I dreamed of having a black-tie dinner party affair inside my uncle’s cabin with a string of boyfriends from my recent past:
Thirty-two-year-old Colby Dane, with his muscular frame and various tattoos covering his body, an expert at parkour. He had once tried out for that television show American Ninja Warrior. Our intimate time together lacked length because he had fallen in love with another parkour athlete, lamely convincing me he had discovered his soul mate, an athlete with bulging muscles who liked to eat protein.
Dangerously blue-eyed Gregory Hiltonburg sat to Colby’s right at the long table within my dream. I had dated the professional librarian for three months the previous year, thought his d**k amazingly large, but he didn’t know how to use such a tool.
After a string of date
