Woke up hard and she was already awake
and aware of the situation,
her hand sliding under the covers
without a single word,
stroking slow while pretending still to sleep.
I played along, eyes closed, the creep.
Then the rhythm built
and she threw the blanket off,
climbed aboard—
no foreplay, no warm-up,
just mounted like I was stored,
energy she’d been waiting for
since whatever dream she’d had.
She slid down on me
still half-wet
from a dream that went bad.
Grinding before I was fully conscious,
her palms flat on my chest,
the monstrous appetite
of a woman who wakes up hungry
every morning.
Don’t move, she said. This is happening without warning.
She came in under four minutes,
her personal best for the dawn,
then collapsed on my chest,
said good morning,
yawned,
and went to shower
like nothing happened,
like she hadn’t just used me
like a human toy
she keeps beside her bed
for the free.
Release that starts the day right.
I lay there grinning at the ceiling,
covered in her,
reeling
from the efficiency of a woman
who knows what she needs
and takes it every morning.
I make the coffee while she showers.
By the time she’s dressed and done,
she kisses me and says same time tomorrow.
I said, Hon,
this alarm clock you’ve installed
is the only one I’ll never hit snooze on.
She winked and left.
I stood there with my shoes on.