Wrestling in the Metropolitan

Wrestling in the Metropolitan

     My hawk gaze follows her in the saffron skylight of our cathedral of solitude. I have hidden for three days in the ruins of this building which once soared into the heavens. I look upon her with thirsty eyes and drink in the vision of woman. It has been months since I’ve seen a female of the species. I sometimes contemplated that I might be the last person on earth. Yet I am overjoyed that not only is there another among the fallen city but she is a female.
     She breaks the crystal silence. “Fancy meeting you here. I’d begun to think there were no others. May I sit in that couch? This looks like some executive’s office.”
      I reply, “Be my guest. Or should I say join me. This place is as much yours as mine.”
     “Yes this is the ultimate collectivism. Everything belongs to everyone” she says.
     I move aside to give her space to sit. “Hey I found a bottle of bourbon in the desk. Would you like to share some?”
     She winks at me. “Sure would. It feels kind of odd here. I wonder who occupied this place and what happened to them?”
     I hand the bottle to her. “I’d like to think they escaped before the calamity. But I am a wishful thinker.”
     She rests her head on my shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind me resting on you. Men make good firm pillows. And you’re the only man around here.”
    I wrap my arm around her. “I make a handy head rest. And I’m indeed the only male here. That puts me at an advantage. I never was very good with women.”
     She sprawls across the couch and rests her head on my lap. I feel her breath upon my cocooned crotch. She says, “I do apologize. I have taken liberties. Would you like me to sit up?”
     I caress her flaxen hair. I said, “Heaven’s no. Please feel free with me.”
     She replies, “You are a gentleman. But don’t go saying you like me because I’m the only woman around. I wouldn’t take kindly to that.”
     I massage her scalp with long gentle strokes. I say, “In a room full of women you would stand out for me. You are a lovely soul.”
     She looks up at me and our eyes meet. “I’m touched that my soul is beautiful to you. But am I attractive physically? My inquiring mind really wants to know.”
     I begin to knead her shoulders with my questing hands dipping close to her breasts. I reply, “My darling you are the Botticelli Venus incarnate.”
     She beams up at me. “You’re not just saying that to get into my pants?”
     “To say just would be untrue. I confess I do fancy you in that way. But my passion for you is greater than sex.”
     She points up at a sagging beam in the ceiling.  She says, “We really should take our conversation elsewhere. That ceiling doesn’t look stable.”
     We stroll hand in hand out under the brilliant blue sky. The ozone layer is mostly gone since the calamity. So I recommend we find shelter.
    We walk by the smoking embers of a fire in a vacant lot. Apparently there is someone else somewhere. She says “I visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art earlier. I don’t know how stable it is. But the remnants of the paintings are a solace to me.”
    I say, “That sounds perfect. Yes let’s go there.”
     We cross through the entrance of the building. The halls are still passable. A shaft of light shines down from the ceiling. She says, “The whole building is honeycombed with holes.”
     I reply, “It’s a skylight.”
     She answers, “Yes. I just hope the roof doesn’t cave in on us.”
     I wipe my forehead. “I feel lucky today. It won’t fall.”
     We sit under a Rembrandt and gaze together at the images of the lost world.
      She whispers, “Do you think humanity will ever rise from the ashes?”
     I hug her to comfort her. I say, “I’d like to believe so. It depends on how many survivors are still here. Then the soil may be radioactive. We need crops to feed the children. Can people still reproduce? Or has the calamity sterilized them? There are so many questions. Time will tell.”
    “Oh please don’t be pessimistic. I need hope. I beg of you to be optimistic. I need a man to lean on.”
     I kiss her on the lips. I say, “Look at all this beautiful art. Surely a species which created this can find a way to resurrect. Such genius will find a way. It will happen.”
    She places a fiery kiss upon me. Her tongue presses into mine with paprika passion of heat unbound. Soon the paintings blur in our teary eyes. We discard our clothes under the watchful eyes depicted in the ancient paintings.
     She sits on a patron chair with eyes dripping passion. I kneel and taste her raspberry tart. Her thighs clench around me and she growls. She descends from her throne to the floor. She says, “I want you on your back.”
     “Now wrestle with me” she orders. We roll and tumble on the mat of rare art pieces. Slick with sweat our bodies cling to fallen art works and their pigments stain our skin. Finally she locks my head between her thighs. I concede the match. I ask, “You must know martial arts?”
     She says “I studied Aikido for ten years. Did you like my moves?”
     I exclaim “Sparring with you was an aphrodisiac.”  
     She says, “My daddy named me Palaestra, after the ancient Greek girl who invented the art of wrestling for men to entertain themselves during the times of peace.”
     I reply, “You did your father proud Palaestra.”
     She says, “You feel very turned on. Nothing like a healthy dose of girl power to pump your penis.”
     She ensnares my chestnut delicacies in a cat’s cradle of her fingers. Her spidery digits enmesh my manhood in a fine web of ferocious femininity. My molten magma solidifies in her salacious clasp.
     I clutch her derriere as she mounts me like a bob cat in heat. She feels like the softest lily, wet with morning dew. Her slick butter sucks me deeper till fire and heat consume me. Each thrust of her hips masters my manhood till her eyes glisten like those of a panther on the prowl. Pearls of her body dew mingle with mine.
     I feel the saffron blue scintillation of her velvet hot caress. Her wet heat emanates liquid love. The lick of her love nest sets my fever pitch.
     The wet strands of her pheromone soaked hair pummel my face like falling stars. My hands grasp her derriere in hot blooded desire till smoke and fire burn away my ego in our cathedral of pleasure. Awash in sweaty sensuality my resurrected body tingles in waves of animal rut. She weeps softly.
     I need to assert my masculinity. Hence, I start to wrestle with her again but she pins my wrists with strength I’d never known from a woman. Gripping me, she pounds into me with her sex.
    Her eyes light up in womanish delight as she moans through her tears. I feel the tulip between her legs swell like a grape growing on the vine. I offer up my gametes to her voracious need.  My river of life pours into her natal sea. She moans triumphantly.  The end is only a beginning.
     My hands feel the stigmata. The nails of loneliness and regret pierce me with sudden violence. She lies atop me kissing me ever so softly. I feel her warm lips touch mine. I fall like a star into her orbit.
     That night we sleep in the cavernous museum. The next day we will search for food. We have become foragers in a hungry world. Morning blossoms over the blighted city.
     I don my clothes. She covers her nakedness with
her dress. She asks, “ Do you think you impregnated me?”
     I hug her. “I don’t know. Would it be right to bring up a child in this world?”
     Tears sparkle in her eyes. She says, “Instinct tells me so. Without children there is no hope.”
     I lead her by the hand out into the blinding sun light.