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Tonight, I thought, is a little different though! When I got up from the table, I went into the living room, but I didn't turn on the TV. Instead, I sat there sipping my wine, as mom cleared the table, and cleaned up the kitchen. Normally I would have helped her but that night I wasn't in the mood. I purposely waited until I knew she was almost through, and I had finished off my wine, and then I went up to my room, only this time, I left the door open and unlocked. I no long heard the water running in the kitchen, so I knew she was finished, and the TV downstairs wasn't on, so she was stalling, and I knew it. Eventually though, there she stood in my doorway, a scared look on her face, as she lightly knocked on the door. I told her to come in, and she came over and stood by my bed. She said something about how we needed to talk, and when I said "Damn right we do." she didn't even correct my cussing. At that point I got up, and brushed past her. She asked me where I was going, and I. A tight white sweater, short skirt that showed off her long tanned shapely legs (my weakness.) I looked her over as she stood in line and she looked me over where I sat with a mischievous smile on her full lips. Then I looked at the way she moved her hips as she sauntered to a table close at hand. Her? Our? Story in poetical prose of rhythmic stanzas that will curl a girl’s toes. No rings she donned, “I’m a free woman” her song, As she crossed her long shapely legs, And looked at me impishly one table away, I safely went back to my book and read. I felt young eyes staring at me, With self proclaimed liberty, The phantom raising a glass of wine, To make a toast only it can find, So her eyes burned in me. Like an itch you can not scratch, At least not publicly, Not wishing to look but wanted to see, Her youthful beauty staring at me. The phantom was giggling with glee. I looked sheepishly from my book, To her sensual long fingered hands, Not a ring she wore left or right, And thought.
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