I suppose I should start off by telling you that he is seven years older than I am. He thinks that puts him light years ahead of me in wisdom and knowledge, I just think it makes him more jaded. He thinks I'm too idealistic and doesn't bother suppressing his obvious disgust when I tell him I think music could save the world. I don't bother holding back on telling him I think he lost his hope somewhere along the way to adulthood. He thinks Conor Oberst whines too much, and I think Eliot Smith took too many drugs. Not that any of that matters because we don't converse much. Mostly, we touch a lot. We kiss, we moan, we move into each other's hips. I have every inch of his body memorized, but I couldn't tell you his greatest fear. I know he likes it when I bite his lower lip, but I'm unsure of how he takes his coffee. The details don't matter much to me. I'm content with what we have, which is next to nothing. He's just a good fuck to me and that's all I want from him. I monopolize his body, his wife can have his heart. Did I mention he's married?
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