Friday, April 16, 2004

answering machine
My body smells like sex, as does my bed. In fact the whole bedroom has that sweet, sweaty aroma still. I got him in a cab, and the weather being so nice, I decided to peddle over to the park and enjoy the warm sun. Slowly peddling in circles, I started to think a bit about yet another reason the cell-phone "revolution" stinks. You can't leave one of those sweet messages on his answering machine, just a quick 'I had a nice time' that he won't get until he gets home; something you hope will put a smile on his face, like the one you have now. He was sweet, and cuddley, and nicely insistant that we ought to do it again. But he had plans tonight, so he showered up, and dressed, while I just put this morning's clothes over my sweat and cum-glazed body, and left the apartment with him, showing him the best place to get a cab uptown. I didn't spend long in the park, wanting to return to the bed, and his aroma. As I started to undress, I saw the answering machine's light flickering. PLAY. Cell phone distortion, traffic sounds, and a message that ends with "I wanna be able to fall asleep with you, real soon." BEEEP.