Legacy

I know how it feels to come inside you
I've probably done it more than your
husband.
Sometimes when I jerk off, I watch
the cum fly and sit smugly
in a puddle his withered old dick couldn't
muster.

You're sitting on my toilet
troweling moisturizer on
your face, your hands.
Your pussy could use some more.

It's only one bedroom, but
you're paying for it. You
won't remember the catshit-
carpeting or the tacky shelfpaper.
Or the color of my eyes.
Once you're sitting on my prick,
your eyes close,
rolling back. You're twenty-
one again and the men
want you. They pay for
dinner, dancing, hotel. That's
why you're here. If you open
your eyes, you're forty-
two again and you have to
cruise undergrads for the rush.
Keep your eyes closed.
Grind out another "O".
You're paying for it.
That's what you'll remember.

Did I look sexy? Was I
desirable or just next? How many
of your holes do I fill? Lover?
Son? Apprentice?

I'm ready to go again, so
come and get it.
That's what you want, right?
My legacy won't be my understanding
of lonely women or my gentle
kiss or my quiet hope.
My legacy will be the sperm
dripping into your panties as you
kiss your husband.