19 March 1995

Cotton sheets gathered under my hips
stuck to me, glued by sweat,
when he slid into me.

I winced, unnoticed.
He labored
concentrating
on his technique and on his method.
As if I were
to be mastered.

The fan whirring high on the ceiling
allowed faint wisps of stagnant air
to fall onto my face.

The friction of his assault
began to excite me.
His breath, cooler than the air,
billowed out onto my face
with nearly every stroke.

His hands released mine
and traced my arms,
descending to my breasts.
I squirmed – I’m ticklish.
He took one in each hand.

The excitement grew as a wave
spreading from the point
of our joining.
It lapped upward, expanding, pulsing.

He squeezed my nipple with his fingers
then his teeth.
My desire died with the intrusion.

Sweat dripped off his chin
onto my shoulder
when he lifted his head.

His eyes had darkened, his mouth
was dry with a tongue like
a cat’s against my skin.
My excitement warred with boredom.

I watched the blades of the fan
as their shadows chased each other.
I tried to ignore him but
appreciate his cooling breath
on my face, despite the scent of garlic.

His breathing grew labored before he
grabbed my hands again.
He slammed himself into me, bruising
my thighs, making me raw.
He flooded me with his release
and a long, drawn-out breath.

He withdrew,
Leaving me to contemplate
the ceiling fan
and frustration
and how uncomfortably damp I was.

I felt his sigh against my cheek
after he rolled off me,
cuddled against my side.
His tongue lapped my ear,
teasing the shell and earring.
His voice was a sibilant whisper.

“Well, baby, was it good for you?”

I closed my eyes.
His hand moved down my damp body
to trace random patterns
over my breasts and stomach.

I didn’t answer.
He shifted on the bed,
making me roll toward him
moving onto my side.
He kissed my closed eyelids.

“Well, baby?”

I licked my dry lips,
forcing the words I wanted to say
into the dark recesses of my mind.

“Yes, I loved it.“

He smiled against my cheek,
placed a soft kiss to the end
of my nose,
rolled onto his back
and fell asleep.

I moved onto my back once again.
Staring at the lonely ceiling.
Watching the light from outside
play its pattern against the fan
breaking into shards
I wished would pierce me.