A Prose Poem by Lily Bell


I hear you arrive home as the garage door opens
My gut telling me to run, the hair on my arms rising in trepidation
Like a bull, you announce yourself as the door flies open and you’re on me
Why aren’t you upstairs waiting? Why aren’t you naked?
I explain that my obligations are important (my life is important I whisper to myself)
You slam the door shut, grab me and we’re suddenly in the bedroom
The dog grunts because he’s hungry or has to go out or wants a hug
You kick him, slam the bedroom door and the weekend begins
Put this one on, the kinky, crotchless one in your hand
Put it on and get on the bed
Programmed to comply, I pull on the nylon bodysuit,
my breasts squeezing through the mesh, my entire perineum openly displayed for your games
The huge black dildo in your hand, the games begin
You’re so sexy, you’re so fuckable…I love you
My eyes close as I mouth I love you too
Aren’t I amazing? Bet there aren’t a lot of guys that can do it like me. Let’s eat.

Its Saturday morning and you want a 6 am fuck. And a 10:30 am fuck. And one at noon, 2:00 pm, 3:30 and 5 pm.
Each time, you dress me in a differently degrading piece of lingerie personally chosen by you.
Each time, you try and outdo yourself.
See how long I can last? Bet no other guys can fuck their wives 6 times a day. You’re so fuckable.

Saturday night arrives and I’m ready to go out to a friend’s house party.
You announce that we’re not going because the men will all want me.
They’ll want to touch me and that will upset you too much, so we’re staying home.
I protest, saying we made plans and I was looking forward to it.
You’re on me, screaming. This isn’t a fucking three-ring circus!
You shove me and I fall.
You throw your glass, storm out of the house and drive off.
So I wait. And I wait some more, but you don’t come home.
I fall asleep wondering if you’re okay.

Sunday morning and I wake to text messages telling me why I pissed you off.
I think about my actions and how I could have reacted differently.
And still I wait, not knowing where you are.
Around 10:00 am, I hear the garage door open and you’re home.
You apologize, it’ll never happen again.
I’m leery but afraid of another confrontation, so I quietly accept it and reach for my coffee.
Let’s get naked, you say. Meet me upstairs, and wear the topless outfit.



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