Introductions were made and I left, promising to call. The next night we attended a poetry reading. The night after, Saturday, it was a 1930s art film...marathon til five AM. We slept together and had sex for breakfast. She could not cook any better than I could. It’s easiest to describe Roni was a stereotypical redhead Irish New Yorker, with temper to match. She was Dutch, brunette and no freckles, from Providence, but her attitude was so familiar my New Jersey roots felt at home. For two months. He was light-skinned black man, maybe biracial, about my height but a little slimmer, not muscular but toned. We had nodded hello once or twice, but had never spoken, and I hadn’t seen him in the weeks since my first meeting with Matt. He had turned away from the mirror when I caught him looking at me, and started rooting around in his locker. As he did so he dropped his own towel, and I got a good look at him in profile. I couldn’t help noticing that his dick was sticking out a little in. More

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