“You just want to fuck me,” she said.

“That’s only half true, “ I smiled.  “I do want to fuck you.  But not just.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked with a bark. 

“I want to fuck you a lot,” I said. “I want to fuck you constantly. 

I want to fuck you in the way that takes months and months.  I want to fuck you after arguments and reconocilitation.

I want to fuck you at two am and then go to the diner for coffee.  I want to fuck you in the morning before work, and then again in the evening. 

I want to fuck you in the way that takes two weeks of not seeing each other and then finally having only an hour before one of us has to leave again. 

I want to fuck in the way that only two people can who have known each other for years.

I want to fuck you when you’re tied to my bed begging me to forgive you for your indescretions. 

I want to fuck you like two people in love, staring into your eyes and knowing that you’ll be there in the moring. 

I want to fuck you forever,” I said.  “I don’t just want to fuck you at all.”

—Guy New York