some days
usually in the afternoon
you find yourself unexpectedly alone
and you know what you want
you tidy the bedroom, put on fresh sheets
plump the pillows, and run the bath
a long hot bath

emerging from the tub
you pour cool oil in both hands
and stroking upwards,
anoint the body you’ve known since childhood,
your companion through every adventure,
every joy, every sorrow…

the alchemy of warm water and cool oil
transforms your hands to anothers’
stroking and studying each curve,
calves, thighs, ass, belly, breasts,
especially your sleek round breasts…
those slick hands can take your breath away…
struggling to grab a slippery nipple hard enough
to hurt that way you like…

do you remember how once, early on,
the asian bit one nipple so roughly
he actually drew blood?
and the russian, when he took you from behind,
would grab one tit in each hand
crushing you towards him, grunting his pleasure
and the swede loved pulling out
to spew his seed all over these tits
time after time

but she was the best,
she knows something about you no-one else does,
something you yourself don’t fully know
she could find that rhythm of pleasure and pain
and take you somewhere
you need to go

and so you lie in your freshly made bed
your breasts warm and moist in the air
the skin soft, the nipples hard
stroking the afternoon into evening
dreaming of her touch
and tonight nobody pays
this one's for me alone

pierre louÿs, adapted by eve beglarian

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book of days