Oh, his lips. The skin on my neck melted on contact with each kiss. Every slow, wet, tender kiss. I felt each one in my whole body. He continued to su...k at my neck as I slowly slid one of his hands down the front of my pants, not wasting time to play with the red lace underneath them that I had worn in case of this special occasion. I kept my hand on his and glided his fingers in a circular motion around my hot mound, telling him I wanted us to feel me getting wetter together. My juices were. I didn’t feel overly rested, although the huge pool of drool on the pillow had felt sort of refreshing. For the next few minutes I sat and stared. There was nothing left to do. I would never write another fucking word. My epitaph would just say: ‘Here lies Vinny Green, author of one shitty book, who died of meaninglessness at the age of twenty-eight.’ Cecilia broke me out of my pleasant daydream when she came downstairs. Without a word, she grabbed me by the hand and dragged me upstairs. I. More

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