I saw Lugh and me as youthful, rare as the light of a happy eye, alive with the grace of all that in the mind is feckless, free and naturally to be desired. And in the joy of being a youthful yacht came the knowledge of being on the sea that is moody, lapping their glossy sides, as if feeling for some slightest flaw. But our sea wasn’t the Atlantic; it was the large expanse separating the left from the right, San Francisco from New York.

After opening the message I did an online biography search of William Carlos Williams; I felt uncomfortable learning Williams was a doctor who helped birth over three thousand people; I also felt uncomfortable knowing Lugh didn’t approve of my desire to be a porn star. I knew then that I’d never be a breeder; Williams’ leftist tendencies scared me because he was okay delivering more trash onto the Earth. I still hated the Right because of the Right's trapping dogma and my parents' refusal to accept me; despite any welcoming inauguration I assumed I was apart of a wee faction in the universe.

While I looked at his pictures, I realized I never wanted to leave the material world a material girl I didn’t care if I decayed like Dorian. I closed my laptop, went to my bed and pulled out a large bottle of lube. I lay down and stared at the ceiling; my body, his body, Tim’s body, my sister’s body, a whole orgy of bodies writhed in a black hole that opened up in the middle of my ceiling: picture Lugh calling me and inviting me over to his hotel room; I’d say, just stay at my place and of course he’d agree and come over; he’d be in town for a week and we’d never leave my bed; I’d order delivery and we’d smear the food on our bodies before we ate it; he’d fuck me in every position imaginable and I’d take every inch of him because he’d tell me how great my body feels and how much he loves me with each thrust and I’d smile; we would walk across San Francisco, I’d know we were sailing across the bloodied masses of the eighties AIDS massacre and over Indian graves, but I wouldn’t tell him as we walked through clouds.

After Mr. Old Cock set me up I began to reclaim myself. First, we made clear boundaries defining our relationship: I got free rent if he came and saw me twice a week, totaling to eight free visits a month; if he saw me more than eight times per month he owed me fifty dollars per visit. Each visit's length wasn’t specified but he had to give me a day’s notice before visiting, if he dropped by unexpected and I wasn’t there then it didn’t count as a missed session.