No Time for Pretty Words

No time for pretty words, you say,
Just fuck me fast.

There's always time for pretty words, I say,
Let me make love to you.

No time.
I want your cock inside me,
I want to be filled,
I want the sweat to pour down from our
Foreheads
And onto our bodies,
As we fuck each other,
Fast and hard.

There's time, I say.
Let me undress you,
Savor you,
Let me treat you the way
I would treat my dearest love,
The way a lady ought to be treated,
With respect and love and with
Time.

Fuck it, you say,
Will your poetics never end?
I don't love you - I don't have the time,
I'm not a lady - I am a woman,
I don't want your respect,
It takes too long...

Just fuck me, you say,
And make me wet,
Make me yell,
Make me cum.

But...where does that leave all we can share? I ask,
And you look at me with a smile.
The words? The poetry? The romance?
Where does that fit in?
Am I just a cock to you?

There will be time for pretty words, you say,
But not now.
There will be time for respect, for romance,
For me to be a lady.

But the sun is going down,
The day grows short,
And I will have to be somewhere else,
And so will you,
And the time for all the things you want
Is not now.

Let me ride you,
Let me ride you and use you,
Let me suck you,
Let me suck you and drain you,
Let me feel you,
Let me feel you and be filled by you,
Let me be fucked by you
And let me fuck you.

I pause.
I look out the window of the train and see the rolling landscape,
Knowing we will arrive at the station soon.
I pause and look in front of me,
Into your eyes.

I know you are right.
Even in the tight confines of the bathroom
On this crowded train.
I know you are right.

Can I at least ask your name?
What is your name?

Then you smile
As you reach toward me
And pull me in for that first kiss,
Saying,
Anything you'd like it to be.

No time for pretty words.
Not even a name.
Just a fuck.

We approach the border with Quebec,
And Montreal is just over a half hour away.

I think I'll call you Belle.