I used to be disappointed
even before I knew what to expect.
Now, this man was very desirable.
Still, I was glad of the small round table between us.
Nothing was decided.
I could walk away any time.
I still held the reins.
Heads close over the empty glasses,
we weren't doing much talking anyway.
His lips were firm but kind
like an old-fashioned schoolteacher.
"I want to lick you," he said
when our heads split apart.
"Lick me?" I asked, playing the naïf,
wanting to hear just how hard-up he was.
"Yes. Lick you." "Just lick me?"
He grinned. "No, not just."
It isn't difficult to find a place to be alone.
You shook me out of my clothes
like a rabbit from a gunnysack,
parted my legs,
and then, as the boy said in A Chorus Line:
What a surprise!
I tend to be shy, but I writhed and screamed,
shouted and cussed and thrust.
You licked me like pot-roast juice.
And when you stood up with a hopeful look
and drops of pearl on you,
you didn't even have to ask.
I grinned, still reeling with the sated laziness
of a greedy pharaoh's cat,
and took you in my mouth.
It really wasn't that difficult.
I was pleased with us both.
Later on I would press into you like a cake mold,
you'd move inside me like a piston,
but right then, I realized you'd spoiled me forever.
Anticipating what was there to be had,
I would never be so pleasantly surprised again,
irrevocably changed by your honest lust.
Originally published May, 2008