Distant Planets

My hold on him is loosening. I know he’s going to leave me. He barely tolerates me; he rarely talks to me now, and there’s such a tension in the air between us. I have fucked any relationship we every might have had by fucking him as I have. He’s just not going to come back one of these evenings. And when he doesn’t, I know what I’ll have to do. I love him so; I can’t live without him.

ROB

I am so scared that I don’t know what to do. I’m terrified that Kenneth is going to die or, worse, is going to toss me back out on the street. It seems inevitable, and I have no idea where to go or what to do if—no, when, because it’s surely coming, I can read it in everything he does—that happens. It’s like walking on glass. But I don’t care about the “tossing out on the street” part. I couldn’t bear for him to send me away.

I’ve loved him from the moment he approached me there under the bridge, when everyone else was just looking right through me, and offered to feed me and clean me up and to give me the nurturing I so craved. And I was in heat for him from that first conversation while he fed me cheeseburgers. He was a man of the world; he was so refined and had a terrific sense of humor and was drop-dead gorgeous. All I could think of was “take me home and fuck me.” And somehow my vibes must have been conveyed with super strength, because that’s exactly what he did. And, gawd, was he a mighty cocksman. He had a girth and length and endurance that I’d never experienced before. And I just opened my legs for him when he laid me on the kitchen table, and I yodeled to the fancy plaster ceiling my delight at his master fucking. I’m sure he had to have sensed I was his totally if he wanted me, whether or not there were food and shelter in the arrangement.