Drop-off

 

I picked him up when the sky was at the tip of turning, from grey to blue.
A peck on the lips greeted me hello. Good morning.

Last night we went for post-dinner ice cream and bought smokes at the nearby sundry store. I tasted like berries he said. From the new Oreo McFlurry.

I didn’t shave my legs. Didn’t feel the need to.
And as he pulled on the drawstrings of my green linen pants, I heave a contented sigh, let him do his thing.

Our sex is becoming comfortable. And almost routine.
What the hell are we doing to each other? I don’t know where this is going.
More than friends. Less than a couple.

We fuck. But it doesn’t end there.
My body becoming addicted to his. I leave his place late and then in my lonely bed, I wish he was in me again. Over and over.

I know this can never be. His mother probably thinks I’m the original slut since catching me running naked to his bathroom. Don’t worry aunty. Your baby ain’t my baby.

Dropped him off at Departures with a five minute snog. The airport guard staring.
Not a care in the world. We’ve got our shades on.

Call me when you’re back. I said.

Driving home to the memory of his hands between my thighs the night before, I don’t know where this is going. I really don’t know.