Brad would move from the hotel into a vacant little adobe casa across from the pharmacy and the little town’s version of a mercantile. Then we would...wait … we would wait and watch … and for the first time in my life, I prayed. For three days I did not leave the chair by the window in my room. The dusty, sleepy current of humanity offered no indication of anything but their ordinary routines. On the fourth day my telephone rang, ‘Jackson, it’s Brad. Just a few minutes ago a dark blue sedan. Sometimes he would write a short story for me to read about us in different scenarios. These days he rarely sends me anything much more than your average texts about where he was staying or what had happened at work. Rarely do I get messages of lust anymore and I haven't received a story for a good year or more now.On top of that, things are changing with me too. Lately, I have been insatiable. Things that I previously only wanted to do on the rare occasion when I was really wound up are the. More

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