Backstage for July 2011

The house hums with heat. Girls move through every room, bare and half-dressed, their skin brushing as they pass. They chatter and sulk over the smallest things, then forgive each other with quick, wet kisses. I wander the rooms, tempted, but they’re busy tending one another—slick thighs parting under busy fingers, mouths finding soft places to linger. Their laughter tastes like sugar. Their sighs taste darker. I keep walking. Tonight they don’t need another pair of hands.