When asked, have you ever slept with a prostitute, I reply honesty.
When asked by a prostitute, do you want to sleep together, I reply honestly.
I don’t ever call her a prostitute though.
I don’t call myself her client neither.
I call myself her boyfriend.
She calls herself my girlfriend.
Sex is never the first thing on my mind.
Sex however, is always on my mind, regardless.
I often attend boring dinners.
I often find myself trapped in conversation at said boring dinners.
I often wish I had not attended said boring dinners at all.
The truth is, I haven’t anyone to go with.
The truth is, I’m not easy to be around.
A few hours here and there is enough,
to show myself at my best.
A few hours after a boring dinner is enough,
to remind myself that life is best
when inside a gorgeous woman.
To feel her body biting down on mine.
To feel her arms wrapped around my neck.
To feel her legs wrapped around my abdomen.
To feel her feet digging into my back.
To feel her breath on my ear,
my name falling off her tongue,
and her name falling off mine,
as she moves faster
and faster still,
until I feel myself exploding.
Before this however, I show her off to my colleagues.
Before this, I show her off to my clients.
They truly believe she is my lover in that elegant dress of hers.
I truly feel, over the course of one evening,
she is my lover, in that elegant dress of hers.
So shapely and serene.
Her hips; her curves; her buttocks;
perfect in every way.
She lets me do things to her a girlfriend truly wouldn’t.
She lets me feel her body out on the balcony.
She let’s me whisper deeply pornographic circumstances into her ear.
She does the same thing to me.
It’s a game she and I play.
She teases me, asking me to take her to the men’s room.
When I take her to the men’s room,
she’ll push me into an empty stall,
and inside that empty stall,
she’ll fuck my brains right out of my head,
and I’ll be convinced she loves me
when she screams it with every thrust, I love you, I love you,
then goes silent for a moment when someone enters,
before continuing when they leave.
At home, I ask her to stay the night. I have the currency.
I like to think she stays for the company, rather than the cash.
I like to hold her to my chest, our heart beats intertwined.
I like to imagine myself exclusively seeing her.
I like to imagine herself and I married.
I wonder if she does the same.
This poem was written in response to the ‘pleasure’ prompt for #introtopoetry.