Bruno hadn’t cum, but he didn’t care. It would just be messy and he would have to deal with inch after inch of himself. He let himself succumb to sleep’s torpor, slowly.

Drifting, Bruno remembered his lover. Jack, whose cock was 5 3/4 inches, was so shy about his size.

Bruno loved those 5 3/4 inches.

He remembered taking it like he would a meal. He remembered their sex tasting like pecan pie, woody and sweet, something he wanted to make a home in.

Really, Jack Daigneau was a wonder. With his skin the color of the creamiest coffee, he had fostered children- transformed them from the bitterest roots to sugarcane, all alone while holding a position nursing at a children’s hospital.

Bruno had once asked the French-Haitian saint why he had wanted to lie with him, a poor construction worker and carpenter.

Jack had whispered to him, “…your skewed brilliance, your genuine love, your potential. That’s why, Bruno.”

As consciousness left him, all Bruno could think was how much he wanted to be a mother.