Previously Published on Bare Back Magazine . . .

Peep Show

I am their by-the-minute-baby-angel-
kitten.  I purr appropriately
every time they slide filthy singles
through the slot.  They raise my curtain,
I raise their full-flag salute.  Exposed
and pressed against the glass, they pant
at the possibilities.  I pose,
slowly, revealing hints
of what they will never have, but dream
they can.  Eventually, I open
myself to their fantasies.  They cannot slip
their money in fast enough to keep me.  Still
open, I pause, wait for them to catch up.
They pay extra for me to watch them
finish.  I mimic their momentum,
if not their enthusiasm.  Pretend
the show was reversed, that my climax was
more than the collection of cash
spread beneath my feet.



(http://www.barebackmag.com/) (warning -- adult content site)