Confetti
Confetti fell on her like light precipitation.
To Ilsa, New Year’s Eve was like Halloween. She dressed up for it with as much attentiveness and flair as she did for that holiday. Her dark hair was in retro-styled curls, and she wore a decadent coat that indicated she planned to take cars to and from everywhere because it could not sustain what was always the coldest night of the year. Underneath she wore a little black dress, perhaps too little but necessary for the evening.
The party she was invited to was exclusively to see and be seen at. She intended to do both with relish.
As soon as she got there, she saw him.
And he saw her.
She had gone to the party in place of her friend Dahlia who could not make it. Some of the accessories she had on were from Dahlia’s office. The freebie desk at the fashion and beauty magazine she worked for.
“Ils, you could totally work here. You look the part,” Dahlia always told her.
Ilsa’s job was not pretty. She worked as an engineer, and sometimes she worked in the field. Far from being in this little black dress, she wore a fluorescent t-shirt, jeans, and a construction hat.
But everything feminine about her was on display now. She could pretend to be Dahlia if she wanted to for a night.
She had had nothing to do that evening. Dahlia went away with her boyfriend and told her to go have fun at this party.
Ilsa always listened to her friend.
When she walked over to the bar, she felt heat behind her. She turned around and saw him up close. He had followed her there so there really was nothing to say. She took a rim covered with faux candy confetti cocktail from the bar. She took a sip and licked the candy while looking at him. He licked his lips, and that was how Ilsa knew it was on.
There was nothing to be said at this point because it was clear where this night was going to end for them. Ilsa turned on her heels which towered her up enough that she did not have to strain her neck to look up at him. There was no need to rush because she knew they would find each other before the night was over.
You having fun, lady? Dahlia texted her.
Ilsa stood by a large floor-to-ceiling window and looked out at the Hudson River. There was a faint chill close to the window, but then she was enveloped in sudden heat.
She turned around and saw him again. It was a huge empty white room tinted violet, and they were both dressed in black. They moved like shadows towards each other. The loud music and voices from the adjacent party room were drowned out by their bodies pressed together and their hearts pounding.
Ilsa let out a silent sigh as he pressed her to the wall, joined together by their lips. She wrapped her arms about his hard chest as he ran his fingers over the zipper at the back of her dress. Stepping out of her dress, she pressed her breasts to the crispness of his formal attire as he ran his hands through her hair.
How did it get to be almost midnight? They continued to move like shadows in the room. The volume raised in the adjacent room as the ball was set to drop. Ilsa stepped over his discarded clothes, and in the corner of the room, they moved together as one shadow.
More silent sighs escaped her as the pressure of her pleasure increased second by second.
“Five, four, three, two–” the crowd yelled out, but Ilsa did not hear the ball dropping cheers as she came and bit the inside of his arm.
It was like she was Cinderella then. Within moments, they dressed. Ilsa was light-headed, still floating from coming so hard at midnight. Moments later, she was off in her car carriage home.
Two weeks later, in Times Square, confetti fell on her like light precipitation. She looked down at it and smiled.
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