Invitation

April 20, 2016

You know some people walk around and its like they have a bitter pill in their mouth all the time, and they never want to spit it out, they just want to be offended by fucking everything?

Yeah, that was my ex. All I ever wanted from life was to do my job, which I love, by the way, and come home and be with someone who is good to be with. Maybe have a nice vacation sometimes. A few hobbies, camping maybe. And there was my ex, sucking on that bitter pill all the time, spitting out angry comments and imagining slights everywhere. It was exhausting.

Who knows what the original beef was. God, mommy probably loved someone else more, or baby brother got a bigger piece of cake or a fancier bike at Christmas. Who cares? Get over it, seriously.

But that’s neither here nor there. I said “ex” because that’s in the past. Now my life is almost what I want. Almost. The ex is gone because I needed peace. I still love my job, which, if I didn’t mention before is cakes. I make cakes, and they are everything you ever imagined a cake can be. God, I’m good at cakes. If you have a talent and you can make money at it, well, that’s practically heaven.

You may have noticed I keep changing the subject, a problem I have, I guess, and maybe why the ex agreed to a divorce. Which leads me back to what I was going to say. Almost perfect. I even go camping sometimes. But the house is always empty, and it wouldn’t be right to have pets I never see. So I find myself working later and later, taking commissions I wouldn’t normally take, making money I don’t need, but staying busy so I don’t have to go home to that goddamn empty house.

Which leads me to Andy. Andy of the perfect body and bright smile and sunny hair and strong hands. I could go on, but I sense boredom setting in. Andy is a masseuse I met when, after constructing the ultimate dragon cake—seriously, six feet long, breathed fire, the works—for a geek couple’s sci-fi wedding. They were so grateful they gave me Andy, or, well, heh, a session with Andy after I was done with all the heavy lifting. So they were off on their honeymoon, and there I was, naked under a sheet, and Andy came in and my heart stopped and I can’t say it ever started back up again. I’ve lived with it in my throat ever since.

Have you ever met someone and you knew immediately there was a connection? I think everyone has at least once, and if you haven’t, get out there and find it because it’s like being drunk and high and having an orgasm all at once. Every cell in your body lights up, seriously, believe it or not, it’s a real thing. Oh, Andy, Andy, Andy, that was it for me. I couldn’t even speak, and thank God I didn’t have to, I was having a massage.

Aware of every single muscle, tendon, blood vessel, and hair follicle. Also aware of every flaw, bulge, corn, blemish, and stubble. Still, every cell in my body sang. I practically ignited at Andy’s first touch and none of that mattered anymore.

Jeez, you probably think I’m nuts. That my ex was the only person I’d ever had sex with? Not true. I’ve always been active that way. It’s usually a fun, relaxing thing, I don’t want strings attached, and that’s okay. But after Andy? I don’t know if I can ever stand to have another person touch my body again. Ever.

Yet I had no ability to speak, at least not the first time. And yes, I’ve seen Andy since. Or, I’ve made appointments to have a massage, and yes, Andy’s hands have been on my naked body again. God, just not the way I want.

I just don’t know, though, if I’m imagining what I think I am feeling. Sometimes it seems like there is a slow, languorous, lingering in Andy’s touch. Sometimes it seems so sensual, but I can’t tell if its me and my longing for that or actual, real, honest, mutual attraction.

So, I made my play, lame as it is, and I’m waiting to see if Andy shows up. After the massage, I left the payment in an envelope…with a note. It seems so stupid now, but I can’t seem to be coherent when Andy’s around. It was an invitation to dinner…and breakfast. Yeah, I mean, yeah, staying the night. And I said if there was no interest, no harm, no foul, we could just go on the way we’ve been. But it’s almost seven now and I don’t know if I will eat this dinner alone or not. The candles are lit, the music is on, and I’m in my finest jeans and t-shirt. What do you want? I’m a baker not a CEO.

Fuck, I’m an idiot.

Wait. That’s the doorbell.

Irresistible

November 11, 2015

Irresistible

Some certain scent you have
that makes my inner beast appear.
Some warm, melting look you give,
some lingering touch,
makes me want to lose control.

I can contain it if I want to.
I can push down the feelings
and later think upon you
while I ease my suffering
alone and shuddering,
your face on my mind.

I need to know, though,
if you feel what I am feeling.

Does my scent arouse?
Does my watchful gaze stir you?
Does your beast want to
come out and play?
I know
what I want you to say.

Promise

October 18, 2015

Promise

It builds slowly, one hardly notices.
Like walking in the forest,
the ground underfoot sometimes softens,
the groundwater seeping up.
Soon one finds a spring,
a small place rife with fecundity,
or a trickle of water from a pile of stone.

Nobody suspected a softened emotion
not from me, serene and calm,
pacing through life untouched
alone.

They didn’t feel the moisture,
dampening the forest floor,
loosening the resolutions I made
when I was still in pain and certain.

They can’t breathe in the softness
the way I can when I feel your gaze
on me, asking me,
telling me,
demanding.

They had no way to see the hope
springing verdant
at the idea of you.

And then when at last your fear
and mine became weak against
our desire,
at last
we change
and all we are
all we can become
is heat
and fire,
taste and touch
and sweat-slick
ravishment.

How odd the world doesn’t change
when all inside me feels alive.

How is it the world is different now,
so welcoming
and alive with
the promise of more?

Valentine

February 12, 2014

Valentine

Lost among the daily mail
a simple note
that reads
“I love you,”
inscribed on a simple paper heart
in cursive script.

Of course such a thing
makes one’s pulse race.
Who wrote it?
Who could it be?
Is it really for me?
Could this be a mistake?
Or a recipe for heartache?

To discover a secret lover
one must go to great lengths
of observation.
Wondering,
puzzling,
fretting and thinking.
Dreaming.

I know who I want it to be,
and I wonder:
if I return the favor
write a similar note for
them to find…

And so I do.

And when I see the surprised
delight at receiving such a note,
and they instantly look around to see
who could it be
I let them see
me.

But only for an instant
and the briefest of smiles
and dash back to my place
remembering the look
on that face
and smiling
so hard.

And then
the waited-for knock
and the breathless “hello”
and the blush that starts
at the roots of my hair
and goes all the way
to my toes.

But maybe something new
can begin.

Maybe something warm and deep
and full of passion
and pain
and love
and joy
is right behind
those
eyes.

 

 

 

Anticipation

December 27, 2013

 

Eyes closed
waiting for you.
You take your time
knowing how intense
it feels when you tease.

I can’t move,
the softest of shackles
hold me, yet I cannot
but help
struggling
just a little.

I hear you move
the last of your clothing
shed,
and something else;
a chuckle
that sends a shiver
through me.

A match strike,
the sulphurous scent
mingles with the candle’s
flavor.

I hear a drip of water
and wonder what it will be:
Wax?
Ice?
Oil?
Feathers?

I can hardly wait.

Ardor

December 6, 2013

 

A marked lack of restraint
at last
here in private.
You know I can’t
(or won’t)
share my passion
out in the world
met by prying eyes,
but you also know
my deepest heart and
darkest longings
and most intense
desires
and you know
how I melt inside
when you do those things
in public places
and populated spaces;
a pressure to my palm,
a casual hand brushed
against my thigh
or a slightly possessive
posture, pressure against
the small of my back when
I’m laughing at someone else’s jokes,
as if to say,
“I’m here too, don’t forget
about us, about who is going home
with you
tonight.”

 

 

 

Anticipation

April 1, 2013

Anticipation

You said you’d follow me home
in your own car,
but I understand the parking situation
better than you do.

And that’s fine, because I really did
need to pick up the mess in my kitchen sink
and throw the laundry from the bathroom
into the hamper
and put my dry cleaning
in the closet.

And also, I needed time to
slip into that special
something-something
that I know will tickle
your fancy.

By the time you’ve settled your car
somewhere on the next block
I’ve got drinks poured
and music playing
and lights dimmed
and pillows fluffed
and I am heady with
anticipation.

Our kiss
takes my breath away.
My warm arms around you
make you melt into me
and we fall on each other
like starving animals,
past the drinks and pillows,
oblivious to the music,
making love on the kitchen table.

The first time, anyway.