I loved the sounds of Spanish, particularly the way the words rolled from Antonio’s tongue.  Sometimes I imagined his words were like kisses, chocolates, or grapes that he fed me, one after another.  I also loved his long hair, a pony tail that went half way down his back.  I used to call him Guido the Killer Pimp, which he found hysterical.  When we made love, I held onto his hair like a mane, pulled free from the piece of leather he normally used to tie it secure.

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