LUST

The text read, how’s your mother doing? The coded text message couldn’t come soon enough. Translated, it means I’m ready when you are. Instantly ripe, just under her tee shirt, her push up bra seems to tighten, and her lower lips pucker.

“I’m taking the dog out for a walk,” she yells. Reaching for the leash, she delights in the sight of her delicate arm hair standing erect.

All of them hear her, none of them care to acknowledge her. Her youngest is lost in Star Wars Battlefront II, the middle one is poorly managing algebra frustration, the oldest is lying on her bed jilted, and her husband is watching Fox News annoyed at the interruption, rewinding without satisfaction, as she closes the front door expectantly.

The ice and slush don’t hinder her as she steps off the curb. How many times has she gotten away with this ruse? Not enough, she thinks. Never enough. She wants more even as she’s getting it.

He lives alone, drinks too much, gambles and looks older than his age. Fourteen years her junior, he jokes that she’s his MILF and she takes it as a high compliment, as if the young loser down the block beckoning her is a valued prize she’s won. Neither of them remembers who made the first move as they passed each other walking their dogs. They could blame it all on the dogs, pulling towards one another, each enthusiastically lifting a leg, noses in taboo places.

Ringing the doorbell with a steady hand, she won’t wait long for the door to open. The smell of stale beer doesn’t bother her as it would in her house, nor do the spent cans and fast food wrappers on the floor that would normally have her blow a gasket. Her dog knows the drill and runs out the back slider, happy to romp with his dog pal for as long as it takes.

The blinds are closed, the lights are dim, and the ponies on the racing channel have just left the gate as the passion explodes between them. Clothes fly and land mingling with the debris as the clock stops. There is nothing other than the act on her mind as she completely devours every inch of his unshowered skin. Why would he shower before she comes, or after?

“Harder. Harder.” She screams and moans and he knows he’s already giving it to her as hard as he can, so he slaps her bare ass to accommodate the pain she craves.

Somewhat breathless, as if dignity had ever been in the room, she asks him, “Do you still think I’m beautiful?” “Of course I do,” he says, not really lying. None of his friends know about her, neither does his family. Why would he tell them? She’s just an easy lay. Uncomplicated; that is as long as her husband doesn’t find out. He shakes off that thought, content that this arrangement contradicts his previous girlfriend who wanted marraige and kids.

They talk for a few minutes about the dogs, the ponies and his job while she slowly gets dressed and uses the comb that he leaves for her in his desk.

“See ya,” she says, as if she’s saying good-bye to someone she just met. The street is empty and dark, as she starts walking back to them, wondering if she should order Chinese take out or pizza. “Let them starve, for all I care,” she thinks, because for a single minute, she is full.