a man with handsome looks, 

drunk first time in moonlit

stared at me. 

in his friend company

in a new bar with his 

friend 

experience new thing 

but for me 

same as every night

that  suits me

as if that is real work for me

moaning , fake smile 

exchanged like a new heaven for love stuck 

everytime , everynight a new bride 

created by me for everyone who came 

so close to me

at last pay me  cents uncounted.

but with strangeness  

as he asked me how much i want 

for a nice talk i had with him

to make him relax not with my daily dairy task 

of body lying naked in front of 

lifeless monsters 

but to relax him because 

he unknowingly fall in love with me 

 appeared as   life song for me .

this was worst condition for

 one night stand 

because my everytime , everynight newly bride 

naked  body turned 

to rest for upcoming pictures of timeframe 

with wet lovebites from both sides 

because after that day he 

picked up me as his beloved  

without any fight

that day ended my life as one night stander

because he and me too found 

true river of love flowing in our veins

and he denied to pay cents uncounted 

because language of pure love have 

no world of one night stands.  

As my eyes see through to his soul

My mind in this moment is undressing him

Button by button and as I pull at his shirt to release his skin, I kiss and nibble at the tasty flesh within.

Stealing ever so much more with my touch, he groans as I loosen his pants OH MY!

Kissing our tongues wrestle in lovers delight

Heavy is our breathing, while our souls take flight.

Oh ohhhhhh ohhhhhhh! He takes me to new and greater heights, his hands, his tongue oh my god his thighs! Not to mention his... um..

well.... yeah baby ohhhhhh! As he thrusts in deeper I catch my breath. Breathing together now as one, one mind, one soul, one body! One in perfect union with the harmony of the universe we meet on so many levels.

His hands in mine as he pins me down biting my neck, nibbling my shoulder licking me all over as I moan with satisfaction.

Then he licks and sucks each nipple while I run my fingers through his hair and lightly caress him.

It's as if we are in a trance, all carnal instincts are on overdrive now, bodies instinctually know what the other position is going to be.

Me on top, reverse cowgirl, doggy, Happy Scissors, and ohhh so much more!

We switch and I get to please him.

I bite and nibble, tease and caress

My hands on his body as I rub and finesse.

He is putty in my hands as I work his body over, he moans in ecstasy as I grind his boner.

He puts me on my back hard, he knows I am a force of nature and gives it to me harder!

Worshiping each other's bodies, harder oh yes oh honey harder ahhhhh yes!!!!

It's the beginning of life so beautiful it is two forces clashing together as one.

One in mind.

One in spirit.

One in flesh.

One.

My mother cursed the day they had moved into our neighborhood. Our quiet little cul-de-sac became party central, with the thumping of bass rattling our windows late into the evenings, and glass bottles littered onto the lawn across the street.

I had looked longingly through the glass at the leader of the hellions; the neighbors' oldest son. He was a sight to behold, with his hair dark as sin, and shoulders rippling as he carried a case of beer in through their garage.

"He's not the type of boy for you," Mother clucked, finger wagging. "Stay away from that trouble."

Labor Day was always our party. For years, we had hosted the neighborhood barbecue; complete with pig roast, and Mother's famous red, white, and blue cake.

Afraid of being usurped, Mother sent out the flyers early, and followed up with phone calls. The RSVPs began coming in, and the burgeoning of the basement freezer suggested that all was right in the world.

Mother dressed for the event in her crispest yellow linen dress. She put her hair up in a twirl. She even broke out her best lipstick, "Summertime Pink," indicating that the day's event was a big deal. I recognized the shade right away, because it was her favorite, discontinued nearly two years before, and down to the last tube.

She was in her glory, welcoming guests as the doorbell began to ring, and kept ringing. I saw her face drop, before I saw the reason why.

Coming up the walkway, were our neighbors across the street. "Where did they get THAT?" Mother hissed in my ear, nodding towards the flyer in the father's hand.

There was the plastic, awkward welcome, and some obligatory small talk, before they moved into the house to mingle with the other guests. Mother's already rigid posture stiffened further, as she saw my eyes follow hellion son's denim-clad butt as it strutted away. "You stay away from that one!" she hissed in my ear. "He's not the boy for you."

I spent most of the day chatting and laughing with a few girls down the street who had graduated with me. Hellion moved in and out of sight, and I stared at him when I could; fascinated by the way his t-shirt clung to his abs in the heat, and how his short sleeves circled his biceps. I'm sure he noticed.

Perhaps it was too much summer sun. Perhaps it was the little bottles of tropical-flavored wine. But when I saw him climb the stairs, presumably to find a free bathroom, I followed.

I made sure that he saw me pass by in the hall, on the way to my room. I left my door open, as I changed from my sweaty tank.

"I knew this was your bedroom," he said from the doorway. "You leave your shades up a lot. You should be careful about that."

"Which room is yours?" I asked, motioning out the window, and offering him a reason to enter.

He leaned in next to me, pointing; making sure our bodies touched.

There wasn't a whole lot of talk, before his mouth was on mine, and his tongue was dancing down my throat. Hands lifted the bottom of my underwire bra up over my chest and cupped my tits, as my own palms sought out the flatness of his abs. "I think we should close the door," he said.

I moved quickly, latched my door shut, and stumbled back across the floor. We fumbled with each other's jeans, before I grew frustrated at his resistant fly, and took a step backwards, dropping to my knees.

I yanked the little metal tab, the sides of my mouth practically salivating at anticipation of my prize. And, then...

What is wrong?" he asked, at my dropped jaw. "What is it?"

I stared in horror at the perfect round, glossy ring circling his member. I stared in abject horror. "Summertime Pink!"

As I'm writing this, I'm crossing and re-crossing my legs, shifting away from the embarrassing words that I'm about to share.

Oh God. I'll just tell you...

His name was Alex. We worked together when we were in our very early 20's. I was fresh out of a long term relationship; he was one of those spread-the-love types.

On that night, he invited me over. I showed up in a muted pink cotton sundress and nothing underneath, carrying a bottle of wine.

We drank a little, talked a little more, then it escalated; as we both knew it would.

He grabbed the backs of my thighs and pushed them up, exposing me to his mouth. The overly-aggressive technique wasn't pleasurable.

And suddenly.

I winced with a yelp. A sharp pain like a paper cut. Looking down, Alex popped his head up and there he was, with blood -- my blood -- on his mouth.

Horrified, I pushed him off and ran for the bathroom with him yelling about, how could you let me blah blah blah while you have your period.

That's a different kind of blood you child, I screamed from behind the door. Examining my bits, there it was, a raw little gash made from the wrong angle of one of my inexperienced lover's teeth.

I needed a pussy bandaid.

When he finally apologized and asked for a redo a few weeks later, the answer was uncomplicatedly honest: I'm still icing my privates.

       So here I am, foot loose and fancy free, newly divorced and back in the town of my birth. I'm staying the towns one hotel, its been recently re-modernised, its actually very nice, but I can't remember being allowed in as a youngster.

         The rite of passage here used to be a pint of scrumpy in each if the 18 pubs then  walk home. I'm afraid I failed, even playing the 'sissys and girls' card of half pints, I only managed 14 pubs before being violently ill, still good days, good memories. 

          Feeling nostalgic I decide to walk the 'Route', it will be nice to see the old haunts, though I doubt there is anyone left here that I know, this is the kind of town people come from. I start with the hotels bar. Talking to the barman who is about the same age as my son he asked me what I'm doing and I tell him. He looks nonplussed

 "not much of a challenge," he says

 "just walking round 18 pubs let alone drinking is enough at my age"

"18 ?  theres only four, well five if you count this one" 

 "he's right love, only four left" said an older guy sitting to my left, "you must have been gone, what? 20 years if you can remember all of them, were you been?"

"Oh all round the world and back again" I say lightly

"so? who's left"

"well the Red Dog is now one of them gastro pubs, lousy beer but good pies, what was the Dolphin is now the Admiral Nelson gone all 'quaint' with wonky chairs and hard benches, the Old Oak Tree is part of a chain and devoid of any character. The Queens Arms is pretty good, brought by the singer of one of those bands that used to play there, still do music, think theres someone on tonight, the rest have all gone"

     Oh! The Queens Arms music nights! they were famous round here, I had the hots for one of the bands that played there, well, the lead singer, Stevie his name was, not quite a groupie, too shy for that but he did kiss me one Christmas,  ahh teenage kicks! The band went on to be semi famous, wonder what happened to them all?

I realise the guy is waiting for an answer, but I hadn't heard the question too busy       day-dreaming

"I said, I'll walk you up there if you like"

"sorry, sorry I know my way, but I wouldn't mind the company "

       We walked through the quiet streets of this sleepy English market town, and in through the front door of the Queens Arms, It hadn't changed, yet it had, a fire still burned in the hearth, the bar was where it always had been, but the sticky carpet had gone, replaced by polished floorboards, much to the delight of the cleaner no doubt.The  young barmaid looked vaguely familiar, daughter of a past barmaid perhaps?

"what can I get you love" she asked

"half a Lilies please"

I could see the back of a man stacking coke bottles in the fridge

"bloody hell" he exclaimed "I'd know that voice anywhere, where you been Kid-o?"

I felt like I'd been slapped round the face with a wet kipper, I opened and closed my mouth but nothing came out.

"Meet my daughter, Lavender" Stevie said giving me a look that said 'don't say it, please'

 "Pleased to meet you" I said and shook her hand "I'm Ann" using the shortened form of my name, one I'd adopted many years ago.

"Hay this is great! Declan's coming down too, were playing later, oh its more blues type stuff now, but we might play some old songs, say you'll stay"

 Then to his daughter "thats on the house"

 I peruse the bar menu, order a pie and retreat to the corner to watch, I can see them setting up in the back bar, he's kept himself trim, still moves well, not like an old man, his hair is ridiculously long with a eighties flick, more salt in it now but it suits him. He still looks bloody good.

      The band starts playing and I move into the back bar to listen, it's a good set, they are polished and professional, the audience is singing and dancing, soon I'm lost in a mix of memories, nostalgia and the present. Too quickly its all over, last Last Orders is being called. I skull the last of my cider and pick my coat up.

Don't go" suddenly Stevie is by my side "I'll buy you another"

"Thanks, but I've enough to drink"

"A coffee then, coffee, let me get coffees"

 He reappears with two coffees, and we start talking, Old friends, those still here, those gone, gigs, places, whats happened to us and to the town.The bustle of the bar fades into the background, Lavender appears by our sides

"I'm locking up dad, goodnight"

she turns to me and says," doors on a keypad, its his birthday"

I look round, the place is deserted, the door clicks shut.

 Stevie put some music on the bar speakers, pulls me off the stool and says" lets dance"

 Suddenly I'm were I've often fantasised being. And it feels as good as imagined. And he does still smell faintly of Old Spice aftershave ( I didn't know you could still get it !)

 The track changes, he bends forward and kisses me,

"Thanks" he says, "for not dropping me in it"

"I take it you named her after this track, not a random groupie from your past"

 "yes, but she's been a bit touchy about things since her mum died"

"I'm sorry"

 "why'd you change your name"

 "I didn't, I just shortened it, 'lavie' is awful, 'der' is just as bad but 'ann' I can live with"

"come to bed"  he said and took my hand

We left Gordon Lightfoot singing 'Approaching Lavender' to an empty barroom

      We're not kids, kisses linger and become deeper, hands caress and explore, we know how this game is played, he pulls off my top. I push Stevie back onto the bed kneeling over and straddling him as I unbutton his shirt. pushing into him and feeling his desire.

Suddenly,  un-beckoned I feel the bile rise in my gullet, shit

"Bathroom"  I gulp 

"second door on your right"

            I rush down the corridor and make it just in time, the Guinness and beef pot pie obviously had not agreed with me. It takes a few minuets to clean clean myself up, I wash my face and steal a little toothpaste to rub over my teeth, feeling a little deflated I walk back to his bedroom. He's fast asleep, snoring like a pig in a mud puddle on a hot July day I give him a prod, he doesn't wake, I poke him a little harder, he make a mumff mumff noise and rolls over into foetal position, dead to the world, well I'm out of luck then. Perplexed I stand there for a moment, then tuck the blanket over him, put my clothes back on, turn the light out and leave, Grabbing my coat from the bar I'm stymied  for a few moments by the keypad on the back door, but what self respecting groupie doesn't know the birthdate of her passion?

           Its a cold November night, the kind where the stars sparkle like diamonds and there isn't a soul around, It was a night like this twenty five years ago I hitched out of town.

Think I'll leave at daybreak, best to leave old ghosts undisturbed.   

It hurts to worst label any such encounters. Knowing now the value of such single serving snacks. Ala-cart cunnilingus more then wets the appetite. Sodomy that renders glee. Lobotomized most perfectly. Could say two fucked the pain away. With nibbles naught and painful pleas. I truly cant find worst i see. So maybe your time waste with me.

 I wont degrade those moments with words like grossest. Or say of one a second less  closest. My focus then on tatseful tellings of places no distaste i found dwelling. You rookies can keep your ew's. I will stick with the Awe's of lustful contraction's. And the poolside disaster's that left knee's time two scratched,bloodied, but proud of the sacrifice they allowed . So two drunks could reach climax in a place others may have maxed out.

Opted out without the promise of privacy. Doubted the bout . So never entered the ring. Till wedded. One ring to rule them. Wrong i say. Just as Tolkien did. If his metaphor i have not wrongly deciphered. Delightful  as Dee-Light sang the "Groove' is in the art. Of movement from the start. From first introduction to finale cavitating convulsion. The things from that night. Only you two can qoute them. If ever luck befall you a future cross do you again. Unsure to say of other friend. But have shared things one would never with said fiends.

I met her while passing through the busy tourist ladened sidewalks of Waikiki. She, with ivory fair skin rubbed with far too much suntan lotion; adorned in a floppy over-sized sunhat and large Breakfast-At-Tiffany's sunglasses that covered her eyes like some sort of rhinestone encrusted insect; strappy stiletto heels; pink and white sundress; shopping bags in one hand-- gelato in the other.

As for me, I'm not much to look at: sun-kissed-punk-rock-warrior-poet, spouting a mangled mix of shaka-pidgin-and-Shakespeare, Tarzan-and-Tennyson, in a mishmash-ed glass menagerie of an English degree doodled on napkins. So when I opened my mouth, an out pouring of my carefully crafted encyclopedic wit and charming disposition culminated with:

"Hi."

And then more words followed, and somehow my stumbling bumbling buffoonery engaged her in conversation. We're standing there in the sun and the heat, talking about shopping and gelato and people are just walking past us, and it isn't until her bags are at her feet' and her dessert is melted to a puddle in her cup that I realize we've been blocking a major thoroughfare without a care for the world around us. She's not making any excuses to walk away, no artificial deadline or destination. No, she's genuinely interested in the words coming out of my mouth for some reason.

"I want to eat that." I point to her empty gelato cup. "Where did you get that?"

- - - - 

She was clever.  Instead of gelato we got beer, and over a pitcher at a tiki-tourist-bar I became all the more enamored. We spoke about politics and art, and hikes and beaches, we talked about eating animals, and the potential flavors endangered species. And the more we spoke the more, I smiled and the more she twirled her hair. One pitcher became two, and onward to a quaint little bistro by the ocean for food. As the sun was setting across the water, and the masts and sails like a thousand little toothpicks sticking out of the glowing sea. With an equal red glow on her cheeks she whispered:

“You might just be the best thing so far about Hawaii.” To which I replied,

“Volcanoes.” 

- - - -

We stumble into her hotel room, my hands caressing the supple curves of her body, hot steam radiating off our meshing flesh like... well like a radiator I suppose. She peels my shirt off and flings it into a corner of the room. We trip out of shoes and heels; our faces and hands unable to separate or even look down for the briefest of moments. I fling her onto the bed. She fumbles at the skull-and-crossbones of my belt buckle.

My thumb and forefinger find the zipper to the back of her pink and white sundress dress, as I undress her. I give the zipper a tug; The thin metal toggle sings as it rides down the small of her back, each unfettered tooth widening the maw of fabric, and bringing me one step closer to that beautiful moment where our genitals will high-five. I run my fingernails playfully over her bare skin from her slender shoulders down to her well toned buttocks. I'm on top of her. Our faces inseparable.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" She asks me between hot mouthy kisses.

"Of course not." I reply, gasping for air. My hands working their way up the sides of her ribs, opening up the back of her dress ready to pull it off, her soft flesh dancing under my fingertips.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

- - - -

Doctors call them "door knob questions". The patient goes in, has a routine checkup and says everything is fine. The moment the doctor is about to leave the examining room, with his hand (or her hand, because women can be doctors too) on the door knob the patient spits it out-- the real reason for their visit.

"I've got this growth on my testicle and I think it might be cancer... and I've been coughing up blood all morning..."

- - - -

She had deftly avoided the question all evening, and now right when we were at the cusp of coitus, standing at the doorstep of my ding-dong's-destiny, with her hands at my waist kissing me like she means it...

There's this awkward.

Halting.

Pause.

"...I have a boyfriend."

I laugh, because I think she's being cute. It sounded so good coming out of her mouth, it took a second to register in my brain.

"Wait, say that again?"

"He's back in New Zealand. We're on a break."

"Does he know that?" She shrugs. That's a 'No'.

"I mean, I'm going to break up with him when I get home."

The room gets very cold and quiet. Something in the light changes: I pull my face away from hers, first by inches and then by miles. Something in me shifts. I no longer want to do this. I stand up.

- - - -

I gather up my clothes. They were flung so casually all over her hotel room in a passionate whirlwind... and now i'm participating in the world's most depressing scavenger hunt, where the prize at the end for collecting it all is a night of self-loathing and solitary contemplation about my life's choices.

Even once I Caught em' All, my clothes instinctively fight me. It's like being a toddler again; all motor-skills flying out the window in my fevered panic to escape. my head wants to go through the arm hole, both feet in one pant leg. I don't even bother to try tying my laces; I just tuck them into the sides of my shoes. She's sitting there, scowling on her hotel room bed, her mouth slightly agape and her eyes narrowed into slits, just watching me stumble into my clothes. The back zipper of her dress is still splayed wide open, the material folded over her shoulders as if she were some life-sized-zip-up-costume just waiting for someone with character to step into her skin.

"Thank you for a wonderful night" I say to her as I exit her hotel room. I wish I had a hat. Like a bowler, fedora, or even a cowboy hat because at that exact moment I would've raised it an inch over my head and tipped it to her. I saunter off, my imaginary spurs jingling with each step.

Out in the long empty corridor, lined with perfectly cloned hotel doors end to end, I pause for a moment uncertain of what to do. "I'm doing the right thing." I said it aloud to myself in the empty hallway. And then again. "I'm doing the right thing." Louder. "I'm doing the right thing."

For some reason, I start running. Running... from a half - naked woman who wants me for purely carnal and superficial reasons, a goal I've spent most of my adult life running towards. Hotel California begins playing in my head as I barrel my way down the empty hallway and through the fire exit and down the stairwell making a mad dash in concentric circles as I descend further and further away from her hotel room to the ground floor. I imagine her giving one final piercing cackle before her room bursts into unholy purple and green flames. Because in Disney Movies, the bad guys always have purple and green flames.

I fling open the doors and spill out onto some discrete side exit flanked by concrete plant potters and shoulder high-hedges. I hear the door lock behind me with a resounding *thud*. It's in that moment I allow myself to slow the perpetual motion of my fleeing body. I turn around and try the handle. Yep, no turning back now. I tie my shoelaces and walk the rest of the way to my car.

I did the right thing.

God damn... I hate the right thing.  

Seventeen - wide-eyed and eager

Talked shit in school and flexed in the mirror

Circulated Jugs! fold-outs with wary refrain

Traded playboys like we were handling cocaine

in a prison yard meant for recovering drug addicts -

take a shot and then stare at their...fit physiques.

And then I met her, pretty girl, blue eyes

Saw her jump in physed and thought it was wise

to talk her up, play it cool - yeah I'm the coolest in this perch

I've done ALL the sex things; yes I got kicked out of church

(I'm not really Christian but does that really matter)

I'll take you out for dinner and SEX - I'll eat the latter

Okay, so now we're in my COOL KID room

About to have SEX on my BED - did I speak too soon?

No? You're excited? Omg, same!

I mean I've done this a lot but haha, I'm game

Ok so you DEFINITELY take of your shirt

and I'm telling you in advance - it'll (probably) hurt

but that just means I'm VERY BIG

Got some liquor? Yes? Let's take a swig -

Ok, where were we? Ah, yes!

How could I forgot? We were going to SEX!

I'm a KNIGHT, ready to FIGHT for my princess

Did you bring paper towels? To clean up the mess?

ok now shirts off, pants down, my time to SHINE

except that day

my sword

forgot how to rise.

Worst. One nighter. Ever. 

Whoa!

We don't need a safe word but

maybe some ground rules.

There will be no kissing. 

Don't make me aware of my shame 

by looking me in the eyes.

Yes, it's good to see you but

I don't care about your day or how you're feeling,

don't even start--in fact, let's not even speak

outside of the long moans and short slaps

of skin on skin that we interpret like Morse Code.

Just take off your clothes

or rather

pull down your pants just enough

for me to slip inside.

Getting comfortable is for lovers;

I don't want to be misleading.

Stop.

Do not use my pillow.

I refuse to risk waking later

and finding your hair or smelling your scent.

This

isn't about making beautiful memories,

isn't about the foundation of something lasting,

isn't even about the survival of our species.

It's nothing personal.

This

is about the NOW,

is about giving in to our carnal vices,

is about having something other 

than our own hands to bring us to

climax. You don't even have to fake it--

I'll get mine, yours is not my priority.

However, in case I do end up the utensil

to your orgasm, we will not spoon;

cuddling will keep you here longer than necessary,

pillow talk violates the rules.

I'm sorry if you thought otherwise--this

is not making love.

The most beautiful thing about tonight

just may be watching you wipe what remains

of me off your lips. 

And I apologize again.

Maybe you deserve better but

the sweetest thing I may do is walk you to the front door

or rather

I'll distract my roommates 

long enough for you to sneak out,

long enough to avoid introductions,

long enough to save you from that awkward moment

when you remember that you

are not my girlfriend, merely

my dirty laundry