All I Want

I’m staying too long, aren’t I? I suppose I should just leave after we’ve fucked and showered. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?

I shouldn’t stay afterwards. I should just … disappear. Instead … here I am …

 

All I want is here. All I really want. You. Your … cock. Up here in this flat. Everything else is … illusion. And far away. Infinitely far. I could stay here forever. Or at least sleep. Stay the night.

Would you like me to stay the night? Or would I get in the way of your magnum-opusing?

I promise you I wouldn’t be pesky at all. I wouldn’t talk. I would say a word. I wouldn’t laugh. Actually, I might. I’d just sit back on the sofa and watch a genius at work. Laugher. What do you look like, working? What’s the expression on your face?

No, I’d just open a bottle of wine while you wrote. Do you have a good bottle of wine? I could put on the TV – oh, you haven’t got a TV. Pick one of your books of your shelf. They all look so readable. [Laughter.] The Work of Fire. A real page turner. Or I could just look at my phone. I’m sure I could find something to entertain me.

Am I too irreverent for you? Too trivial? Too distracting? I can see why. You want to get on with Serious Things and I’m just … here. Sitting on the sofa. Waiting for another fuck, maybe … Because I’m … insatiable …

 

This is supposed to be the time of infatuation. We’re supposed to be insatiable. We’re supposed to never tire of one another. This is what our lives are supposed to be for. The lead up to … reproduction, or whatever. Though we’re never actually going to reproduce.