Risa Horowitz


Writing

Very Short Stories

Under the Stars

K. and I meet under the stars. There was a Latino band, unexpected, a post-evening bash, the band was dumbfounded when the floor emptied with a mad rush outside to look at the aurora, they were green, it was late, we were drunk all of us: I turned to toss my cigarette and he managed to put me in his arms, we hadn't met, exchanged a single word, and I didn't care, he was a too-skinny vegan scruffy guy who reminded me of M., except without the shoes and we held on to each other smiling at the skies breathing into one another keeping each other warm feeling completely and utterly embraced. Later on he brilliantly wet his fingers, toyed with me gently and without entering me, placed his lips upon me and poised his fingers just where I could feel them, hovering, there for me to pounce upon at will and I want more now. The next night we danced a contorted salsa kind of dance, he like a clucking chicken and me with my hips and a smile, wanting more. He woke me with his warped blend of sun-salutation pacing and left dirty footprints on the bathroom floor.


Updated August 2022 | Acknowledgements | Copyright ©1998-2022 Risa Horowitz