What if?

So I sat on your bed.

In a skirt I had worn for you, watching you, a…my manchild consider me with your smiling sad eyes. “I have wanted you in my bed for 5 years, and here you are.” You say with a sigh. Here I am indeed. Here I sit, watching you, trying to remind myself that someone else loves me. Trying not to imagine how your hands would feel on my skin.

We talk.

We smile.

We watch T.V.

We are cordial and polite, not acknowledging the tension under it all.

I pretend not to notice the subtle touches. I say nothing as you come closer. I don’t sigh as you put your hands in my hair. I smile and laugh, keeping the day light, not giving in to the weight of my desire for you. I fight not to look at your headboard, though it’s perfect for me to hold onto. I keep myself from touching the handcuffs, from locking you up, and doing all that I have ever wanted to.

I am a faithful girlwoman.

I can’t do that to him.

I have more respect for myself…don’t I?

But you are sleeping on my lap, breathing on my thigh. Your ultimate trust in my virtue is shown in your soft surrender. You are the perfect gentleman, and so I keep up the charade. I pretend not to notice your growing member. I decline to lie down on the bed. If I do, all will be lost. If I surrender to my body’s cry for release, allow these muscles to recline, I don’t know what will happen next.

So I say no and smile.

You smile back.

Your eyes tell me that you see it, that you understand the struggle that goes on. Your smile tells me that you would let me touch you, that you can already feel the silk of my skin, and hear the whisper of falling clothes. I know your fantasies. I know how you want me the first time. I shake out my hair and you damn near groan out loud. But you let it go. You let me keep my mask on.

But what if you didn’t?

What if you had pressed me into the mattress, held my hands above my head and breathed into my ear “I’m going to have you now.”? What if you had kissed my neck in that spot, the spot you discovered first that long, long time ago? What if you had handcuffed me to that headboard of yours and kissed your way to where you wanted me to go? What if you had slipped your hand under my skirt and smiled and said, “So here’s how it goes. We are going to do this, and never speak of it again.”

What if I let you?

What if I said yes? What if I helped you act out your fantasy? What if I let my hair down, left my skirt on, and road you till you screamed my name? What if I let you leave your passion mark at the bottom of my breasts, your favorite place? What if I let you spank me? What if I orally brought you to the orgasm you so desperately craved?

What then?

So I said no. Se we kept on with our play acting. You, the wonderful manchild with the object of his desire on his bed. Me, the damn near married girlwoman wanting you so bad she can taste it. We have gotten good at this play. We know the lines, so we continue. “Kiss me and tell me you love me.” I say, smiling as we separate. You laugh, brush your lips across my cheek and hug me. I get on the bus, smiling and distracted. I’m off to spend time with him, the love of my life, after I just spent time with you, the manchild who may always be in my mind and secretly between my legs.