A Sex Audit
checks and balances, a private practice
We’re standing at the street corner.
“Hug me,” I say.
He glances at me, stretching his arms more toward me than his eyes. He takes sidewalk safety seriously, but he’d never leave my love hanging.
I hug him tightly, taking care to press my pelvis into his. His nylon parka chills my cheek.
“Ok, everyone, hold hands,” he says. The walk light is on.
He pushes the stroller. I’m holding our toddler's hand. Two feet above them, I ask, “Which shag was your favorite this week?”
He flashes his full eyesight to me. For a moment, distracted crossing.
“What do you mean?”
“You know. Which romp left you feeling the best?”
“Mmm.”
We don’t mind talking about this in front of our busied children, but he’s hesitant in front of strangers. On the other side of the street, we turn left, away from pedestrians and toward our place.
“The one the other day. In the afternoon.”
“Describe it?”
“It was a top moment. Maybe in life. I love being aroused like that.”
I remember him saying dirty things. Loving things.
