...I WOULDN’T KNOW A SPIRITUAL RELATIONSHIP/ IF I TRIPPED OVER IT AND BROKE MY NOSE AND/ MY FOOT AND MY HEART AND MY HANDS/ ALL REACH OUT TO YOU AND SAY/ HI THERE....
"I guess what made him so good was that he paid attention."
"To what he was doing?"
"To everything. Not just in bed, either. He'd listen, and I'd feel like I was the only person in the universe. He'd pick my hand up and touch my fingers one by one. He'd examine my earrings, which at first I thought was just an excuse to breathe on my neck- which, don't get me wrong, was hot- but then sometimes he wouldn't, you know? And he remembered stuff.
"Yeah. What kind of stuff?"
"All sorts of stuff. Like, that I liked limes but not lemons. Which dress I wore to somebody's dinner party. My sister's birthday. How much ice I like in my drinks."
"So you were charged before you even turned down the sheets."
"Yes, exactly. And then, most men go right for the nooks and crannies, but-"
"The three Ns- neck, nipples, nest."
"Right, right, and once in awhile you get one who likes ears or elbows or something, but he, he lingered. All over. Stroked the outside of my thigh, massaged my feet, good Christ, he kissed my ankle. My ankle. Nobody ever kissed my ankle. He touched everywhere. Back of my knee, tops of my arms, waist, wrist, navel..."
"Yes. He licked my navel. Sucked on it. Bit it."
"He totally mapped me, found all the spots that make my knees buckle. My collarbone. Who knew? God. My collarbone."
There is a brief silence.
"Not just the first time, either."
"You're killing me. Every time?"
"Except when we both wanted it hard and fast and sweaty. Those times, we didn't even bother getting undressed all the way."
"Shut up already. What happened to to him?"
"He got married and is now insanely happy."
"What a waste."
This, obviously, is fiction.
(To Whom It May Concern Me; Guare/MacDermot, from Two Gentlemen of Verona)