I find myself straining to hold back. I watch your lips as you drink your wine, as you talk. I watch your hands as they light your cigarette. I remember those hands on my body, creating both pain and pleasure. I think that you must have no idea how difficult it is for me to be this close to you again. You ask me to go to speak with the young woman, to talk to her of rules. To try and help her find her place here. I am afraid, because I remember my own feelings, but I want to do this for you, for her (for me?). I walk slowly down this familiar hallway, towards the room I spent seven days in. I know the path well. My hands are shaking, this time I hold the key. I open the door and see her standing. I open my mouth to speak to you and see the fear in your eyes. Your wrists are cuffed to the ceiling and you back away slightly. You are beautiful and I reach out to touch your lips, but you pull away. I wish I could comfort you, to help you understand that this is the only way and that you. One to find out where his favorite shirt was and two, ‘Hey Babe, want to talk?’ I told him where his favorite shirt was and hung up on him twice. Although I still laughed when he called.It was a little after 11:00 p.m. on the next Saturday night when my phone buzzed. ’Who the hell is calling this time of night?’ “John?”“Hey Mom, what-cha doing?”“I’m reading.”“Is that all?” he asked.I knew what he was alluding to, but I certainly wasn’t going to indulge him in such foolishness, “What did you think I would be doing?”I heard him chuckle. “I don’t know. Maybe doing what some people do at night alone in bed.”“Cut that out. You’re being silly now. I am not going to have phone sex with you.”“Well, maybe not like the other night when I called from the car. Maybe we can just talk and let me hear your voice.”“Okay, but no funny business. What do you want to talk about?”“Tell me about work.”“Work is good. We landed a big project last week, and Mr. Chambers bought pizza for everyone for.
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