cubicularis

On my bed there are two pillows. I sleep on the left pillow--on the one to my right, my companion changes with frequency. Most all are men, though I have on occasions invited women. Some are young, some are old, they come from different backgrounds and speak various languages. There are those who tell stories of love and tenderness while others speak of violence and vulgarity. I am teased, caressed, sometimes shaken and thrown around, while I hope and pray that this is that rare one, the one who can penetrate so deep inside to finally touch me, move me, awaken me.... Then, when the end--or boredom--finds me, I leave him aside and seek out another to accompany my nights. And thus my intimate rendezvous repeats each and every night, before I meet my dearest in the Neverland.

Tonight I face choices--a Jewish-Bohemian from Prague, or a former janitor from Washington. On second thought, why not ménage à trois. Unlike my previous bedmate to whom I bid farewell this very day, they both have long been dead--Franz Kafka before the second World War, and Raymond Carver of lung cancer in 1988.