Christmas

605 Oxford

I know what I am getting into, and I willingly submit to it; please, don't call me "babe" because we both know this game you're playing.  Before christmas, I find myself in your serviced condo, on your bed, eating fastfood.  Your place is clean and does not have that damp smell.  You have expensive taste, born of a rich gambling family in the north I suppose.  I am distracted by your comb-over, especially when I see it from the back.  You are cuddly and decent, which is nice, but a little too bear-ish.  I can't believe you'd break my barrier.  It is swift and painless and I feel detached.  Afterwards, I sleep like a log, still ready to be brought to flame.  I wake up to electronic devices, beeping one after another;  phone calls about your christmas party and your bossy tone.

You were still playing games, holding my hand as you drove, reminding me to text.  Yes?