The events described in this story are fictional. The author makes no assertion about the lives or characters of the real people whose names and identities she has used in the writing of this story, and makes no money from it.


"Read me that one you wrote -- how does it go? Bittersweet... Bittersweet you..."

"Animal spirit?"


"Deep musky ... essence of the night? That one?"

"Yeah, I like that one. Makes me ... yeah..."

His tongue's sliding all the way down Orlando like hot ice. He lifts his head.

"You liked that one?"

"Yeah ... really beautiful. Don't stop..."

"That was an aftershave commercial."

"Oh. Really?"


He puts his tongue back on Orlando because he's a man who likes to finish what he's started. Bitter fucking sweet... Stupid kids. Wouldn't know art if it came up and bit them on the ass.