The remaining days of August slip by. Jobe and I make love almost every day. We simply lay around too much, touching each other’s bodies, but neither of us seem to mind. There’s no better way to spend two weeks together: eating meals with each other, having chaotic but pleasurable s*x, showering, and watching movies. It’s as if the world stops spinning, and he and I are the only two humans left on the planet.
August something. It might be the thirtieth. It might be the thirty-first. I honestly don’t know. It’s so easy to lose track of the days.
We lay naked together, spent and sticky in the air conditioner. My bedroom has a masculine stench about it that becomes an aphrodisiac. We’ll stay here for the next few hours, enjoying each other’s company. We talk about city life versus country l
