She wraps the presents with cheap paper
on the desk against the wall, lit by dim
Christmas lights. All the unwrapped toys
are in the pink plastic basket at her feet,
and she stacks the finished ones at the
foot of the bed.

I’m propped up on the pillows, touching
myself and stroking my chest as I watch
her work, charmed by how her bones
and muscles move beneath her skin. She
turns around with a finished gift and
sets it down. Her eyes meet mine and she
simpers, biting  her lower lip, then turns
and picks up another toy.

I leave the bed, careful not to knock
anything off, and walk up behind her.
She keeps working on the present as I
pet her shoulders and brush my fingers
along her back. I press my body against
hers, wrapping my arms around her
waist and planting kisses on her neck.

She stops working and places her hands
on mine, tilting her head back and
letting her hair drape my shoulder. I
move my hand down her stomach and
across her hair, and I rub her. She huffs
and brings my other hand to her *******,
beckoning me to caress her. I circle
tighter, faster, harder, and she moans
and reaches her hand back to caress me.

I nibble at her ear, and she lets out a
heavy moan, and I whisper in her ear

“You are a wonderful mother.”

Her breathing slows, and she nudges
my  hand from her. “Don’t say that” she
whispers. We stand there, frozen, before
she continues working on the present.
I stay there behind her, realising my
best intentions were a mistake.

“I’ll just go then.” I put my clothes back
on and remove the trash bag from the
bin to take with me to make sure her
husband doesn’t find my condoms.
“Merry Christmas.” I close the bedroom
door and leave her home, careful not
to wake her kids.

-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet