The man died for hours. He died a little every hour of his life, but the final hours were obvious. He gurgled as he gasped for air. We heard his moans...for help, although we had closed the glass door to shield us from them. Not due to pure immorality, but because we couldn’t do anything. It is terrible to hear a man gasp for air. To hear him drown when he is not submerged. We watched the monitor as his heart deteriorated under the stress, we wagered money on his remaining time, we talked about. My hands come higher to your nipples. Very lightly touching them through the silky fabric of your gown. My fingers make small circles around them as they get hard. You turn your head to bring your lips closer to mine. We touch our lips lightly together. Warm, moist, tasting minty from the toothpaste. You have just a touch of lipstick. You let your tongue lightly touch my lips. My tongue comes out to meet yours. The haunting rhythms of 'Steppin' in a Slide Zone' fill the room. My pelvis is. More

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