Tuesday, December 30
The Game - The Plan
He's coming tonight with a bottle of red wine in tow, held in his nervous hand.
Languishly, I pull out the backgammon game in preparation. I set up the black and white pieces in position. Each smoothly rounded little piece enticing plays a predesignated role. Each time one is taken off the board, is each time I subject my opponent to strip away another layer of his shyness, is each time I undo another button, each time I place my leather-clad foot ever so much closer to his leg, each time I make a move to distract him by using every ploy I know to build up sexual suspense.
I will also ready my home for this upcoming game. Each candle thoughtfully placed and lit in a deliberated location. One by the backgammon board, one on the counter in the kitchen next to the wine bottle. One in the bedroom that adjoins the livingroom, door left casually ajar, one in the livingroom atop the upright piano, and one waiting to be lit in the bathroom accompanied by a wooden match.
Two wine glasses will be polished to a crystal sparkle that will reflect the flickering candle flame, a pack of smokes will be left half opened on the table where we'll play. Patsy Cline's voice waits in the cd player waiting to be heard, and a pair of sheer black pantyhose will be tossed on my thickly duveted bed.
When he arrives tonight, the first thing he will notice is the steam still evaporating from the bathroom, the smells of soap, lotion, shampoo floating along with it. He will know that I've taken the time to prepare myself, my body for him.
A bottle of perfume will rest on my italian art deco dresser, although firmly closed, he will detect its scent that I've, with my fingers, transferred onto my skin, at the base of my neck, on the jutting bone of my hip, on the insides of my elbows.
He will then, guided by the path of my candles, see the pieces readied into position on the backgammon board, the wine bottle opener resting beside it and realize the game has just begun.
He's coming tonight with a bottle of red wine in tow, held in his nervous hand.
Languishly, I pull out the backgammon game in preparation. I set up the black and white pieces in position. Each smoothly rounded little piece enticing plays a predesignated role. Each time one is taken off the board, is each time I subject my opponent to strip away another layer of his shyness, is each time I undo another button, each time I place my leather-clad foot ever so much closer to his leg, each time I make a move to distract him by using every ploy I know to build up sexual suspense.
I will also ready my home for this upcoming game. Each candle thoughtfully placed and lit in a deliberated location. One by the backgammon board, one on the counter in the kitchen next to the wine bottle. One in the bedroom that adjoins the livingroom, door left casually ajar, one in the livingroom atop the upright piano, and one waiting to be lit in the bathroom accompanied by a wooden match.
Two wine glasses will be polished to a crystal sparkle that will reflect the flickering candle flame, a pack of smokes will be left half opened on the table where we'll play. Patsy Cline's voice waits in the cd player waiting to be heard, and a pair of sheer black pantyhose will be tossed on my thickly duveted bed.
When he arrives tonight, the first thing he will notice is the steam still evaporating from the bathroom, the smells of soap, lotion, shampoo floating along with it. He will know that I've taken the time to prepare myself, my body for him.
A bottle of perfume will rest on my italian art deco dresser, although firmly closed, he will detect its scent that I've, with my fingers, transferred onto my skin, at the base of my neck, on the jutting bone of my hip, on the insides of my elbows.
He will then, guided by the path of my candles, see the pieces readied into position on the backgammon board, the wine bottle opener resting beside it and realize the game has just begun.
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