Take this longing from my tongue

In the early hours of the morning, I received a call from Boris. He said he was sorry he hadn’t been in touch, but that he’d had a lot of business to attend to. He said he’d been thinking about me a lot, and felt he had neglected me. That from now on he’d try and be more attentive.

“Maybe it’s time I let you into my world a little.”

Once it would have been what I wanted. Boris softening, opening up towards me. Showing me something approximating love.

And yet, it isn’t. Look, I know Boris is a criminal. Oh he’s nice enough to me, but sometimes he shuts off, into himself, his eyes grow dark, and I can sense that inside him there is a place that is dark and rotten, like the core of a tree that is dead, even while its branches shoot out leaves. Plus there have been occasional urgent phonecalls. I know that whatever business he’s involved in isn’t one I want to know about.

“No Boris,” I say. “I don’t want you to bring me into your world. I’ve changed. I’m no longer stealing things.”

“How did that happen?”

“Dr Butler effected a cure.”

“Congratulations. So what do you want? For things to stay the same? You want to continue knowing nothing about me?”

“No Boris. The party’s over. Let’s not spoil it.”

“Do you want to think about it?” He sounds hurt. Good. I am pleased that I affect him, even in such a small way.

“No. Let's leave it like this.”

While the dawn fills the room with a grey-yellow light, I remember. The dozens of permutations, flesh upon flesh, Boris’s body bisecting mine. Yes, he gave me pleasure. But its all become too much somehow. My body no longer cries out to be touched, filled, caressed.

It just wants to be left alone.

Or maybe there is just one touch it craves.

Dr Butler's fingers, tentatively exploring between my legs.

In my mind I hear the whispers in the night, of two desperate women, locked into each other's arms.

If Dan does not come back from his trip soon, I will almost have forgotten I have a husband.