Oh, there's a glow, warm, and just behind her head. She's back-lit, and, accordingly, her features are soft. If there is a slight breeze I don't feel it, but her hair dances and frolics and plays innocent and alluring so that the light from behind her splashes over my face in waves, like the waves of a lake ever so discreetly massaging the shore. And so too do her locks. She's above me. She's so lovely. My heart races with excitement and sheer ecstasy as the bed groans beneath us and I lift my mouth to her ear, "I'm gonna c-" Wait. How did I get here? To this place, this moment. Where am I? Fuck. Mine eyes slam open and I sit up like a springboard. There's a cold sweat on my brow, and just as my eyes find focus and familiarize with the unlit, first-floor Berlin flat, a deep, dark dread comes over me. It's an immediate urgency, and my head races through the last few seconds, desperate for recollection. It hits me. Like a ton of bricks come crashing down on my balls, and I grab dick instinctively, bee-lining for the bathroom. But, ah! What's this? Locked? And there's light trickling out from under the door (Max was writing a memo). FUCK! Now what. The window! It's already open, and I get there just in time to spread my seed over the rose bush outside in one delirious culmination.
What the crap. I lie back down on the couch. That Berlin summer night was particularly warm, embalming even. So I kicked the stupid blanket off. What the hell just happened? I can't remember the last time that'd come about. And then I can't remember the last time I'd actually shot one off. And now it's dawning. In all the excitement and delight of these crazy, aloof travels I'd managed to forget about my main man, about his needs. Ah, well. Lesson learned. Let's try and not let that happen again, agreed? But of course.
Now
who exactly was my back-lit companion... I wrack my brain. I can't remember.
