There’s a knock on the door. They are here. We shake hands and take a gander at each other. All is fine. We move to the dimly lit bedroom. I don’t know their name, they don’t know mine, yet here we are here, naked at the push of a button. Our breaths meet, but we don’t really kiss, it’s more like a greeting before we get down to business. We touch, we briefly explore. There’s all kinds of thoughts going through my head. Mostly flashes of days past.
Our bodies intertwine in a frantic bit of craziness. My hands are all over them, their hands all over me, our appendages all over the place. It’s a wrestling game of getting it done. There is a hint of passion, but it’s more like a whirlwind of pheromones lighting up the darkness. There is nary a sound safe for our faint moans. Our breaths intensify, blood runs rampant through our veins, the temperature rises and the light seems to flicker in and out for just a few moments.
And just like that it’s done. We dress, I send them home. No need for chit-chat. They are just a tool for my urge and most likely I for them. Do I acknowledge that they’re a human being with feelings? Yes, of course I do, but our circles aren’t part of the same Venn diagram. I don’t care and they don’t either. A means to an end.
Meanwhile, the dimming light feels empty. I feel empty as well, even though I am released. A light painkiller for those nights of remembrance. Memory will fade. Our love lies in that cumstain on the sheets. Getting it out of my system. Bit by bit.
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