Henry's End

Dreams.

I used to have them—before the nightmares started.

I dreamed of nice guys, love…normalcy.

Things like reading the Sunday paper in bed with my

lover.

But who needs dreams when your reality is filled with a string of faceless dominating men in uniform? Men that pack a thick bulge and are only too happy to satisfy my deviant sexual cravings.

Me. That's who.

And then HE walked through the door and shared with me, a total stranger, his intimate dream of love. Damn him for verbalizing every single detail of the dream I buried long ago.

And now I don’t know how I'm going to live without that dream.

Or him.