Endless hours for walks, talks, licking ice cream spoons.
And licking other things.
The sex is phenomenal.
Pleasure and intimacy encompass far more than hungry desire.
One thousand little moments create a mosaic of connection and trust.
Quiet evenings on the couch, sketching his portrait while he reads a book he's stolen from my bedside table.
Flirty notes stuck to every half empty mug that I’ve abandoned.
Wrapping my arms around him while we cook.
Fine… whilehecooks, and I hand him the ingredients.
Without either of us saying it out loud, we’ve begun to orbit each other.
And neither of us seem remotely interested in drifting away.
???
Three months pass, almost four.
A blur of moons chasing the sun across the sky.
The Tuesday rush has faded.
Brunswick Street lamp posts flicker to life.
Inside the studio, only one client remains.
A nervous college student.
She’s chosen a simple poetic phrase for her wrist.
“It's my first time,” she confesses.
“I promise I'll take good care of you,” I smile, guiding her arm onto the mat.
Marco arrives early, of course.
“Got you some dinner,” he whispers as he walks through the door.
He sets a large paper bag on the coffee table.
It smells divine.
The girl tenses every time the needle makes a mark.
I pause to give her a moment.
“Almost done,” I soothe.
But I look at Marco when I say it.
Mr Chocolate Whisk has made himself comfortable, reclining in the same exact position he was in while filming himself on a certain other couch.
