Wetness

We parked the car
by the lake, a little private corner
of a vastly public world.

I turned off the engine
and maneuvered to a better position.
I laid back
and watched.

You straddled me
with your legs of (ivory)silk.
I could feel the nothingness
that was your panties that day,
up under the skirt
that had given me visions
fantastic, religious
all day.

Reaching up for the low ceiling,
you caressed the cheap upholstery
with fingertips that taunted me.
Even your fingers, love,
yes, even they mocked me.

And with a fluid motion,
you drew up the ironic
church-girl sweater that your mother
didn't know was ironic
and you were just that much more
radiant in the moonrays that filtered through the windshield.

"Do you want to help me?" leaning down closer
so I could reach the clasps of the bra
(strapsblacksilkpinklacesweetness)
you shoplifted from the mall the Saturday before.
And I did.
Lean back, baby, show me
everything.

And when you did, I saw you
all of you.
I got lost in something
I didn't know existed
in me
before that night
Your skin glowed blue
in the dashboard light,
the pink of your nipples
turned a violet that begged
to be touched.

Slipping my hand
between my denim and your cotton
and bypassing
the air that was your panties,
I felt my fingers glide into
the folds of you that held your
deepest secrets and
desires.
Wetness.
And a gasp.

Gently, lover, I promised.
Slowly, darling, I took up more space
inside you.
And when your limits were reached,
we hung
in suspended equilibrium
until you gave the word
"Go."
And I did.

To feel the movements
of you all around me,
and know you felt me
inside yourself.
The rhythmic writhings
of a woman unleashed
though she be ready,
is still a shock.
And I think I felt
more joy in that
than anything after.

You rode
and rode
and squirmed
and squealed
and moaned
and let me
kiss and
suck.

You bit my shoulder
and it bruised for
two weeks afterward
(a badge of honor).

When the moment came
you bent over me
(your hair a sanctuary where I prayed
for this
to stay
forever)
and groaned from the depths of you
and held onto my neck
until I thought you would fuse
my skin to yours
and that would have been perfectly
fine.

You were so still
in that while of inner workings,
and your breathing was a runner's,
proud and ready.

Afterwards we dressed
and went back to town.
Had french toast at IHOP.
I drove you home,
and went home myself,
where my mother asked me
when I was going to start dating because
there were so many nice boys at my school.

Five years later
I came back to town
and you were married
with one kid and one on the way.
My mother still wants to know
why I can't find some nice young man
to settle down with.

Because of the way you looked in the car that night.

That's why.