Asked to

Sunday Dance

I sigh, Don’t… Here we go. Again.
He asks, “So…Oh, the boyfriend’s here…He’s really your boyfriend?”
I nod, You already know that.
He sighs, “All these years, I’ve always wondered…how your nipple tastes.”
Years? Thankfully I’m wearing a bra now, I still move to hide my covered breasts.
I laugh, Now that one I haven’t heard. I actually don’t know
and wonder if I should ask for the answer (almost slipping into automatic)
I shake my head, smiling at---
Still insisting, “I would like very much to know.”
I stop smiling,
finally looking at him, Moving like the others, all bolder now---

It was so was so easy to move
onto his lap,
allowed him to feel me close,
straddling him,
pulled down the straps,
baring my nipple into his mouth
for his tongue to taste
and watch his eyes close
savoring
the answer
uncaring
who are watching

--- but I do not move.
I smile and shake my head once more,
making him laugh about being rejected:
I do not feel anything
knowing whose mouth I want on my breast
except this stinging
from against dressing
I do not stop drinking.

Until it stops stinging.

Until I wept.

Until I howled as I was held by the right arms.