Frontal Buttons

The arrangement was made on the telephone
By a friend of a friend of a friend
Her voice was displaced and full of neglect
When she showed up at my door
Her head hung with fear and excitement
Dressed tight
Black stockings
Black dress with frontal buttons
Hair up in a tossed bun
Like death warmed over with anticipation
She hands me the envelope of money and smiles
Liberation like ice
Awaits her in my room in 5 minutes
With no deliberation
The fingers take over
Under the surface of her skin
Thumbing her buttons and pressing deep
Manipulating pleasure for compensation