Memorable
One Sweet Night With My Farmboy Church Lover Brad
Because stories without happy endings are worth telling
If the most sensual, erotic experience of my life were a movie, the fade-to-black soundtrack would feature a chorus of crickets giving way to a swell of new birdsong. The camera would slowly reveal a dark bedroom glowing rose as a sleepy sun peeks in from under the horizon.
That glow would reveal a bed and a single lump under an old-fashioned quilt as arms, legs, and knees poked sharp against bedding. As the camera panned in, two body shapes would trace themselves out from the tangled mass. Two sandy heads would glow pink as two threads of breath untangled from birdsong.
I wasn’t asleep just then, though I had drifted in and out of dreams all night holding Brad close. His breath counted out a rhythm of sleep, in time with the crickets as his legs wrapped around mine in a grip that would surely forge our bodies into one.
Our combined heat matched the fire of a prayer I whispered to the universe or God or any power that might be listening. “Please hold the sun still for now. Please let the birds go back to bed. Please don’t let this night end.”
