You phoned back after three protracted weeks had passed
The aches had long ago subsided
Back spasms ceased
But you had such a sweet voice
I told you I’d come in.
On my lunch hour I drove to your modest apartment
Feeling strange, a trifle giddy, underhanded, sly.
As though somehow the tremor in your voice
Promised more than we agreed to in advance.
More to the point I didn’t tell my wife.
Stripped to the buff I lay face-down on your table in an alcove
While you waited in the kitchen for my sign.
A faucet dripped somewhere down the hall
Slowly, plop, plop, like Chinese water torture.
You came back in, wearing loose blue shorts;
A halter top emblazoned with flowers.
I fell in love.
“Hard or soft?” you asked, caressing my suddenly tense neck.
I almost lost it then.
But then recovered sufficiently to whisper, “Hard.”
You leaned into me and began to stroke
Muscles I didn’t know I had
Reviving feelings I thought I’d lost
All the while blithely oblivious to the heat that filled my loins.
Your probing hands crept down to my naked thighs,
Tense and unyielding until your touch
Magically made them soft and made me hard.
All the while humming a nameless tune
And studiously ignoring my latent signs of lust.
I’d like to say I hid it well, this harbinger of lust
Besides, I argued, she’s professional: she does this all the time
What right have I to hope for more?
But then you shed the halter top, naked underneath,
And, Heaven help me, I returned the grin.