We were in the ruins of an old fort overlooking
San Francisco Bay. We stood there for a while
looking out through crumbled windows.
A few sailboats tossed in the rough blue green
water of the Bay. Jeff pulled me to him,
unbuttoning my blouse while he put his tongue
deep into my mouth. He took one of my hands
and guided it down to his crotch.
I sank to my knees and unzipped his pants.
Water soaked into my jeans where my knees
touched the ground.


Uncle Roger File 3: Terminals by Judy Malloy
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