Room for Exploration

He says yes, of course he does.  No straight man
would say no even knowing it is a bad idea.  We
make plans, you make plans,

buying new sheets doing laundry
making dinner as though he were a very important
houseguest and not
a man intent on taking your virginity,
such as it was.

I play along because I have not seen you
this animated since before your asshole brother
made that comment about
how fat you were getting in your contentment
and my ex-boyfriend
called looking for the late night booty call
I would have given him six months ago.

I already guessed some this has to do
with a need to prove yourself beautiful
by making a man want you:
a cocktease in truth.

I play along because I am every bit
the conniving bitch;
I want know Ernesto naked,
want to know what his cock feels like
in my mouth, stretching out my pussy,
buried in my ass.

I want to know if his arms are as strong
as they look and if they can hold me
up against a wall when I wrap my legs around him.

I want to know if he has clever digits that can
make you come as hard as I can.

I could live with nothing and no one
but you.  Yet
you are right to worry.  I miss
the taste of men,
the hard edge no amount of showering,
deodorant or cologne
can erase from a man’s skin,

the small tightening of surprise
when I work a finger
into an asshole as I swallow
a dick in my mouth.  Things

you cannot give me, things that, in offering
me Ernesto, you are trying to
make up for.  A better person
than I would take the gesture
for what it was and put a stop to this

madness.

A braver person
would admit her
excitement.  But
I am neither
so I wait quietly,
letting you run the show.

He comes over at six-thirty on the dot,
like he was afraid if
he was late we would change
our minds, looking scrumptious in a suit
I recognize from my days of selling menswear.

A big man, stocky and well-defined, although not
much taller than me, his shoulders
go on for ever and he has that tapered
super-hero waist, powerful legs combination
going for him,

supremely fit from bike riding bulging
with muscles the tailored Armani suit
has no hope of containing
his black and silver tie picking
up the glints of silver
in his black hair the glints of gold
in his cacao eyes
skin swarthy with the outdoors and
Mediterranean ancestors.

He was my type, rough
dangerous looking
for all the world as though he were
five minutes away from doing something
uncivilized

though right now, with that uncertain
hesitant smile in place, two bouquets of roses,
one white one red one
for each of us and a bottle of wine
he seems harmless, domesticated even,
if I did not know
what that golden glint
in his eyes actually means.

You begin to flutter about
vivacious in your nervousness.  I hang back
content to let you do your thing,
finding a vase to put the flowers in, unearthing
the bottle opener, turning down the burners
on the pasta and generally
letting you get acquainted with the feel of a man
in your space.

Lord knows I’m not having
any such problems,
a small trickle of moisture pooling in my cunt
from the minute the doorbell rang.  He behaves perfectly
courtesy of some stern grandmother
that taught him chivalry and manners
in the hopes of living long enough to
see great-grandchildren.

Soon enough you are at ease again,
sparkling with wine and happiness as you feed him
seconds and then thirds so wrapped up in
temptation you forget I am there, the two
of you exchanging quips
small touches and glances

fraught with meaning.  I almost feel disappointed
at being left out before I come to my senses, tonight being
about you no matter how much I might
want it to be about me.

I work at staying in the background.

You move to the living room
after dinner; I stay in the kitchen to clean up surprised
at how strong my jealousy is.  I always knew
Ernesto wanted you; I know that you
will come back to me when this was done.  Still,

it is hard to talk myself into
lingering over the dishes when I want to barge into
the living room and demand to know
just what is so fucking funny that has
you howling that whole body laugh
you rarely let loose in front of company.

But I am good
for once
and dry my hands setting to rights
table placements and cutlery
until there is nothing else I could
plausibly be doing in the kitchen
and the howls of laughter stop.

You are on his lap
hands wrapped in his hair the way mine were
in yours that first time
throaty moans muffled by his tongue
in your mouth.  I feel a kick of envy intense enough to
nearly bowl me over.  I want

to be you; I want to be him; instead I
move away from the doorway
making my way quietly into the
guest bedroom to turn down the sheets
light the candles and set out the just-in-case lube

– though
from the frequency of your moaning I doubt
you will need it –

making sure the room is ready
for whenever you move the party off of the couch,
having come to the decision earlier that
our bedroom was too much about you and me
to allow a third person.  I go back out
into the living room to find you half-undressed

his hands awkwardly working the clasps of the pale
peach pink demi-bra I bought you for
Valentine’s Day, which is hard to do, I know,
with you wriggling in his lap
like it was Christmas and he jolly old
St. Nick and though the jealousy is
crushing I haven’t enough of a better nature
to stop the shallow breathing or
the tremors licking up my skin.  You come

apart slowly with wet sucking noises
to look up at me with passion-stained lips
in a feline grin, definitely the sex-kitten
on the prowl.  I am wet, so very wet with
envy and imagining.

His nose twitches slightly like
he can smell me from all the way over there
even with you on his lap.  Then he grins

a big-kitty king-of-the-lions grin
a grin which he does
in place of strutting
mightily pleased with himself for having
not one but two women
running hot for him

a grin he can keep for now
because I know if I get him
hot heavy and aching,
I can wipe that grin clean
off his face once his cock

is in my mouth.

I cannot control the panting but I let
the knowledge shine through me.  I watch with
vicious pleasure his cacao eyes darken
with the promise he reads in my face.  Petty
to be pleased that I have his undivided attention now,
in spite of you, my beautiful baby,
sitting in his lap, but there it is.  Ernesto tries

to be commanding when he says,
come here and join us,
but it comes across as desperate.

I waste no time getting out of my clothes figuring
someone has got to be the first
to get naked – it might as well be me.

The big reveal

meant not only to titillate but
because
knowing exactly how perfect you are
and able to guess
from the fit of the suit
the tent in the trousers
how perfect he is,

I want to be first, to hide my flaws.

While I am no slouch I have that
extra belly pouch no amount of sit-ups is
going to rid of, breasts that are round but not perky
the cellulite that comes with having
a big ass.

I shuck everything
but the shoes, gorgeous gold heels I bought
ages ago but never wear anymore
because they are hard to walk in,

hard for me to kiss you standing up in
the devil dangling on the chain
from my navel catching both your eyes.

I feel like a fucking star,

the unintentional pun making me laugh
the stares making me wet as I walk back
towards the guest room buoyed on adrenaline
laying myself on the bed for optimal access

shoulders leaning up
against the headboard legs spread with the
right one bent outwards at the knee
the fine hairs covering my pussy
glistening with excitement

– I had thought to shave
but you convinced me that the contrast of
your smoothness and my thatch
would be a more irresistible combination
another reason I did not believe
in your line about this being
your first time –

when Ernesto crashes into the room
carrying you, your legs wrapped around him.
He holds you by the ass-cheeks, kissing
you with eyes open, and stumbles at the sight of me.

I think you were right.
Suddenly I know
this will all turn out fine

the you and me and him together.