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James took me to the Ballet tonight, then for cocktails and cherry stone clams at a tiny raw bar a few blocks from the theater. He wanted to drive me home, was something of a lost puppy when I told him I would take a cab.

Why James doesn’t save his money and find a nice girl to romance, I’ve yet to discover.

I stopped at the drug store for another gummy bear and ginger beer fix. The man in line behind me had a composition notebook and a package of gel-tip pens in his basket. He told me the freckles on my left shoulder reminded him of Orion’s belt.

He had impossibly wicked blue eyes.

He brought me to the very edge of orgasm three times that evening before he bent me over my dining room table and fucked me from behind until I begged him to let me come.

We ate peanut butter sandwiches on my balcony, wrapped in my comforter. He told me he’d lived in my building once, years ago. He said he liked my balcony better.

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