Prologue

I woke up from my deep slumber, feeling a bit of a shiver. It wasn’t the kind of shiver that you get from cold temperatures, but rather from a soft, tracing fingers, can almost be classified as a hovering trail, that slowly explored the natural crevice of my back. I refused to open my eyes straight away, trying to absorb the echoing sensation that can barely be remembered due to not being fully conscious in the morning. These familiar fingers and its affection towards my lazy morning landscape of a body are the two things that I would love to wish to be eternal at the moment.

Then within a few seconds, the pensive fingers turned itself into lusty, knobby, wriggling hooks. The invasiveness of what seemed to be so tame just a moment ago forced a moan out of me that sounded as if it was mixed with some kind of a croak. It’s not the kind of sound I expected to make first thing in the morning, to be honest. Without turning towards the source of this lewd surprise, I grabbed his wrist, and the wriggling movement I have felt in my ass stopped almost immediately after a little effortless tug. A low chuckle came out as he took his finger out of my behind, sanitized it with a quick suck, then placed his palm on my waist, pulling himself in then proceeded to snuggle his face onto my back. His breath warms my skin, even though I could already feel my cheeks blushing from the lustful wake up call. “Are you awake?”

“Not really.” As if my back can read the movement of his lips, it flexed a bit in response.

“Okay.” He slide both of his arms further around my waist and held it tighter, letting out a little hum of satisfaction. His skin on mine almost feels like the clasp of two fitting puzzle pieces. I yawned and rubbed my face deeper into the pillow, layering my hands on top of his. I started counting his breath silently. I wouldn’t mind falling asleep again, I thought. It’s comfortable to be in someone’s arms like this, and it does not happen often. Well, at least the comfortable part.

You see, the man I’m cuddling with as we speak is a partner, but not mine. We met at a Jazz cafe two nights before while smoking together outside. He told me about his fiancé who went missing three weeks ago, and that he’s in a position where he can’t even be sad or curious anymore due to the lack of sex.

“It’s like going cold turkey from ketamine or something,” he exhaled, white smoke fuming out and lingered around his face. “She could’ve at least called me, or text, send a GIF, whatever shit that can indicate that she’s alive.”

“Only to be replied ‘please send nudes ASAP’, judging by how sexually deprived you are.” His eyes shifted from the pavement right into mine, and gave a mischiveous grin.

“It’s like you’ve read my mind!” his sarcasm filled the air with humor. I let out a little laugh. He followed the trail with a laugh of his own.

Shortly after we ditched each of our friends, shared a cigarette on our way back to his one-bedroom apartment, and fucked for two and a half hours. The only kiss we shared was the indirect ones from sharing cigs. I find it funny that we wouldn’t even let our lips touch each other’s yet he would just casually finger my butt throughout the intercourse. What’s funnier is that that turns me on more than any kisses I’ve had.

The morning continued and we changed our cuddling position four times by now. I was about to fade into a post-sleep nap when he removed himself from the entanglement of our bodies and entered the bathroom. He didn’t close the door, and the sound of his pee pouring out painted a clear image even when my eyes are still closed. He flushed, washed his hands, and stood at the end of the bed. I can feel his gaze, unable to read the intention blindly. It gave me a bit of a disorienting tingle to not know what’s on his mind, but I was adamant to stay in bed rather than asking him mundane questions such as such. My relationship with his bed seems to be more solid at the moment.

When I woke up again, it was 11.28 AM. He was gone. I took a quick shower and dried myself with one of the striped towels that were hanging on the hooks in the bathroom. It took me a few minutes to scavenge my clothes and gave up on trying to find the other pair of my watermelon-patterned socks. As I walked down the stairs that leads to the entrance of the building, I tried to remember his name, only to realize that I’ve never asked, and he didn’t bother to tell.