You’ve Lost That Feeling (REM Episode #01)

dsc_4460© 2016 City of Broken Dreams

“Hey,” I hear a voice call from the foot of the bed.

When I don’t respond, I feel a firm nudge, which finally forces me to attend to the source of my premature waking. When I open my eyes, I see her sitting there, on top of the covers, naked except for a hot pink thong, her nipples hard from the chill of the room.

“What time is it?” I ask, sleep anesthetizing my voice.

“Early,” she replies. “Just before six.”

“And why have you awoken me at such an ungodly hour? And on a fucking Sunday, I might add.”

“Let’s leave the city,” she says. The room is dark—that half-dark that exists in the purgatory moment between twilight and dawn—but I can still make out her big green eyes shimmering in the murk, like the eyes of a feral cat.

“And where shall we go?” I ask her.

“Anywhere,” she replies. “Everywhere.”

“Okay,” I say—because I’ll never be able to say no to her; because I’m not capable of saying no to her. “But let’s get another couple hours of sleep, first.”

She gets on all fours, and lithely slinks up the length of the bed to slip underneath the covers beside me. She seemingly pulls off the maneuver in one single, simple, fluidic motion. It only takes her a half second to come back to my side, but watching her do it is still enough to make me hard.

“Okay,” she whispers into my ear. “Just a couple more hours. But then we leave the city.”

It doesn’t take us long to fall back asleep.

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You Don’t Know What Love Is

dsc_4562© 2016 City of Broken Dreams

Hey, you. It’s me. No, not one of the Asians walking down the sidewalk in the foreground, dummy. This here is what you call an establishing shot. You know, an introductory shot—it helps establish the context for the scene: location, time of day, that sort of thing. So you can’t actually see me, but trust me, I’m there—somewhere on the third floor of that concrete behemoth of a parking garage. Take my word for it; I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a 2017 Mercedes-Benz CLA 250, leaning across the center console, trying not to gag (too badly) as I attempt to take as much of [his name]‘s cock down my throat. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. How about we reconvene at the aforementioned lascivious moment in a little bit, okay?

So here we are again. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? I’m thinking seven or eight months, at least. Yeah, I believe the last time we had one of our little “heart-to-hearts” was when I was in Maui with [REDACTED] and the girls for spring break. If memory serves me correctly, I was sitting on some gloriously beautiful beach (probably bordering on shitfaced thanks to mucho pre-noon Mai Tai’s), lamenting my long-standing and très tragique predicament: the bizarre love triangle taking place between me, my extant life with my cuckold of a husband and my two beautiful daughters, and the life I want to live with my illicit loverman, who just so happens to be equally married and likewise family-bound.

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