12- When party get bored

Halfway through my Marlboro Light, and lost in a philosophical conversation with myself, the woman who walked stealthily on the rooftop approached me with natural confidence and asked for a light. Her lighter wasn't working. I handed her the lighter that I had hiding in my panties and as I saw her reach out to grab it, I realized that she was probably a woman. She had broad shoulders and slim hips, and her body exuded an unmistakable sexual energy. Her ability to light the fire on a breezy night was beautiful to watch. I lowered my gaze, unable to help but take in the details and burst into laughter. She lit her cigarette, a black cigarette, with my black lighter, and her black leather jacket. She looked like she came from a Guns Roses concert. I observed her with curiosity, she stayed by my side and I caught her eyes lightning-like on my legs, huddled on the stairs. She turned her face towards me and wondered if she could feel the chattering of my teeth. Clattering against each other, due to the cold.

I'll be marching through the morning
Marching through the night

It's freezing cold tonight… - She whispered, looking up at the sky again. Her voice was deep, haunting, almost devoid of sweetness. I bit my smile upon hearing her speak.
Do you mean you're already wasted? - I asked in a soft murmur, squinting my eyes at her facial features. She had a beautiful face.
What did you say? - She asked, looking at me curiously. I could barely see her face when she turned towards me. The light from the bulb was obscured behind her back.
In Venezuela, "rasca" means being drunk, wasted - I replied with humor at the confusion of slang. She burst into laughter and something in her laughter filled me with vitality and confidence. I watched her take another drag from her black cigarette.
I say it's fucking cold, that's what I mean - There was a strange mix of annoyance and sympathy in her voice.
Ah! Cold… of course, very cold - I affirmed in a whisper, biting my smile on my lower lip again. I took a drag from my almost finished cigarette.
And why did you come up here? - I asked curiously, noticing a thin silver chain hanging from her black leather jacket down to her slender fingers adorned with silver rings. She was tall and slim, with very fair skin, as white as a star. Her dark brown hair fell on her shoulders, straightened with bangs.
I don't know, I got bored - She replied, shrugging her shoulders.
Oh, I see…
And you? - She asked with her husky voice full of interest - Why did you come up?
I was hoping to find someone to have sex with on the rooftop - I said seriously, analyzing her reaction. She smiled and lowered her gaze.
Okay, no, it's not true - I quickly added before she thought I really wanted to fuck her -. I just can't stand Latin American music, especially that song… I mean, they've played it like five times already? - I explained in an acid tone.
They've actually put it on karaoke now - She said.
For God's sake! Looks like I'll stay up here till morning - I announced sarcastically.
And why do you hate that song so much?
Well, you know, I think the guy is an arrogant… and the girlfriend is probably a slut, but he doesn't know that and considers her a celestial angel. That's why he sings the song. And it's pathetic that people go around singing that song - She started laughing at my superficial and argument-lacking explanation.
You're right - She said - Besides, who learns French to conquer a girl? I know French, but come on, I think it's stupid. It's not funny at all - She said, supporting my disapproval of that music.
I did, in fact, I did that - I replied - To write poetry in French… and to read Simone de Beauvoir… actually, to read an author, my favorite French poet - I explained, waving my hands in the air as if I were presenting an argument - But for that song, I swear I would move to France just to not hear it on the radio.
Wow, you're very brave then.
Brave for wanting to speak French? Or for talking to a complete stranger on a lonely and dark rooftop?
Brave for writing poetry, and in French, no less. I think poetry is as dangerous as the person who writes it - She said. Her expression was serious. Her thin lips tightened, but I knew her expressionless face was temporary and she could smile at me again at any moment. I liked hearing her laugh.
Well, whatever - I murmured, flicking the cigarette butt to the side of the stairs. I watched the end of the cigarette burn out, and an unsettling feeling of dirtying the floor overcame me.
I personally don't like it… if it makes you feel any better - She said. I smiled, raising an eyebrow - No… really. I don't like it, and if you keep smiling at me like that, I'll tell you why I don't like it - My cheeks started to burn, I bit my lips. She was very pretty and made me blush.
I'm not smiling - I muttered, running a finger over the chocolate coating and bringing it, covered in cream, to my mouth. She kept looking at me and then murmured a "How cute" that I pretended not to hear.
Well… - I started asking her - tell me why you don't like the song, you've piqued my curiosity - I added, diverting her attention from the way I licked my fingers. By then, my cheeks were as red as an apple and my sticky fingers were covered in chocolate glaze. I felt uncomfortable, and the more I licked them, the stickier they became, my saliva could barely remove the sweet sensation. I wouldn't be able to touch her with my sticky fingers if the opportunity to touch that gorgeous stranger arose.
I think he must really be an ugly guy if he can't even give a woman a kiss - She said seriously - Using music to seduce a woman is something shallow and common. Seduction should be deeper than anything that song says. And personally, I don't like Prince Royce, I prefer Sebastián Yatra.
Exactly! He probably has self-esteem issues - I admitted, looking at her happily - He must have a very small dick and serious confidence issues - I added, biting a piece of cake.
Do you always turn everything into a sexual topic? - Her voice was surprised, but she looked at me inquisitively.
Sometimes, I'm like a repressed celibate nymphomaniac. Sorry… I can't help it - She lowered her gaze again, smiling.
Do you want to sit next to me? I can only see your teeth, not your face. They're white and straight… - I asked her. After a moment, she sat down next to me on the lower step. She was tall, and sitting one step below me put us at the same height. I observed her stature, and despite being slim, she had a strong and fit back. The kind of back I liked in a lover, whether they were a man or a woman. I felt small and fragile in front of her. I didn't feel that sexual attraction towards her now that she was close to me, but I knew she had the type of sexual appeal that I usually went for. Suddenly, she turned around and stared at me with a wide smile.