I had never taken pictures of my breasts in a public bathroom before,
But they were pale and swollen that day.
He didn’t ask me for anything;
And I didn’t ask him for anything either –
It evolved on its own.
We both knew it was beneath us:
Cheating and all of the guilt that can come along.
We met anyway; and I had concluded he wouldn’t want me –
He’d never seen me before: legs open and exposed.
He only knew me by my first name – he’d never whispered “pussy” or “cock” in my ear;
And when I opened the hotel door and saw him standing there,
I wondered if my thighs were thick enough.
Her thighs were perfect, he had told me, and her ass was something that made him keep going back.
I didn’t ask him to leave her, but I had a shot of vodka before he touched me.
The first press of his hand on my hip was enough for me
And he slid his hand under my bra and his tongue drifted down my neck.
He didn’t whisper anything and the floor unit hummed with cool air across my shoulders.
I didn’t wonder anymore if I was something he thought about –
I hoped that he fit perfectly inside of me and that she would never know where he was.
I threw the pillows off the bed and he swirled sheets around like a finger mixing whiskey and coke.
There were no condoms or do not disturb signs – we clung to the moment
And I yearned to be the other woman.
He held the back of my neck in the palm of his hand, like a ripened fruit,
As he watched me with each shove.
He even kissed me – like he’d been kissing me since marriage –
And I kissed him back as I told him ‘thank you’ with each entry.
He didn’t have to say why he rubbed the wet spot between my thighs when he was done;
He knew I welcomed him over and over –
And when the check-out call came through, he asked “Can we rent the room for a few more hours?”
The room was already reserved, just like he was already taken,
So I gathered up my panties and he put his wallet in his back pocket.