Sexual Fantasies Devon Roberts
After a thorough review of our bucket lists, we choose tandem skydiving—for the adrenaline rush and restraints. Under our chutes, we are 3rd graders playing with the giant rainbow tarp, disobeying our teachers, hiding, as the bell rings somewhere far away from us. We wear each other’s clothes, though our waists and height vary by (2x2) inches and it takes 3 pairs of socks to fit in your shoes. Your pants are baggy high waters and your ass looks great in my unzipped jeans. We met for the first time on a bus. #3 to S. Laguna Drive, my work at the blood bank. You were supposed to head northbound, but you followed me off and let yourself get lost—anyway. I buy body paint, and you lie naked on my newspaper floor. I spend too much time making post-impressionist spirals with your body hair, and you fall asleep. I paint your face like Dali. My breasts are surgically removed. After weeks (and years) of swelling, you place a hand flat against my chest. Half-dead nerves send half-strength impulses telling me it’s there, and I breathe into my lungs. We watch your hand, my chest, rise, a smooth, even plane.
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