“Come in,” she sang.
He came in.
“Hi,” she replied. Under the faucet her hands worked with expert briskness ~ almost sweeping the dishes clean ~ also, incidentally, splashing soapy water all over the drainboard and floor.
His hands, on the other hand, oh hands, carelessly but lovingly snuck around her trim warm waist.
She nestled back with a hard slow wiggle of her bottom. “When are we getting married?” she cooed.
“Couple months,” he mumbled, intently watching her hands do an A-1 job on the dishes.
Her head turned and she gave him a long lingering kiss.
“You taste like hot sauce,” he whispered huskily.
a short novel by Rawclyde!
Boy With A Hat’s topnotch “Washing Dishes” poem