the nightmare is not that he is making love to another man. that is what fascinates me. the unknown room, flooded in light, white, shifting and nebulous, only sharpens their man-boy limbs. their lovemaking is adamantine. their rhythm, intent.
this other man, the one beside me, pulls me to him, wants to make love. he is a disturbance. i push him away, i hold him off, if only until the other couple finish and i see their faces twist in exquisite release.
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