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.