Sliding onto cream-colored sheets next to me as I read, he turned into me and I held him. He claimed a nameless, faceless frustration had hung over him like a shroud all through his workday. Three tiny tears slipped down his cheek behind his funny rectangular spectacle frames as he spoke and I cried for him, knowing that feeling all too well. His tears break me apart, spilling my own forth whether I will them or not. I still held him, his delicacy most evident when he�s naked next to me, so soft and so pale.

Later on, he fucked with such a gentle desperation, as if he wanted to devour me, as if he could not possibly get close enough to me, holding me to him so tightly I thought we would stick. Two nearly inaudible moans flew from his normally stone silent mouth, and he spoke, directing me, telling me exactly what he wanted, what he needed. He was gorgeous. My throat hurt when it was over, lying on my stomach in the wet spot, trying to catch my breath. I asked him if he felt better and he said he did before strolling to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal.

I told him that he could bring the iZone photo I took of myself making a kissy face to work with him, hoping that it would stave off a repeat of last night. I also told him to call me if he wanted me to come visit him on a break. I have nothing better to do than watching Law & Order, changing the sheets, taping SNL, and working out all night, so I may as well visit him when he needs me.

The mercury has risen to a scorching fifty-eight degrees thus far and it was the first day in months that I�ve been able to leave the house in a tank top and my awesome retro looking track jacket without having to don a giant hulking coat over it. Both the bedroom window and the slider have been open all day and I dusted. How do two people and a cat create so much flipping dust? Said cat has been sitting in front of the open slider all day, perking up every time some moron�s car alarm goes off in the lot or a child hollers. It�s quite he�s positioned as the perfect bookend cat, his only movement the swiveling of pink ears.

I�ve been sitting here for too long, screwing around and listening to Elvis Costello�s Spike while I try and multitask like a maniac. Though, I have nothing to do, so I guess it�s fine that I haven�t really moved since I got home nearly two hours ago.

Ewww�. stinky kitty breath! (So, in the time it took me to type the last two paragraphs, the cat has migrated from slider to my lap and begun fastidiously washing himself.)