Darkness covered the room as moans of pleasure were heard. The sounds of surrender escaped the mouth of my lover in the room. A few more gyrations and my guy came. Breathing heavily, he turned over and lay beside me and immediately fell asleep.

I rose on my feet from the bed and sat on a dark corner. He's handsome. Indeed, he has a body of a god and a face of an angel. He won my heart that easily. Just like the others.

My first love wasn't he. My first love hurt me in places I never knew could hurt. We met at a bar and I never looked back since. We made love the first night we met. This went on for three months. I was happy at first. Not until, my first love hurt me in the head, in the brow, in the chest, in the ass, and most of all in the heart. I was bruised literally and figuratively. I woke up one day after a night of endless arguments and lovemaking, stood up and walked away. It's painful, but I had to face it. I needed to move on anyway.

My second love wasn't he, neither. My second love kissed me in places I never knew could be kissed. We met at a school fair. We made out the first night we met. The relationship lasted for three months. I was happy. Not until, I got tired of a lot kisses and less love. Kisses were given to the head, to the brow, to the chest, to the ass, and most of all, to the heart. Happiness was all that I could not find in all these kisses. I stood up one day after an hour of making out and walked away. It's hard for me to leave those kisses, but I needed to move on anyway.

My third love was he. The laughs were there. The occasional pain was there. The kisses were there. We met on a chat room. But, this time I promised myself not to fall easily. But, I felt that I gave in quickly. He gave fewer kicks and more apologies than the first. He kissed less and fuck more than the second. But, I felt that there seemed to be an escape from this giving in too easily. An escape from pain. An escape from the kisses. On this day of our first year, I glanced around the dark room for an opening. There's none. I needed to escape. I needed to breathe. I had this feeling that this wasn't the one I was looking for.

Getting up, I gathered my clothes and went out of the room as quickly as possible. I ran up the street not realizing that my clothes fell to the ground piece by piece. Barenaked, I hurried for an opening I was looking for. I cared not for the people. I cared not to the eyes following the strides of my legs and the waves of my buns and abs. I neither cared for my straining muscles shouting for rest. I neither cared for sticky sweat falling from my dark face passing through my hazel eyes, my cheeks down my body. I never cared for any of them. This naked man wanted to escape.

I suddenly stopped in front of a building catching my breath. I fell on my knees weak from running. How long was I running? Thirty minutes? An hour? I got up and went inside the building. I went to room 143. He was standing looking at the door. My man was staring at me when I entered.

It's been a year since I met my man on the chat room. He gave me kisses so sweet. He lent me hugs so tender. He granted me occasional pain that I could not resist. He made love to me in a very so unique way.

"Why did you leave?" he asked.


"Don't leave again, please." He went close and gave me a hug so tight. He motioned me to go to the bed. I obliged and he followed me to the bed.

We lay in silence with my head on his chest. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep. Slowly I got up and went to the dark corner of the room.

The room was dark. I glanced around the dark room for an opening. There's none. I looked at a body of a god and a face of an angel on the bed and I smiled.

Getting up from where I sat, I walked towards the bed and slept by his side.