August 2004

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. . . but when it is you – oh you – I have melted into your kisses, your slender hips. We have snaked ourselves in utopia’s breath, the raw splendor of each other’s vapidity. We are a mixture of fragrances that intermingle, swirling in ecstacy as we condense with the scent of each other’s skin. I could overdose on the sense of your soft touch, its wet tounge that slithers over my nipples, hands smoothing themselves along and down my inner thighs. This feeling, a flux of flutters that curl and throb in my solar plexus. A whirlwind cocooned and yet bursting with sweet effervescence. . .

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Friday the 13^th turned out to be a good one. Miss Prim made a special appearance and A & I hopped a bus to London to escape from this incestuous little world of homos.

Phrase of the evening: “Hello. I’m bored. Can I blow you?”

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(We all do what we can
So we can do just one more thing
We can all be free
Maybe not in words
Maybe not with a look
But with your mind)

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