Yellowstone

The room was stuffy. There was only one window in the main room and it was almost closed. My girlfriend had turned the heater down while I was telling my story, and now she asked me to open the window some more, and I was glad to comply because the wine was making me flushed and sweaty. Eventually, as though she were reading my mind, she said that it was close in there and turned off the heat altogether.

As we drank more and more, we locked lips, the taste of the wine in our mouths. That’s when you can really tell what the wine is, is it good wine or cheap wine? The wine was good, or at least to me, it tasted good in her mouth.

Very soon the bottle was empty. And the cups were empty. And the wine was nowhere to be found—all that was left was the alcohol in us. The alcohol and the meals were making us sweltering and sleepy, but so relaxed. We struggled to get our clothes off—it was definitely a chore at this point. I helped her with her bra, and then we climbed into bed and pulled the heavy blankets and comforter off.

We never liked hotel comforters anyway. They rarely get washed and you know hundreds of people have had sex on top of them and there must be bodily fluids on them. You could catch grossness by sitting on one, naked. So we threw the comforter into the little space between the bed and the wall that was farthest from the bathroom.

I got on top of her and there was nothing, not even a sheet, on top of us and the window was wide open and there were people outside somewhere because we could hear them in the distance. I moved slowly and she was made helpless by the wine, the food, and the darkness, and the late hour. Everything plotted to subdue her. It worked out so well because I wanted her so much. I moved slowly and I could tell she was naked everywhere and I checked with my hands just to make sure. I could hear her—as she was not holding it in—and I picked up on it, a breeze blowing into the room every now and then. The air was stirred. Her strength was coming back to her, so I had to push her down and then again, and soon it felt like we were running into each other, against each other. Legs, legs of hers were coming together and it felt like I was taking her against her will, and I was. Was I trying to hurt her? I forgot. I wanted to belittle her and manhandle her, and I pulled her legs where I wanted them, but I kept my mouth shut and breathed and used only as much force as I needed to and then a little extra.