If she knew …

Lessons, near forgotten, guided my fingers:
at the back of the neck, a tense spot,
was that a murmur, or a sigh, or sheer comfort?
Down the spine, at the sides, up to the front,
a kiss here and there, a nibble once in a while.
How she loves it, certainly not an act;
her nipples rising to the touch, selfish ones,
forever seeking attention, ebb and flow of the tides;
down below, further and further, her eyes close.
Relax, relax, relax. Whispered words,
caressing touches, sucking, tasting, going on.
“My masseur”, call me that I tell her,
but she does not wish to speak, not bothered.
In her mind, I suspect, thoughts far from that I wish;
In my mind, if she knew, she would cry rape.