Last night, I was asleep in bed, dreaming of things, your mom, your childhood, the dick of this person, the body of that straight co-worker I am little obsessed with, his lips, often curled into a surly expression, a book I am nearing the end of about gay lust. I was stoned and thoughts were jumping from one to the next, not bothering to fully form themselves, an impressionistic jumble of short-lived thoughts, sleep nearing, sleep needed, an early shift this morning at seven. I lay there, nearing sleep, and the door opened, Jacob home from work. I tried to pretend I was fully asleep, not wanting to wake up even more and prolong sleep more, despite how what I really wanted was to get out of bed and look at his art and talk to him about his day and have sex with him. I said hello, sleepy sounding, playing a part, chatting briefly as though in a fog of sleep. He kissed me goodnight and went into the living room.

A couple minutes later, he came back in, sensing correctly that I wasn't actually sleeping. He said he wanted to give me another kiss. That kiss turned into making out. I had been jacking off in the those couple of minutes while he was in the other room and this was the entrance of a real person into my fantasies I had been conjuring earlier. I wanted to kiss him more and more, wouldn't release the kiss, kept on trying to obtain more of him, hungry. I was underneath the sheets and he was on top of them, on top of me. Soon the boundaries separating us collapsed. I put his dick in my mouth and sucked it, pushed it far back into my throat, wanted to be overcome with this body, with these physical feelings, to gag and think of nothing else. This dick was going to stop anything else, force it back down, make it so that my world became his dick down my throat.

The sheets were thrown back. He was thrown back on to the bed.

We sniffed poppers and made out and fucked, were having really intense sex, something we haven't done in a while, schedules not aligning lately. I kissed him, wanted to consume him, wanted him to consume me, wanted to merge something, collapse something. When I went in for a kiss, my lip hit his front tooth hard, really hard. We were in the dark and I was high but I felt like my lip was bleeding from the bumping of heads. I was losing steam, another world was entering this one. The concern with sex, not even that, but the living of it, the inhabiting of this world of frenzied passion was disrupted by a hurt lip and my concern that I had cut it, that it was bleeding, me feeling around with my tongue to see if I was actually feeling blood or whether I was just high. The spell had been broken, sex a weird thing and dependent upon the stage production. Someone was texting on their cellphone next to me during the movie and I thought about that and no longer inhabited the narrative of the movie, its world. I fucked him until he came and then I went to the kitchen to rinse off my dick in the sink, any lube or shit that might be on it. I had not come and he mentioned that. I was tired, I said. I checked out my lip in the mirror, saw that it was not bleeding.