I sometimes wonder if nostalgia is sexy because it’s how I fantasize.  When I lie down, or wake up, or crawl into the shower I let my mind wander and see where it lands.  Often the things that turn me on are memories, sometimes real and sometimes imagined, but they always bring back more than just one or two senses. 

I remember the smell of my mother’s living room after my first threesome with the boy from college and my ex-girlfriend.  We opened the windows in the summer afternoon to air it out, but no matter what we did the smell of our three bodies wouldn’t leave and we laughed even as our cheeks turned red.

A few years later I remember waiting for the film to come back, because even though I’d seen your breasts that morning, I wanted to see them in print.  I wanted to hold the photos in my hand and revel in how willing you were to share your body with me.  I wanted to climb into bed with the photo almost as much as with you, because it was new and it was exciting in a way I couldn’t describe.

I remember the sound of my hand on your ass, and the blood rushing to my fingers.  It occurred to me that I had never hit anyone until that very moment and the noise of my hand surprised me almost as much as your moans.  Your jeans were pulled down just enough and the blue cotton beneath them was soaking wet. 

Sometimes I look ahead as well, and wonder what’s next, but the times I lose myself completely are almost always wrapped up in uncertain memories and fragments of moments that can’t possibly be true.

—Guy New York