© Sauce*Box, Fall 1998. All rights
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Sauce*Box Fall 1998
it happens to be me washing our dinner dishes
thinking about something that happened at work and
whether or not I should repot that pothos
the rootbound one
when I
sense you standing behind me
earlier we argued
nothing serious
but your face assumed that stern expression
which always makes me feel about 10 yrs old
so I ignored you and
stared out the window instead
noticing people in a way I usually don't
and probably won't again
I feel your hand graze my arm lightly
before you seize my fingers
shaking loose their hold on a soapy plate
and now I'm wedged between you and the sink
caught in a trap of lean hard muscles
baited with your rakish grin
part of me's resisting
or trying to
when you bend to kiss me
but as your tongue slides inside my mouth
suddenly I can't remember what the damn argument
was about anyway
(can you?)
especially not
the way your erection's pressed up against my belly
as if it means serious business
on the countertop where you
recently wreaked culinary havoc
you (some chef gone off the deep end
jeans around your ankles hair flying)
place my bottom while I spread my legs wide
laughing
well at least until your first furious thrust
oh fuck me I say then
fuck me
and you do
* * * * *
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