I drive all night
to get to her.

In another few
minutes the
door will open.

Pedal to the metal,
no eroticism, just
crude sex.

Stevie Nicks sings,
wintergreen breath
freshner zings my tonsils.

I remember the quality
of her porno films,
Marilyn Chambers in
her early years.

Key's under the doormat
I let myself in, it's after
midnight.

Beer's in the fridge, I tip-toe
two bottles upstairs, she's
asleep.

I take off my jeans and shirt,
pull my swollen tongue slowly
away from the beer bottle

"I'm here."

"Come to me," I can barely
hear her whisper.

"I've been waiting for you,"
she whispers so light in the dark,
duality of desire.

It happened like a thunderbolt
from the blue.  For a full minute,
we listened to each other's sounds,
going at it fast, I'm on top of her...
until I see that it's not her!

"I am a Catholic," she breathlessly
whispers."For obvious reasons, I
cannot go for a priest.  Will you
hear my confession?"

"Do you want this bottle of her beer?"
I ask her.  "Confess.  I will hear your
confession.  Can you speak?"

"She's out of town, I'm her sister.
She said you'd be coming.  You did,
didn't  you?"

"Do you want to go again?  I mean,
I did drive all night to get to you."


Copyright 2006 Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist, brainchild of Sage Sweetwater Creative Properties, flagship of Stone Creek Woman