pretend again that he is Barrons and suddenly he feels like Barrons, and I’m fighting to keep my head clear. Images flash through my mind, those long, incredible hours spent in a sex-drenched bed. I smell Barrons on my skin, taste him on my lips. I remember. I will never forget. The memories are so vivid. I swear I could reach out and touch those crimson silk sheets. He sprawls on the bed, a dark tattooed mountain of man, arms folded behind his head, watching me as I dance naked. Manfred Mann plays an old Bruce Springsteen cover on my iPod: I came for you, for you, I came for you …
