Chapter 20

It’s the best Christmas ever.

This is the first morning I’ve ever woken up next to anybody. The first time that my wildest fantasies, of great malleable handfuls of George Cortner, can be satisfied simply by reaching out and taking great malleable handfuls of George Cortner. I’ve roved his body top to bottom with my eyes, my hands, my mouth. I know what his navel smells like, what his feet taste like; I’ve come in him three times in the last two hours and I’m hard again, just waiting for him to stir.

Somehow we spend the day together in that tiny bed. His room has a small fridge in it, and we feed each other hardening pieces of tortilla and filched Commons cheese. We drink three cans of beer, then his roommate’s last can of Pepsi.