(here's a tip: never bite the condom open)
(or leaving a tip)
(or how andy got his groove back)
(or how to make good when things go awry)
(or andrew says)
(or when we look like angels)

what used to be called oral sex
somehow became known as a blow job,
which didn't make much sense,
albeit a job, it did not require much blowing,
thus it was re-nicknamed "head,"
before it became more properly known as
face fucking, which sounds so trendy if you think about it.

someone once called to my attention,
that it's a job, which people do for blow,
hence the name,
hence the preconceived notions attached to the term.

there sits andrew with mouth wide in shock,
eyes filled with jealousy,
i'm filled with man-parts,
we're both filled with something,
and i'm betting andy won't be leaving me a tip,
i'll be lucky to find a fortune cookie fortune
in the morning,
on the nightstand,
that says; "life's a bitch, when it gets hard fuck it."

i can sort of laugh at andrew now,
because i struck gold with impression-boy,
because i used to be the girl with the ratty hair,
because i used to have buck teeth
and a flat chest,
and i used to date a guy named bob,
and i used to wear less flattering clothes,

look at me now, no seriously andy, look,
twenty-nine stolen credit cards later,
i'm a walking cliché with a hint of silicon,
i'm half a plaid skirt away
from being a catholic school girl,
spank me.

i used to be the eyes from the bathroom,
watching the confident people play,
i used to own invalid insecurities,
i used to not own insomnia,
i used to not own a drug addiction,

my life is store-bought.
my life is a pack of newports, lifestyle brand condoms,
a hair dryer, pleather, soap, fast food,
wine and dine, eating out, on the go,
tainted memories and hotel keys.

insecurities are for strippers.

impression-boy stares at andrew, andrew stares at impression-boy,
there's a roomful of intentions, an infinity of heartbeats,
we're all sweating,
we're all wanting,
we're all naked.

impression-boy leads me to the bed, fixes my hair
and kisses my belly,
i'm singing to myself, "how much is that doggy in the window"
he is a god planning to and paying to fuck me, gentle, then hard,
he is a superhero of harlequin dreams
and he is reaching out to save this damn soul in this dress,

i wonder where his suv is parked.
i wonder how organized his closet is.
i wonder what his bathroom smells like.

he approaches andrew, extends his hand
and guides him to the foot of the bed,
the two flesh-tone palettes stand over me,
impression-boy turns to andrew and says,
"she's beautiful."

he must've forgotten that this isn't a swanky swinger scene.
this isn't some posh hotel.
i'm not his wife.
our mortgage is paid by the hour.

someone is going to wake me up soon
i'll sign some release forms
then i'll vow never to get this high again.

"isn't she beautiful?"
andy says, "yes," and his lips are wet.
impression-boy says, "yes," and my thighs are wet,
impression-boy climbs onto the bed, between my knees,
he sits, he fondles, he stares at andy,
he asks andy what to do,
andy tells him and he does it,
everything andy says he does to me,

everything andy says whatshisname does to me,
i both do and do not want to know his name,
there is a sense of mystery, a sense of wonder,
i wonder if this beautiful male is named elvis or scotty or todd,
i bet it's something sharp, something that his loving mother gave him
because he's the beacon-like-center of her shiny life,
i'll bet he was johnny football player, johnny homecoming king,
he's got an mba and his rolex was never fake,
he's got charm, a life,
and possibly a wife but
he's kissing me like i'm his lover.

five in the morning, i've got nothing to lose
logic will have to wait,

andy commands, andy asks, andy whispers
and impression-boy responds, performs,
and none of us care where anything lands,
the boundaries get blurry and the breathing gets heavy
and andy is panting, "call her bob."
and impression-boy gasps, "yeah, bob, fuck me,"
and I'm thinking "bob would be flattered."
and andy breathes deep, "fuck her harder,"
and impression-boy does,
and andy moans, "harder,"
and it all sounded so much hotter than this,

and i don't like bob at all, i hope bob is having a bad day,
and impression-boy tells me he's gonna cum
and andy squirts all over us,
and i scream in heat, "i don't even know your name!"

sorry to make this awkward gentlemen.
sorry to put you away in the box with my soap.
it's a female thing.
sure, we all came, but now it's time for particulars.
impression-boy laughs, then holds a cigarette to his lips
as if it were his own ego.
andy is scrambling to get his shit together
saying something about bob.

we both smile at andy.
i say, "tell me something about yourself,"
and then this guy with amazing eyes and teeth,
this man with amazing bone structure turns to me,
leads me, and says
"we'll talk about all that over breakfast"

who in the name of hell buys a whore breakfast?
he lays down in my bed and i curl up next to him
there will be a wrong number left on the stand when i wake

there is a hint of sunlight at the horizon,
the coffee in the lobby is stale,
the water pressure is weak,
and somewhere over-head you can almost hear the angels of Allison St.
as they give each other high fives
and go back to protecting nina, bianca, trisha, celest and
all the girls walking the streets, looking for love
in a cheap motel room where the lighting makes them look like angels, too.

09/21/2006

Posted on 09/21/2006
Copyright © 2010 Nicole Hyde