuriated in the prospect of proving to himself that he was a man again, whole and untouched by injury and pain, and as you started to unbuckle the black leather belt surrounding his slim hips he sighed once more and smiled at you.


‘I think I’m in love, thank you’ he mumbled.


‘I know I am’ you replied, brushing your fingers over his lips gently. ‘Ssh, let me do this for you’.


‘Are you sure?’ he shivered.


And you allowed your hands to answer for you, gently easing away the strain from his shoulders and stomach muscles as you dipped lower. After all, you thought, if he doesn’t believe the words, touches can’t lie.








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