the singular speaker of the motel alarm clock
is blaring "everybody wang chung tonight"
he keeps drinking, sips become swigs,
he's sweating,
glancing at me, at the door, at my thighs, at the tv,
like he's trying to figure out which one to fuck,
which one to open,
which one to turn on,

i'm on the bed, on my back, ready to get on my knees,
i go through a plethora of routine poses,
i'm revealing more thigh than any one man could withstand,
i'm practically dry-humping the thought of him,
he's staring lovingly at the floor,

if he doesn't move soon he might be gay,
if he doesn't unbuckle his belt soon he might have erectile dysfunction,
if he doesn't take action i'm going to end up doing myself
and charging him anyway,

i light a cigarette. oral fixation plan b.

i love when they pick me up and take me to shitty bars,
i love playing therapist when they just want to talk,
i love watching them search for their balls,
trying to gather the confidence to ask me to do something kinky,
they blush when they ask me to call them momma,
when they want me to be more masculine,
when they ask me to growl fiercely or to cluck like a chicken,
i've heard it all, i've seen it all,
and i just wish this four-eyed bastard would hurry up,
he acts like maybe i don't know i'm a whore,
like maybe i'm fragile,
maybe he's thinking that if he concentrates long enough i turn back into
a virgin, (god forbid)
madonna (with or without the cone-shaped breasts),
maybe he's wanting to touch me for the very first time,
or maybe he's wanting me to be a dude, a transexual, or to wear a strap-on,
or worse, maybe he's wishing i was free,

either way, it's just sex, but if it weren't for his wallet...

cigarette to my lips, smoke to the ceiling,
and i'm sizing him up,
i give him nine inches and a shaved chest,
possibly trimmed in the genital area,
he's wearing a nice dress shirt and slacks
black framed glasses and not one hair is out of place
everything is neat, every part of him is contained,
not one part of him is trying to run away
but in his eyes i can sense his discomfort
behind a quarter inch of glass,
he's realizing that he's just wasted my time
and that he should just pay me the money and go,
i concur.

he takes off his glasses and presses them to his pretty lips,
gently runs his tongue across the frame,
i slowly inhale my cigarette and wait for the let down

his lips part, a hint of air escapes his lungs,
he clears his throat and tells me
in the most modest of whispers,
he wants to fuck me. hard.
his words.

wait, what?

"fuck you until you scream for mercy,
until you beg to cum, fuck you until you cry,
fuck you until you don't know your own name
and all you can do is pray to god and plead
for me to give you more,"

he pauses, stands, starts to unbutton his shirt
and i just dropped ashes all over myself,

"i want to pin you to that bed and fuck
until we stain the sheets."

and so... to my surprise, we do all of that,
his muscular, thin, ripped body
against my soft, cursive flesh,
he pushes so hard i swear he leaves an impression,
i'm impressed
and it's not even that poetic

hours collapse like seconds,
i'm defeated, soaked, exhausted,
he stands bedside, his muscles defined by bad motel lighting,
he slips into a tight pair of red briefs,
reaches for his wallet,
and i'm all but concerned with the amount he drops on the nightstand,
he slips back into his containers, behind his glasses,
he heads for the door, back down allison st.

in all my nakedness, sprawled across a motel bed,
exposed to the world, i can't help but part my lips in a whisper
and sing, "everybody have fun tonight"
i'm all smiles, i feel used and i can't stop smiling.

07/08/2006

Author's Note: Part of Containers. By Coco & Frankie Sanchez. For more go to, www.myspace.com/containers

Posted on 07/09/2006
Copyright © 2010 Nicole Hyde