A Delayed Entry

Hot. Pink. Mess.

I honestly enjoyed your stories about casinos and VIPs, how you enjoyed the view outside the balcony, how I looked at you from behind the curtains and noted your sinewy frame, how you were dying to light a cigarette, anxious about the night.  

I enjoyed how subtlely and deceptively you asked for a massage. You know exactly how to get what you want and underneath that gamine frame, I would say you are quite the aggressive hunter.

I started with your neck and shoulders, being careful not to break them.  You said you liked how big my hands are and how warm my body was.  I gently rubbed your back, your tiny waist, amazed how smooth your body was, even your legs.  You smelled good enough to eat.  And so I ate you.

But there was no chemical reaction, no fire that you sparked in me.  In fact I would say you pumped the gas burner too hard and ruined it.  You offered an exchange instead, and I suppose I felt insulted somewhat by this barter.  And so it was my turn now to stand outside the balcony to ponder what the fuck just happened.  Afterwards I stayed in bed next to you, cradled you in my arms as if you were mine and we slept together soundly.