meeting the kids

“back to your place?”
“are you sure?”
“I thought you said
you didn’t want me meeting your kids?”
“well, I just spoke to the baby sitter
and she says she put them to sleep already”,
she says
and I agree to stop in for a while
after we get to her place

so there we are
alone and it’s sort of romantic
sort of naughty
these thoughts we’re having
and then one thing leads to another
as often they do
and the clothes are off
and we’re in the bedroom
trying to keep quiet
what with the kids in the next room and all…
but there’s panting
and clawing
and I think one of us moaned really loud
and my foot just kicked over the night stand
so I think there might be some trouble
oddly there isn’t
I reach to pick it back up
but I get pulled back in
and there’s more clawing and groping
and that damned creaking noise just won’t stop
I mean the damned thing really won’t stop!
I don’t think I want it to stop
She yells, “don’t stop”!

and on and on it goes
until we both OD
on that divine heroine rush
and lay there
exquisitely tripped out
with the occasional whimper and spasm

as I get up to shower and leave
she asks, “where are you going”?
and I answer, “I’ve got to get going”.
“the kids…remember, the kids?”
to which she replies, “I guess they’ve
got to meet you sometime”.