It was summer,
Newport, the Levinson mansion.
They were outside,
On the porch
There was lemonade –
(Laced with gin) –
And peaches.
Fresh peaches.
The smoke from Isidore's cigar
Curled up over their heads
And Martha talked
On and on she talked.
But Robert only had eyes
For Cora.
Cora, who bit into a peach,
The juice dripping over her chin
And the look on her face –
So blissful, almost orgasmic
Robert stirred,
Adjusting his trousers surreptitiously
Hastily he sipped lemonade,
Eyes down on the table
Martha's voice and Isidore's smoke
Filling the air around him
He looked up again
Had to clear his throat
And blink his eyes
As he caught a look from her
Cora, licking juice from her fingers,
Her gaze on his face,
A slow smile curling her lips –
She knew just what she was doing.
With another sip and another cough
Robert interrupted Martha,
Excusing himself,
His trousers uncomfortably tight
Stealing up the stairs,
He retired to their washroom,
Needing to undress,
To relieve the pressure
A noise, then a click of the latch –
"Cora?" he asked, turning.
The door shutting,
Cora's eyes dark
She slipped arms around him,
Her hands sliding over his bottom.
"More luscious than the peach
I just had."
Robert grinned,
Hands straying to the laces up her back
Tugging at them,
Freeing her of her clothes.
"I hope I can
Make you feel as good
As that peach seemed to,"
He chuckled.
She squeezed his behind,
Her voice suddenly soft.
"You always do."
She kissed him, her sweet peach.