I never knew being dead could HURT so much.Why does it hurt so much?“I think he is coming out of it,” I heard a female voice say. “Mr. Wilson? M.... Wilson? You are going to be okay.”“Okay?” Is that what I heard, “Okay?” I would think if you are dead, it would either mean things are going to be wonderful (heaven), or things are going to be awful (hell), but not just “okay.”And why would the angels ... or demons ... be calling me “Mr. Wilson?” Isn’t my name supposed to be written down in some. You come back to the living room, twirling around, showing me your outfit, the lust you can see in my eyes sending shivers of excitement down your spine. We arrive at the cinema. It is a late show and the theatre is sparsely populated, but not quite empty, so we take a seat in the back as the lights go out and the film begins. I rest my hand on your thigh, sensing the dry warmth emanating from your soft, smooth skin, and then squeeze it, feeling the supple muscles. I watch your face, noticing. More

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