The Third Word © Mike Kimera 2006.
That’s what I whisper in his ear when I am spread and he is hard and sweat is all that is between us.
Passes my lips like a promise or a plea, rousing his lust, stirring my memories, mixing his need and my guilt
A prayer offered to this bar-met stranger, the right age but with the wrong face, as he pushes into me
As always, pleasure and shame race through me, my present and my past bound together. Perhaps this time I will finally release the third word.
Please, Daddy. Stop.