She teases me on the ladder, climbing quickly, then stopping altogether, ignoring me for a second, pretending to watch a robin in the branches. We are five minutes on the ladder, and she puts her boot up to my face pressing the toe against my cheek. I bite the rubber and she pushes me back. I fall four feet to the ground below.
I climb back up and follow her through the trap door in the tree house floor. She lets it go as I am pulling myself through. It strikes me in the head, but I hang on to the openings and avoid a second fall. My head is throbbing, but now I want more than anything to tug off her sweatpants.
She takes off her shirt and I take off mine. We are topless in the treehouse, her without her bra. Me without my undershirt. I lunge for her and she receives me and we land on a pile of bean bags. A Fruit Roll-Ups wrapper gets stuck in her hair. I snatch it away with my teeth. It’s green apple.
By now her sweatpants are down around her ankles. She wants to leave them on. I am naked except for my socks.
We are in the full throws of passion when I hear a woman’s voice from outside near the house, “Peter? Do you guys want some snacks?” She calls again, “Peter?” And again, “Peter, I could put some pizza bagels in the microwave!”
We finish and collapse into the bean bags. There are children banging on the trap door, but we have bolted it shut.
This is not our treehouse.
