The Muse By Jerome Brooke

“You are up next, baby,” Virginia said, touching my arm. I went to the mic, and opened my notebook.


“My brown body I will cast

At your feet.

I have sold my virgin body,

To you, Master.


A handful of copper coins,

Man of the West;

My red blood covers my rags,

Cruel Master.



I cannot sleep, I do not eat,

Will I see you,

Before I die? Will my son,

Know his father?


Your hard wife, a high lady;

She can spare me,

Surely, a crust of bread, a place near,


Her hearth.     

I am your concubine, only,

My mouth warm,

My lips soft; you may watch,

Me bathe, Master mine…”


There was polite applause at the end of my poem. I returned to the table, and was rewarded with a kiss by Virginia. “That was a very, very nice poem. You can watch me bathe too, baby! Come to my place. We will send out for pizza,” she offered. I picked up my bag, and we went to the street. The lady waved down a taxi, and off we went. She lived nearby.

We took the elevator up to her condo. I left my backpack and bags near the door. She called out for a pizza, and fixed me a diet coke. “Can you stay here tonight?” she asked, placing her hand on my knee. She was a woman of middle years, with dark skin and hair.

I took a shower, while she filled the tub. I joined her in the bath, and offered to rub her back. After a moment, she put my hand on her pendulous breast. She leaned back against me, and spread her plump legs. I slipped my hand to her leg, moving up to her delta. After a few moments, she climbed up onto the edge of the tub, and leaned back on her hands. I moved close, and began to trace her soft folds with my tongue. I found her point of pleasure. “Up, up. There, yes. Good. Good.”

After she had climaxed, she slipped back into the tub, breathless. After a few moments she went to her knees. I rose, while she used her expert tongue to get me ready. “On my face baby,” she whispered, opening her mouth. I anointed her face and tongue. “Wow, look at me!” she giggled.

We moved to her bedroom, where she mounted me, covering my face – a knee on each side of my head. She began to moan, then to call out. “Wow,” she moaned, as she moved down, to arouse me once more. She eased me in to her secret garden, with a smile.

# # #

She was off the next day, and we went out for brunch. “Stay with me for a few days, sweetie. You can compose while I am at work!”

“Sure, pretty lady. I will check the want ads,” I agreed.

“Why? I will take care of you. Perhaps later. Here, an extra key and some money if you go out,” she smiled.

“My muse!”