I need him. He treats me like the adult I am, takes me roughly and handles me the same. I love Antonio, with everything I have but he treats me like I'm fragile to the touch. I need that rawness that Spain can't give me.
So I turn to France.
I should hate him. I do hate him. But in the bed room, names are forgotten and we're simply to people in heat like cats.
He's not gentle.
He's not loving.
I don't complain.
I don't argue.
Who we are is lost in our sloppy kisses and rutting.
When it's over we part, everything left in our wake to never be seen or heard again until next time we meet.
Spain doesn't find out about him, England doesn't know about me and we all leave satisfied in the end.
I pray after each encounter, pray that God will forgive me for my sinful acts. I know that I, myself, am a sin with so many more on top: homosexuality, adultery, greed, pride, lust.
But the temptation is too great. My wants outweigh my soul.
So I'll live the sin I have with the man I love and the pleasure his best friend brings and await the burning gates of Hell that I deserve.
Until then.