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The Slip

He slipped and fell - in love? Who knows whose fault it was, or if it even was. The
words came easily;

the way she wanted to hear them, how she heard others hear them in stories. Stories were all the same,
in her eyes, and ended the same.


There was only one difference: he would only use the right words when they were
fucking. He of course,

called it, "making love," and as a result fell in love with his way of doing things. He
frowned when she

called it sex and looked at him square eyed. He then explained it very clearly, when they
"make love,"

he is sure of its purity because of a certain sensation he gets, "like falling" in the
back of

his head that no one else could provoke. She knew what it really was, though, it was
simple chemicals

in his brain that shot off like cum. He was only truly affectionate to her divine, naked
flesh. When he had

her hips from behind, he ravaged her and licked the line of her spine, moaning at the
same time,

"I love you baby, oh you I love, you." She always whispered back (never so he could
hear),

"No, man, all you love is to fuck me."


Ron Weisberg

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