This joy, its more than sex, its our chemistry. I really enjoy you, Travis.” For a moment we just stared at each other, not even minding the game, he rubbing my thigh, and I rubbing his cheek, and then he said it. “I fucking love you. Whether we’re on this couch, or walking at the boardwalk at Santa Monica. I need you, want you, and will do anything for you, your pleasure is my pleasure baby.” I could’ve went to Las Vegas and married this man after he said that. Al and I always had good times together, as even our disagreements turned into us loving on each other. I loved this man from the moment we ate dinner and I stared into his eyes, but wasn’t 100 percent sure how he truly felt, until now. “Papi, I love you, too,” I said, and we kissed. At this point, it was almost six months since we started seeing each other, but it got to the point where I wasn’t going home to my apartment after work, but driving 10 miles out of the way to spend the night, and leave for work from his place. His hands rested comfortably on each arm of the chair. Palms down. Fingers relaxed.The camera angle was from one side of the desk, and the man had swiveled to face it. He was looking directly into the lens, directly at Ross, and he was smiling. As well he should be. For between his shining black tasseled loafers and neatly creased trousered legs knelt a naked woman. Her head was buried in his lap. Her face was not visible. But Ross Edwards didn’t need to see the face. He knew that body, the flair of those hips, the cleft of that ass, the narrow waist, the indentation of that spine--they had been married for seven years and lived together for a year before that: he had traced that spine with his fingertips a thousand times--the shoulder length light brown, almost blond hair. What in the name of the nonexistent gods? he thought. What in hell?The intercom buzzer roused him from immobility. Reaching blindly to one side, his eyes still glued to the image of his naked wife.
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