He was the colour of honey, a few freckles across his shoulders, his pale-pink nipples catching the sunlight.
The service was conducted, of course, by a large angel with glitter in her hair.
I have measured out my life in expensive hotels, it seems, and I gauge my tan in types of honey. I am now millefiori, and aspire to castagna.
Unusually for Israel, this Land of Blutos, he had no beard, no stubble, no hairy chest. He said, “Let’s go in,” so in we went.
Nathan imagines they’d be caught and, besides, the man may be a serial killer, so suggests the cruising park behind the Hilton instead. Much safer.
He’s too polite to say he thinks he’s more handsome than me, but he’s not too polite to think it.
She lies on a rug with Alberto, they are playful with each other, then nap, their bodies touching, like incestuous twins.