The whole night had been great fun.
Laughing into my cup,
And smiling not too discreetly at you.
A light joke and subtle innuendo seemed to predict the
night’s outcome.
As you walk me home from the party,
Our arms wrap around each other.
Mine around your waist for support
Yours are strewn across my shoulders for the contact.
I fumble with my keys and giggle.
The scent of vodka and orange hangs heavy on my breath.
Reeking, but somehow it’s still appealing,
At least to you.
When we get to my room,
You boost me up onto my bed.
I can’t manage the climb myself.
At least, I think that’s how it went.
Chatting I recline back in the lushness of my pillows.
Too soon everything is touching: lips, tongue, teeth.
Our bodies are entwined
So are my hands in your hair.
Looking back now the night seems a nauseous blur,
And your question remains starkly clear in my memory:
Do you have a condom?
The whole night I thought he’s finally noticing me
After countless innocent run ins
At the club, a meeting, or a party
He’s finally noticed me.
Yet when I awaken in the morning
Groggy, sore, and naked
I am alone in my bed,
And I’m not quite sure what has happened.
There’s one reminder of what has been:
A torn open wrinkled condom wrapper on the floor
Under my bed.
Even the trash is too ashamed to show its face.