Pure Slush

flash ... without the wank

House Call

<  Leaving the Pages

by Samuel Cole        Magic Numbers  > 

He comes to the front door like a stranger, hands buried inside short-short khaki pockets, sexy brown eyes moving with the direction of his head. At the doorbell, he irons his face and shakes out his braided cornrows trailing down a pair of well-honed t-shaped shoulders. He closes his eyes and strangles his neck, bending it horizontally, vertically, round and around. He licks his lips — god, what a tongue — really getting things wet, bending me even further toward admiration’s desire of fleshly consumption. I shiver in anticipation. Goddamn it, he stands so beautiful in his chocolate skin, his chiseled features prominently waiting, shining, glistening underneath the front porch light’s iridescent glow. I take another quick peek through the small slit of white fabric in the side transom. I can’t help but touch the naughtiest parts of my nakedness. He’s so almost welcome, so almost mine, a mere three or four tine-tiny steps away from giving me exactly what I need, what I want, what I advertised online for free, for real, for ASAP so let’s get this party rocking. He rings the doorbell again but he can wait. Often, they don’t even show. First, I need to step into the hallway mirror and take one final reminding glance of who I said I was over the mischievous telephone conversation: generous, bottom-smooth, sane. Second, I need to ignite the lemon verbena-scented tea lights in the bedroom and give the yellow flames proper time to flicker erotic positions all over the walls. Third, I need to block out the voices in my head telling me to be careful, take it slow, don’t do anything stupid, stupid, which is so easily accomplished by dousing my body, the bed, and the air with Polo Black Cologne, the best scent I’ve discovered to suppress suppression. Fourth, I need to take in a final, deep breath — let it all out, let everything go — before offering my sweet signature smile and flirty wink, two things men have always noticed, complimented, and begged to see again. Only then — I’m so almost ready — do I feel preparation’s hand guiding me to turn the knob to the right, open the door, invite him inside, and surrender all of my senses, the darkest silhouette in all my wildest, unruliest, and saddest nights.


published 29 May 2013