Apparently I fuck like a roller coaster, because he ran off to vomit as soon as we were through. He begged and pleaded: "That is in NO WAY a reflection on you."

I just sat up in the dim light of the room, naked, red sheets twined between my legs. I just sat up and smiled. And laughed. He was a pretty boy, and he was puking in my bathroom. But now my insides hurt. We’d had a pleasant and violent little ride in the ticking hours of near-dawn. He was rough.

In dreams I feel a vibration wrought through to my soul. Eyes snap back, and I’m awake staring into his face. His eyes are small, smashed together. His breathing is erratic. He is positively seizing. "Baby, Are you alright?!" I’m shrieking, and he comes to life. His mouth agape, his voice quick and alert. He his body is erect, and he says: "umm... I’m fine."

And then I notice his penis in his hand.

How I cursed my desperate need for a nightlight. Had I awaken into darkness I could have spared us both this humiliation.

Instead, I kissed him languid and lazy. I pressed my breasts against him, and brought him to a great groggy 2am orgasm.

When we fall, we fall hard. I had declared myself celibate. Proclaimed it in a sort of childish manor, with much true heart and consternation. But I failed. Quickly. My vow of abstinence was my last laugh. I found myself horrific. What once was so lovely, something that I truly coveted... was now alien to me. I hate. I hate. I hate her.

There would be no more scandals. I only hoped some nagging mutation of skin and cells did not render me barren. I feared what the cold, cruel fingers of the stethoscope would bring to light.

Fuck me.

No. That’s how you got into this terrible mess in the first place.

I see their faces. Mirror images. They are only a handful of years a part. Matching wide-eyes. I believe they’re hazel. His are brown, and mine are Grey. Theirs are a muted combination of both. A massive, shiny-eyed lot.

The boy is younger. He is quiet. I often sweep his hair back into a sidelong wisp of inky black. He will have it hard. A shy white boy who bears the name of a black man. His sister carries the swollen pink mosquito bites of a girl-child’s breasts. She looks like her mother. Me. She will reign her world with a velveteen fist.

I see them in some black and white picture show, flickering in the back of my head. They are more than just a wicked semen stain on my already tainted bed. I give birth to them in my mind, again and again. Mon Petite chou. Ah, quelle belle enfant! J’te Amie! They are your favorite past times: A game of world domination & the music that devours your soul. My babies. Mein Kinder. Ma Petite Vulcan!