This Is Hardcore

Chapter 4

It was morning; it is bright, yellow, the streets are happy. I am refreshed, joyful, relaxed...and sleeping in the wrong bed.

     The bedsheets were silky, unlike my wooly, rougher comforter. The pillows were fluffy and supportive, unlike the blocky cushion in my flat. Normally, I sleep alone (Hannah sleeps with his boyfriend, Peter, in Hackney); here, there is a man beside me.

     It was Danny.

He slept like a baby; silent, unsnoring. The light helped me make out the little details of his lithe body. His skin is luminous enough that I can tell the difference between his red pimples and his bare back. Bare. Back. Perfect 10!

     And that moment I realized that he was naked. And that I was too.

     And that we had our fling last night.

Telekenetically charged by my thoughts (nah), he opened his eyes, squinting. He too got frightened when he saw me. His blue, bright eyes dilated.

     Suddenly, he sprinted out of the bed, his pillow his only body cover. The blanket I used to cover my bare nakedness. "Ummm," I uttered.

     "Look, I can explain," he said in perfect Irish accent.

     As he explained, I went on in search of my clothes, blanket still covering my body. He said, we were drinking a lot last night, and we were drunk, we were crazy, and we were horny. So we got into the act.

     As I finished fixing myself, and as Danny finished wearing his Armani jeans (with or without Armani underpants and Armani undertop). Until now, I can observe that he is a really buff and intense person with a little litheness in him.

     "Don't tell anybody about this," and, "Okay," were our parting statements. I slammed the door shut, still confused about how I feel. Should I feel angry, happy, or just move on?

"Vigorous writing is concise." - William Strunk Jr and E.B. White, The Elements of Style