“Do you always wear a T-shirt to bed?” he asks. For some reason, it makes the situation seem more innocent in my mind.
I head for the bathroom where there are feminine products displayed every which way. Feeling nauseous, I pretend to forget that T has a girlfriend. I get back into bed and decide not to ask questions.ġ0:30 a.m. T spoons me, and I slide my hand under the covers before going down on him. I run my tongue slowly up and down his dick, teasing him. Halfway through I look up and stop to apologize. “No,” he moans, gathering my hair into a ponytail. “Don’t stop.” After a while I let him come in my mouth. Suddenly I don’t feel so hungover anymore.ġ1 a.m. More cuddling as T scrolls through the news on his phone. I get dressed, kiss him good-bye, and see myself out.Ģ p.m. Packing for Mexico, I replay the last 24 hours in my head, wishing T had fucked me before I left.ĥ p.m. “Wearing the shirt that smells like you.”Ĩ p.m. I spend the evening making braised lamb and invite over a friend who’s in town from Berlin for a modeling gig.ġ2 p.m. After a five-hour-long flight from JFK, I land at the airport in Mexico City and text Alex, who’s already in Oaxaca. My connecting flight is in two hours.Ĥ:45 p.m. Long day of back-to-back flights, but at least I got here while the sun’s still up.
