“When was the last time you did something
Just because you enjoyed it?”
He asks, tempting me
As he guides my hand to the warmth in his lap.
I bite my lip.
He already knows it was the last time
We were together
And he knows he has the power to sway me
Before I can consider another protest
I find the weight of it in my hand
And look down to see it,
Glistening with promise of a good time
In the car in downtown Baltimore,
I look around
– it’s late, there’s just been a storm –
And when have I ever cared who might see?
I bring it to my mouth
“There it is,” he coaxes encouragingly
“It’s so big,” I purr, though we know I’ve been here before
And there’s no concern for what I can handle
The wetness, a taunting hint of what’s to come,
Touches my tongue first as I breach my lips,
That familiar underlying sweetness as it glides
Across my tastebuds
I close my eyes and open wider
To let the rounded part in
And slowly close my lips around it
Savouring the moment before I commence
In the front seat, in the dark of night
Dotted with paper lantern and tiny patio lights
I shamelessly bring it to my mouth
And away again
He watches, awed and appreciative of
The way I can’t seem to stop
Satisfying a craving at last
Down to the two sweating lumps surrounding it
Every part hot, covered
In that sweet sticky special
Sauce that now covers my lips too
As I swallow the final bit.
“You owe me,” as I lick my lips, admitting his victory.
He laughs and leans back.
“I know I make you bad,
But I always make up for it,” as he massages my neck.
Smirking at his pleasure in my show, I grab a napkin
And clean my fingers of
The sticky evidence of my demise,
My diet gone afoul:
Ekiben, and his delicious Korean sandwich.