Everything is complicated.
The good news is clear enough.
I've gotten a job!!
GREAT holiday schedule.
And a very short commute.
Although not as short as my last job.
And there's the problem.
Anyone remember what happened with my last job?
my Tuesday lunches?
When it wasn't sandwiches that filled my mouth?
I would race home,
strip off my clothes,
pop open the futon,
lay out the implements,
and greet him naked at the door.
Invariably, I was late getting back to the office.
But at least our snatched half hours were feasible.
And then I was laid off.
And our trysts stretched to one hour.
Even three hours now and then.
Until his schedule changed.
Then it was every Tuesday.
I won't be far from home.
But not close enough for a weekly lunchtime quickie.
Now we're spoiled.
We've eaten of the fruit.
Such sweet fruit.
Sweet and tart and slightly poisonous,
leaving our lips hot and soft and moist
and red-stained with desire.
And I worry about how things might change
when the intensity of frequency is lost.
The sadist orders me not to worry.
And says he is already contemplating options.
Considering ways to make up for our missed Tuesdays.
So I try to have faith
and then smile
that this man who owns me
body and soul
whatever he wants.