A stair creaks. I’ve learned the sound of each and every tread. He knocks first. Nice, not everyone bothers.
But he doesn’t wait for the invitation, and there he is. Hair long, but reasonably clean. The gun-belt comes off first. He is careful how he sets it down. Now his shirt. Fewer scars than most.
He looks at me and swallows anxiously. I help with the rest, and now he is where I need him. And when it’s done, there are tears in his eyes.
From my window, I see how it ends. Sad. He is still wet inside me.
