Two poets seeking intimacy tend toward Scrabble. We kept up
the pretense till the occasional meetings of thigh and shoulder caused us to
start losing pieces of clothing. Soon we were naked, in her bedroom. She knelt
before me.
“You’re so
good at that,” I said.
She took me
out and laughed. “My old boyfriend said I was ‘unafraid of the penis.’”
Given my
previous hesitation, she was surprised when I pulled out a condom. From there
our activities were underscored by enthusiasm,
which means much more to men than we will ever admit. Maybe it was the years of
fatigue, the years without sex, but Carolyn simply adored it, and exploded twice a minute. I enjoyed her enjoyment so
much that I wore myself out. She removed the condom, washed me off with a warm
cloth, then used her mouth to bring me back to erection.
“What can I
do to finish you off?”
“Get on
top,” I said. “Face away from me. Now. This’ll take some effort, but lift
yourself into a squat, and when you go down ... don’t go down all the way.”
Now I had
the all-important visual element, Carolyn’s generous white bobbing ass. It
didn’t take long.
