The Russian Room at the local Cafe

"The one thing you must never do
is tell your wife."
That's how it began.
Karissa whispered it
and disappeared under the table.

We were sitting at our favorite coffee shop—
Icons all over the walls,
a hippy priest-the barista-
behind the bar.

Chants. Chants. Chants. Overhead.

We had been meeting for a few months.
She would tell me her challenges,
her chances, the changes
of the young organizer's life.

I would listen and nod.
For weeks, I offered
encouragement and insight.
I was twice her age.

Then, one night,
a month into all of it,
out of the absolute blue
I dreamed her naked.
Standing full on in front of me.
Her breasts, firm and full.

Conjured her like a wizard
in the days of old.

A week later, we were sitting,
talking, just like normal.
"The one thing you must never do
is tell your wife."

We were alone, in something called
The Russian Room,
on the second floor.
The hippie priest never left his post.

I could no longer hear the chants
or dare to breathe.

  She unzipped my pants.
Just ever so gently put her hand
under my tightening balls.
My cock slid in her mouth
as if she had done this to me
a thousand times.

"Don't worry. I swallow."