4
The next morning, I woke up alone. This wasn't a rare occurrence, but I could have sworn I fell asleep with Sonya in my arms.
Or was it a dream? Sometimes it's hard to tell.
I rubbed my eyes and looked around the room. It wasn't my apartment. The bedspread was covered in pink flowers. Mine wasn't.
Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure I didn't own a bedspread.
There were Michael Jackson posters on the wall and a pair of b*a and panties thrown carelessly onto the floor, confirming my night with Sonya hadn't been a dream.
I didn't get much sleep. I judged it to be after midnight when Sonya had led me to her bedroom where we spent hours exploring each other's bodies. There wasn't an inch of her I hadn't memorized.
The same could probably be said of her as well.
I couldn't think of a
