It takes another three beers to put Kent out.
We’re in the living room, all three of us, the TV on and Kent in
his recliner, his chin drooping to his chest every so often. Luke
sits at one end of the couch and I’m at the other, his pillow
between us like a line of demarcation neither wants to cross. Not
while Kent’s still up, more or less. Not while he’s sitting right
here.
I don’t know what we’re watching—I stare at
the screen but don’t see it. Instead my eyes burn with the images
in my mind, Luke on this couch and me above him, both of us naked
and hard, my hands and lips making him moan and buck against me. In
the vision, Kent’s asleep in the recliner and that just fuels the
fire inside me, the knowledge that at any moment he’ll open his
eyes and see me going down on Luke,
