I wanted to rush into his arms, longed to match his strength against mine again. I was mad with desire to wrestle. But we took our time, each knowing the strength of the other. And when we met a second time, it was more slowly. We came in, locking up in the classic wrestler's stance, hands sweeping lightly as we found our purchase. I let him come, felt his grip on me as we shifted our feet. Found our balance. When we were set, and still both hard, we began. The Woman gasped. He came in low, looking for a leg sweep. I danced back, denying him the throw. I caught him around the chest. Sought to twist a leg around his. But now it was his turn to deny me. He danced back. I came in. His hands came to my chest, pushed me back. And then we were locked again, chest to chest before falling sideways to the sand. We twisted in the dirt like a couple of enraged pythons. Sand in the oil now, abrading our skin. Our movements were quicker, lighter. Speed was everything in this game. Legs. The air was cool on my skin as I leaned over his dresser to the window. The spot against the curb was empty. He couldn't have been long gone. I looked along the street just as the tail of a red car disappeared around the corner at the lights. I didn't know automobiles enough to know if it was his or not.I didn't need to go to work; the world would keep spinning about its axis without me; I could have gone back to bed and *****. Standing, though, had shifted the weight of my bladder. I decided to see to it before bringing a cup of tea back to bed.I cruised his lounge room as the kettle came to a boil. It wasn't a room I was comfortable in. It was stainless steel and black and hard. An oversize television screen dominated the space. Everything had its place. It was the sort of room only visited even by its owner. I had been going out, and *****ing in, with him for almost a year but that remained the picture I had of him. He had all the toys --- tailored suit; red sports car; straight.
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