Barstow was the last stop you made to pee as the writing across the glory hole flashed in red letters about the insanity of life after your first major breakup. You remember that night well. Your best friend since JC hit you up with the best shit and VIP pit tickets to see Spiritbox play at the Emo’s Nightclub in ATX.
You had a dream she was giving you head in a sea of sweat, come, and whatever bodily fluids you chose to bathe in as the mosh pit bucked against you so hard your legs ended up wrapped around the face of this girl you met earlier on the metro bus. “If you visualize it happening, they will come (true) for you. The blessings will be released like a flood across your body and soul, a gushing never ending wave.”
That’s what the motivational poster said above that cubicle you worked as an intern for Vivid. The image struck you as rather intense with dark penetrating light, the type of radiant energy one experiences right after climax. When your eyes roll back into your head and your mouth gasps for air. It’s as if the world is imploding, but you can give a fuck since your whole body is exploding in pure ecstasy and your can’t control the waves of pleasure cascading across both your sweat glistening covered bodies.
You realize it’s only Sunday night and you just had the sickest religious awakening of your entire existence with those eyes that would dance across the room to grab your hands during Psychology class.
Now you both just paid tribute to your goddesses of love on the altar of your secret desires.
To be continued…