I lay in bed last night and thought of G.P. I thought of being in bed with him. I wanted to be in bed with him. Furthermore, I wanted the marvelous, the fantastic ordinariness of him. His promiscuity is creative. Vital. Even though it hurts. He creates love and life and excitement around him; he lives; the people he loves always remember him. I've always felt like it sometimes. Promiscuous. Anyone I see, even just some boy in the Tube, some man, I think what he would be like in bed. I look at their mouths and their hands, put on a prim expression and think about them having me in bed. Even Toilette, getting into bed with anyone. I used to think it was messy. But love is beautiful, any love. Even just sex.