He slips his hand between my thighs, caresses, squeezes.

"You're firm" he says. My eyeballs waver from him to his boyfriend.

He slithers fingers lower to the promise-land, the super star. He pushes harder, massages, inserts. I gasp from the glory.

The boyfriend doesn't notice.

I want it, but I know it's wrong.

I attempt to wriggle a hand up his shorts, but it's wrong. I don't have the nerve.

"I hate how clandestine this is" I confess. And it's over. "It isn't right."

I lay down on the floor and sprawl out my arms. Everyone sees I'm exhausted and drunk.

They take off my shirt to give me some air. Faces of friends appear in a circle.

The clandestine caresser kneels to my face.

His boyfriend watches above us.

He kisses once. He kisses twice. I pull away.

Seconds pass as he stares at my eyes. He studies me. He takes my hand.

"You want to be taken care of, don't you?"

"Yes" I respond without even thinking,

"Yes".