We wake in the night.  I’m not sure how it happens.  I’m never quite sure.

    There’s darkness.  Nothingness.  Unconsciousness.  And then I’m here.  I exist once again.  But what am I doing?

    My fingers on her skin.  Her smooth, cold skin.  They’re tracing the outline of her rib cage to her abdomen.  To her hips.  Then back up again.

    Her breath is hot on my face.  Stale.  Sharp.  Constant.

    Then we’re kissing.  Our lips meet.  Our tongues get entangled.  There are moans.  Tired moans.  Excited moans.

    What am I feeling?  

    Then it spikes.  She grabs at my shirt and pulls me on top of her.  I’m jolted into action while my brain tries to catch up.  My body begins moving and moving and suddenly we’re advancing and pushing and grinding against each other and my hands don’t know whether to wrap around her neck and pull at her hair or slide down her back and press at her rear, and my mouth is on hers but then it’s on her shoulder and then I’m biting and biting and there’s sweat on my brow when I was so very cold a few moments ago and she pushes me back only to pull me in and we repeat and repeat and repeat until it slows and slows and then finally it stops, and all that’s left is my body on hers and the rising and falling of our stomachs and chests as we lay and lay and stare at the walls wondering what the hell happened.

    What the hell happened?

    What the hell happened?

    After a minute or two she asks if she can smoke, though she knows I don’t allow it inside.  But I say yes anyway and she rises to light a candle and open the window.  Moonlight peeks in and we sit atop my bed as the room fills with clouds of grey.

    Nothing is said.  We don’t utter a word.  We simply breathe and be and be, and soon enough we’re asleep again and I wake several hours later, on my own, contemplating if any of this actually happened.

    And I still don’t know.  I’m still not sure.  As always.