I have a boyfriend and a mistress and now I'm about to have sex with another.
An Angel.
My boyfriend is overseas. My mistress has spent the greater part of the night dealing with drama with some trick of his. I am drunk, and I am horny. I also feel a vague wave of dolor since I have been falling in love with my mistress. Solace would be nice for a night.
Come my angel. Thwart my namesake, and carry me away. Could you be more beautiful? Your smooth dark skin complemented by your gleaming teeth and eyes. Soon to be dappled with pearly white cum. You make me shy; aside from the phantasmagoric positions we place ourselves in on the dance floor. Yet I am too shy to carry on a decent conversation with you. Or you are made self-conscious by my misappropriated irony. Regardless, conversation does not flow.
Physical contact does. It always does with me. Too well.
The only part of you that holds my mind in sway is the unparalleled beauty you possess. That is more than enough. And from our lascivious encounter on the dance floor I am finding out another great part of you. Could that possibly be? It certainly is.
So my mistress asks me how the night will end. The night will end how it must. He looks at me more with disdain than distress. Oh, I will be the talk.
And I find myself carried off in an angel's wings. These wings happen to have a transmission. And so we make it to the angel's home, which is heaven, of course. Heaven is a small, two bedroom apartment with a spacious shower. We cleanse from ourselves the dance floor and all thoughts of others. I nearly drown in discovering this great being. And nearly choke at the same time.
As we are clean we proceed to dirty ourselves. We fly to the bed of the angel which of course must be a cloud. Too soft and delicious. And then something hard and delicious. How is it possible? I never would have imagined it would fit. I've had problems with many lesser men. This angel's sword fit more perfectly into me than any other could.
Still I was drunk and reckless. A night's passion filled with one more sour note. I was making love. Is love ever safe? This love was less. Once the angel and I had become one there was no returning to safer bastions.
Never had I felt this kind of love. This sacred union held me for so long. We bowed and arched and prayed in so many ways and for so long. I knew I was being torn but could feel only the most immense pleasure of my life.
I had lost irony. I was indeed lost in the kitsch.
I never came. How could I? What I felt was more than any climax I had had in my life. He seemed concerned. Until he came. He nearly came in me. I was already flaccid. Had been for a while. Who needs an erection at a time like this?
He asked me if I would like some aspirin. Interesting pillow talk. I suppose mortals need medication when confronted with demi-deity. Surprisingly, I needed nothing.
We slept.
In the late morning we sprinkled my angel with oblong pearls. The cliched yet striking contrast inculcated into my mind.
I told him. From the first time I saw you, I thought you were more beautiful than any I had ever seen. Truth had been spoken, no matter how awkward. Stumbling conversation followed until I was flown back from whence I came. A kiss and a goodbye. I'll call.
The last time I saw my angel.