by Chi Sherman

In the few seconds between clicking check mail and registering disappointment that you’ve yet to write me back, I imagine that you’re behind me as I face a broad, white wall, blouse open, eyes closed, my slacks markedly unbuttoned. Your hands are hungry, and I am rich meats, savory sauces, and fine wines, ready to be sampled. You tug lightly on my slacks and they drop to the ground. “Down,” you say. It’s chilly in the hallway and the magazines I dropped when you came up behind me are warm and slick beneath my bare knees. You pull my panties down my thighs roughly and enter me, pushing hard until I moan, pant, “I like it,” and bite into your offered flesh when you say “I know.”


Chi Sherman is an Indianapolis-based writer who has authored and self-published three chapbooks of poetry and creative nonfiction ("amative," "beneath this skin," and "mosaic"), as well as a spoken-word CD, "wild / tendril." Her dreams of creative writing success and stardom are a given. In addition to fantasizing about women who already have girlfriends, she likes to drool and murmur over catalogs chock full of overpriced housewares.