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Scott fantasized about the end of the world. He read about the apocalypse as though it were p**n. He dreamt about bodies in flame and woke up to wet sheets.
It was the details that turned him on the most. The exact type of fire, the precise species of chaos. He read respectable books on the subway and no one had any idea.
Once or twice he had tried telling partners about the terrible things that he wanted, but the resultant conversation was so confusing and mortifying for everyone involved that he soon stopped trying altogether.
Take Philip: their meeting had started promisingly enough, when Scott had opened the door to his apartment and immediately felt pleased. Philip’s pics had reeked of not wanting to try too hard and so Scott had forgiven the slight blurriness and off-kil
