An Inconspicuous Word for Embarrassment

It started with the color
It started with the curl
...And you told your boss that it was the girl.

Your man on the inside had gave him a hear
And from there, this ordeal was shaping to be
One for the books, for all history:
This had become his greatest fear.
And it came from the whisper that tickled his ear
Nuzzling her head between his neck and his shoulder
Movements more frequent as the air got colder

But never as cold as the interrogation room
A box of omniscient and rhetorical doom

He knew and you knew,
That he knew that you knew,
When your man didn't know
But instead just assumed
That after all of these years
He was finally immune.

But no, he's not.
And now he's sick.
Just from the thought.
That this won't be it.

And you'll keep him paranoid,
Until the guillotine's at his neck
Tied with a bow of your very best,
And until the point that he's having sex
Wearing plastic gloves and cheap hairnets...

And now you've got him sweating in his bed
With your voice in his head,
Dictating without end,
"Just before you give it everything you've got,
Remember that you'll never run away from your thoughts."