I’d like to say

it was her mind, first,

but you told me that lies

are slips into sin.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot

(a lot a lot),

and I think it might even be better

if I could say

it was her hair, or her lips,

or her curves (please

pardon me Father Johnson),

because beauty is good,

from the hand of God,

and is admiring art sin?

But the truth is, Father…

this is very hard…

but the truth is, Father,

mind was third and body second,

because as she stood next

to me at the party in that

tight red sweater,

the first thing that got me was

the perfect knot she tied into that

cherry stem with her tongue.

His hands felt rough

and calloused

like alligator hide

against my skin

but yet

they lifted me

to the sky

in a frenzy

of rapture

as they touched

the places

that aroused me most

and brought me

again and again

to ecstasy.

His animal passion

stroked my soul

and bared its teeth

and bit

my very center.

We were walking in on time through the dark haze of the lower level dinner/comedy club on prime rib Friday. The visual of rare meat and the thought of meeting my husband’s work buddies and wives for the first time triggered my fake cough. Coughing always works to draw attention away from the twitch I get in my shoulders when I’m anxious.

It was light enough in there to distinguish a face from a plate; still, darker than my comfort level for eating beef. Nothing about my desire for flesh ever included a penchant for blood and when I say I want my meat medium rare, should there be a need for a flashlight? I just don’t want to see liquid on my plate unless it is from gravy, the brown kind. On the other hand, the dim lights should have put the kibosh on my social jitters; they didn’t. Something about the place was dungeon-esque, and it had a “What are they trying to hide Vegas vibe.”

We were a table of eight, my husband and I the third couple to arrive. We took our seats, did the whole introduction thing and then started to make small talk over our first round of drinks. They all seemed to like me, and

none of them mentioned the fourth couple’s absence; the two empty seats were next to me. We ordered our second drink, and I was feeling more relaxed and didn’t have to pretend cough when the waiter came around asking, “How would you like your meat cooked?”

“What about them?” I asked, pointing to the two empty seats, wondering if I was the only one in the group that noticed their absence. “Oh that’s typical for Jamie and Mona. They are always late. They’ll be here. Make their meat medium. Tough luck if they don’t like it,” Said my husband to our waiter, already horsing around.

And then my eyes saw what we had been waiting for and the dim lights dipped sexy, slapping my flushed face sideways. A stormtrooper of heat rushed through me starting in my loins; moistening me everywhere, tightening my bra straps as the heat rose from down below all the way up to my cheeks.

I like men. So I thought. I couldn’t decide which one of them awakened my beast. I thought about telling my husband I was sick and needed to go home because one of the two of them was going to sit right next to me and I had absolutely no idea how I was going to control myself. What if I left a puddle on my seat? Already on his third drink he would have just ignored me anyway, so I decided to yield to my animal, so much so, I might have enjoyed blood on my plate.

They both had shiney long black hair, hers longer. Picture a younger, prettier Elvira, same type of dress; huge tits that said “see me” and I did. But it was Jamie that sat next to me. Tight black denim jeans Jamie, with teeth too white for teeth, and a face, as far as I could see that needed to be studied and painted, better than Apollo, muscular, not too muscular, just the right amount I could see by his naked arms. How do people like these two walk around without getting objectified? As inappropriate as that sounds, I couldn’t help but wonder about the constant chaos they perpetrate against humanity.

Jamie and Mona ordered their drinks and then the lights got a shade darker signaling the start of the show. Hell if I can tell you anything about it, although I did fake laugh along with the group, only so I could bounce myself up and down to relieve some of the groin stress, landing a tiny bit closer to him with each rebound, until I was able to press my right leg hard right up against his left, as if I had no alternative and he seemed to respond to it, pressing back, no words, no eye contact, just jean to jean rubbing during the entire show. It is only as I write this now decades later that I realize he could have been trying to push me away, but if you ask me, he and I had a thing that night, slow and electric, subtle and unacknowledged, a sexy tango under the table, out of view from the rest of the world.

I never saw them again, because my husband got laid off shortly after that night and we had to move back east. It did occur to me on the drive home that I had just committed a misdemeanor act of infidelity, but I’d rather think of what happened, that one and only time as a fantasy dance, one that took place in a darkened room, that no one has to know about, and doesn’t count because maybe my first impulse, my Vegas vibe, was kismet.

#FICTION

I made the bed this morning. Fresh sheets.

I put chicken in the crockpot for dinner.

I went to work. My boss really tore into us. I kept my mouth shut.

When I got home I helped Mae with her homework. Common Core math. Yikes.

Then I set the table for dinner. Afterward I washed the dishes. And put them away.

After dishes I made lunches for tomorrow while you watched your show.

I brought you tea and a few of those double-stuff oreos you like.

I put the kids to bed, after I read them each a story and made them brush their teeth.

I paid a quick bill, walked the dog, threw in a load of laundry, and turned my phone off.

I've been sexy all day long.

eyes focused

gazing deeply

failing to resist

the romantic

mood set durin’

the twilight hour

movin’ ever closer

as if by a pow’rful force

not wanting to let go

hands clasped, soon their

mouths do less talking,

& only letting actions

speak louder than words~

a love burning like fire

filling quite intoxicated

& with hearts beating as one!

#CommeLeFeu.©️

Decembre|2019.

The empty spot upon my rumpled bed

matches the aching place within my heart.

my pillow bears the imprint of your head;

I hate this dreadful time that we’re apart.

I’m sitting here alone and incomplete

while dreaming of your fingers in my hair;

the taste of your lips on mine remains sweet.

your scent still lingers on the morning air.

My fingers trace the outlines of your touch;

inside my core a fiery heat begins.

Pulse racing, I can feel my face go flush,

remembering your breath upon my skin.

This unquenched passion now will slowly burn,

until we reach the hour of your return.

I wait upon the hour of your return,

so while you’re gone, I let my mind run free.

the tender parts of me I’ll help you learn,

and secret things I’ll let you do to me.

Imagine us, entwined within these sheets;

a smile upon my lips begins to show.

Within my breast, my heart rapidly beats

and moisture, deep inside me, starts to grow.

I settle in this nest of satin thin,

and let my fingers travel where they will.

They quickly find a spot of hungry skin

and waves of intense pleasure start to spill

across my soul -- my passion now has fed

the empty spot upon my rumpled bed.

I think I took too long to get here.

That’s why he left.

But the skirt I wore is rather short,

and it is quite windy today.

So, yes, “I’ll take the coffee to go,

With a chocolate muffin thrown in.”

The cars stop as I cross,

And the sun kisses my skin.

There’s a sweet stickiness on my lips;

Heels tapping on the sidewalk.

I feel taller as I wear my sunglasses,

And sexy as I hail a cab home.