Wiped.

It's only 4:00 p.m.,
And my body is saying
Midnight.

Who am I to argue with my body?

The faxes didn't stop, they are still
Coming,
And heaven help me if the phone
Rings again,
And "she" wants to know if I am
Available.
Is there something unclear about
"I am not in this afternoon"?

E-mails, letters, files, binders,
The onslaught of paper
Has numbed me,
Exhausted me,
And now all that is left
Is a man, alone at his desk,
Wiped!

I don't often use the exclamation mark
As punctuation,
But this is no ordinary
Wiped!

I'm coming home to you,
I promise not to be too late,
But as the good lord is my witness,
I am too tired to play.
I know it's been a while,
And all you get are promises,
But believe me when I say
I can't even think of
My favorite three-letter word.

Yes, THAT three-letter word.

I'm wiped,
But sitting here and writing to you,
Perhaps just the thought of sex
(Yes, that's the word)
Might make me feel differently.
Maybe if I imagine it,
If I visualize it?

I close my eyes,
And I see you in front of me.
No, don't cover up!
I love when you greet me at the door
Naked.
Not even the frilly nightgowns,
Or teddies,
Or crotchless panties.
No. Don't want them.
Naked.

Your pendulous breasts
Jiggle as you walk,
Leading me from the front door
Into our private space.
But you don't stop, instead you keep walking
And walk me to our balcony,
Opening the door
And leading me outside.

Twenty seven stories above
Street level
And it is still light outside.
The sounds of traffic below are faint at this height,
But I know that young couple directly
Across the way
Can see you.
At least with binoculars.

Don't ask me how I know.

You close the screen door behind us,
And we stand on the balcony,
You naked,
Me in a suit and tie.

You relieve me of my jacket and drop
It to the floor,
Then you kneel down and remove my shoes.
You stand up again
And lift my collar and then undo the knot
On my tie.
I know you hate this tie,
The one I bought at Cooperstown
With the baseballs on it,
But do you have to toss it off the balcony,
Then lean over, your breasts hanging over the
Edge,
And watch my tie drift to the pavement below?

You unbutton my shirt
And slip it off me,
Then bending slightly,
My pants are undone,
And you shimmy them off me,
Leaving me in a pair
Of pink and white striped
Boxers.

Off they come,
And they too are tossed
Over the edge,
A parachute descent to some
Unsuspecting passers-by below.

We stand naked
Facing each other,
In plain view of all those
Who live twenty seven stories and above,
The western exposure bringing
Bright sunlight
Dancing on your breasts,
Glistening with the slightest sweat
On this hot afternoon.

I open my eyes
And I am still at my desk.
I am still tired,
But I am intrigued
At how my imagination
Has taken me so far.

I think I might get laid, tonight,
If only in my imagination.

But at twenty seven stories up,
Outside,
Imagination is so much better
Than reality.

I close my eyes again,
And we are still naked
Atop the neighborhood,
As you lean over the railing of
The balcony,
Presenting
Your ass for my taking.

I am hard,
And you are wet,
And as I enter you from behind
Your breasts dangle over the railing and shake
With my thrusts.

From the street below,
Two breasts and a head peer down,
And from above,
My torso and yours are joined,
My hardness lubricating itself
Inside your tightness,
My hands holding onto your hips
As we fuck.

We don't make love on a balcony.
We fuck.
Even in my imagination
I know the difference.

I look up, across the way,
And see that young couple
Out on their balcony,
And as best as I can tell,
They are naked too.
But he has binoculars,
And I know he is watching us.

Don't ask me how I know.

You shout out that you are cumming,
And you tell me that you know
I am close too.

You tell me that it is not a good time
For me to cum inside of you,
And we have forgotten condoms inside.

You pull away from me as you cum,
And frantically begin to
Jerk my hardness, stroking furiously,
Whacking away with a fast and
Deliberate motion.

You pull me closer to the railing and as
I cum,
You point my hardness up toward the edge,
And you watch as I
Shoot into the air,
Up and over the railing,
And then you look over again,
Watching my liquid trophy
Fall like rain to the ground.

I open my eyes.

Wiped!

I couldn't do any of that if
My life depended on it,
And if I don't get my
Act together soon
And please you,
My life will depend on it.

But for now I am wiped.
My little diversion
Of fantasy
Has aroused me
But not invigorated me

I'll still crash when my head
Hits the pillow later.

But for now
I will look for some tissues,
For it seems that in all the
Excitement on the balcony,
I forgot to unzip my pants
And pull myself out through the fly,
Here at my desk,
And I have a large dark wet spot
On the front of my pants
That may require some
Maintenance and explanation.

I made a bit of a mess, you could say,
That needs to be
Wiped.