You, Me and Him

You asked me where I lived. I told you I lived close. You asked me how I looked. I showed you my lone picture online. You asked me if I wanted to do it. I asked you what you can offer. You showed me the goods. I smiled.

You asked me where you could park. I guided you over the phone. You asked me if I could pick you up from the gate. I quickly came running. You greeted me in great interest. I casually hid my excitement. I blushed.

I asked you where you lived. You told me you lived close. I told you I was just there the other day. You asked me what wall color I saw. I innocently replied, "yellow...". You asked me if I saw a dog. I doubted your intent. I remembered seeing a dog and he was in the cage. You asked me if there was a cage. I smiled and gently shook my head. You asked me how he looked. I gave a different description. I felt cold.

Yours was the car that was parked in front of the yellow house with a caged dog one sunny morning. Yours was the bed where sins were met with sinful lust. Yours was the man who lured me into bed one sunny morning in a village so close in a house with a yellow wall where a car was parked beside a dog in cage. I snickered.

You, me and him form one great bond which starts and ends with me. 

He is guilty. You are guilty. I am not.