I went out with E.Y. last night. It was magical. We picked up as if eleven days instead of eleven years had passed. We laughed, we talked, we gossiped about mutual acquaintances.
Then we went back to his hotel and had utterly mediocre sex.
For form’s sake, I stayed the night, but I guess I’m not moving to Australia at the end of the week.
Plus, today’s porn shoot was cancelled, so I had no way of getting rid of the, um, taste of the mediocre sex. Luckily I was able to get T.H. to come over at a moment’s notice, which took care of that problem very nicely.
At least I hadn’t been dreaming of a beautiful reunion that would make us both realize that we were soul mates and meant to be together forever, spending half of each year in Sydney and half in New York, a true international, indeed intercontinental, couple, secure in our glamor and our love for each other.