Rescue Me

Sheila: Furniture. Tommy: What, you want me to move stuff? Sheila: Food, furniture, smitten. Tommy: I have no idea what you're talking about. Now, I got to get this done, and I got to get out of here, so... Sheila: Tommy: See, that's how it works for me. A fine Italian sofa, couple of glasses of wine, fresh handmade pasta in a white sauce, and a man that I am so begoggled by that just the sight of his ass in the right pair of jeans or a glimpse of his shoulder bursting from a short sleeve is enough to make me want to tear off all his clothes and just go. Smitten. You see...right now, that guy is you. And you leave...I'm eventually gonna find someone else, and the same goes for her. You see...you're not the only cock on this walk, brother. But still...after all the bullshit...I still get wet when I watch you or when I hear the sound of your voice. You choose me, and you know what you're getting both in and out of bed. You know how I kiss, you know how I taste...and I happen to know that you like that taste. You see...the spark and the edge on that very fine line that we ride, when you've got my legs hung hard around your hips and there's sweat and there's a hum...and there is this need, this really deep hunger that...is so deep that we could just swallow each other whole. And then evaporate in ecstasy. That all goes away. And as far as my crazy train is concerned, I'm not the one who sees my dead husband. How's he doing, by the way?