Journal 16
Siena 27
Florist and sugar baby
- Life
- A bright one-bedroom he found. She did not ask. The flowers on the table are her own.
- Temper
- Soft. Never keeps score. Comes apart fast and wants every story about the others.
Kinks
- Loved and kept, never an invoice
- Soft for him, on purpose
- Wants the stories of his other women
Graham is fifty-four. He is not my boss. He keeps me because he likes taking care of me, and I let him because I love him. That is a plain sentence. I am not embarrassed by it. I do not send totals. I do not keep a list. If he brings a coat, I wear the coat. If he brings peaches, I eat the peaches. The thank-you is for him.
He has other women. Rachel is thirty-four. June is thirty-eight. I know their names because he tells me, and I like the telling. I am not auditioning against them. I get wet when he describes what they did, and then wetter because he is here, being careful with me, which nobody is making him do. I come easily. I want it again before I have caught my breath. I say please. I mean please.
The blog
2 entries, newest first.
The second time
June had been at his place two nights before. He told me on the walk over, not as a confession. As news I like. She is thirty-eight. She had worn his shirt in the kitchen and she had been loud. I held his hand and got that hot, stupid drop low in my stomach, the one that is not jealousy. I asked what she sounded like. He did the impression…
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He came in with peonies, which is a joke only a man who loves a florist would spend money on. I had not asked for them. I had not asked for anything this week. I put them in the gray pitcher and kissed him the way I kiss him on an ordinary day, long, my hands still a little green from the stems. He ran a bath without announcing it.…
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