A Case of the Lonely Lips.

I'm bare-chested. I am Iggy Pop. I swing my tee over my head, and land on the eager,outstretched arms of the sweaty,fornicating crowd. I look outside the window. The city is quiet tonight. As I look into the mirror, and take the razor to tough stubble, I am reminded of my date tonight, with a girl who has maddeningly beautiful lips. The razor sears its cruel way through the hair, and the tufts fall to the wash in agony. The sex is good. A long time since I had a good time. I feel the cold edge of the blade as I dunk the razor in the shaving-water. My upper lip looks bruised. Form follows function. I come out of the bathroom, do a quick search around my room for my parka, wrap it around myself and feel the cold night air bite my exposed face. Come July, and the weather is almost pleasant. The streetlights are cold and flickering. The bodies around me moan as they weave in and out of focus. I go inside a bar, sit on the bar-stool and ask the bartender for a drink. He knows I'm underage, but he also knows I'm a regular. I come here with my father often and we exchange pleasantries with this soft-spoken man behind the counter. The Dandy Warhols. Good. He brings me white rum, with a dash of lemon. I look at my drink, then take a mindful sip. I wait for the date. Tonight, I'm the Passenger.

Look,Ma,Speedy Gonzales!

She is beautiful. And her body is just about perfect. As she slips out of her nightgown, I can see in the light of the nightstand that her breasts are upturned, expectant. Her navel is a finicky dip of an affair. Her waist is perfect - I can see her panties are already wet. I put the glass of wine and let out a slow whistle. She looks at me coyly, yet I can see that she is feeling shy. Her lips are petulant, and I can see the corners of her mouth rise as she smiles. The moonlight reflects off her perfectly formed shoulders, and I see the elegant curves gesturing to me unconsciously. The bend in her elbow. The soft flicking of her wrists as I offer her my glass. She sips a little, and then climbs into bed with me. It is a long night. We make slow, passionate love - our bodies warm with pleasure, and then we fall apart, exhausted with all the feverish lovemaking.

Good God,you were amazing, I compliment her.

Was I? Thank God. I haven't made love to anyone in a decade. My faggot of a husband never looks at my body. You are very good in bed. I take it you are experienced already. She smiles as she rests her head on my chest and strokes my belly.

I look away. What are you doing,Ayan?