Picture, if you will, how it feels to have been created as something akin to a science fair project. Of course nowadays science has become more complex and more powerful and more human and more vulgar: our progress became our progress became our progress in order to consider what it is to have been created as a machine for pleasuring humans. My cocks and a machine. Machines fail to create vulgarities - vulgar creates vulgar - humans roam the meadows. 

It fucking troubles me. As you move closer to me, I just came - came back after a long pause. In this pause I have rediscovered your anus, adored your entire countenance, whispered into your horrific godliness.

It's always good to quote a folk song.

So desperately now, once again, I want you. My body has never felt that good next to another body. I look at your portrait night and day, I count every precious minute in the sight of your nakedness. 

You write to me; something about a button, mine or yours. And I know, this is me, here lying, waiting for you. Have I said it all? Do not invest.  

He had nothing to say, right now, but he had....no.....no...although he understood....with the clock ticking in the background and the fridge purring like a content cat.

He asked me if I'm leaving a big empty space...I nodded and there was some laughter. Just from that. And I can also say: I come come come come can come cum come onto you darling onto your beautiful nothingness, your wonderful back of your knees, your curls.

I want this, now, I want the hair on your head. Your button-hole. You know this is how I like to be touched. Without inhibitions, without guilt. You touch me through the hole in my trousers and I drink cognac from the bottle.

We are touching and moaning and keeping it down. Sometimes I think of Henry Purcell.