His skin glowed like burnished bronze, kissed golden by a sun that clearly knew him well. His skin glowed like burnished bronze, kissed golden by a sun that clearly knew him well. Gay sex I never knew his name. He was used to being worshiped.I remember how my breath caught as he passed me, the scent of something warm and spiced trailing behind—sandalwood and sun and something unplaceable, something his. Hazel, but not just any hazel. I imagine the weight of his golden skin against mine, the press of his hands—strong and commanding—on my body, his mouth tracing stories in a language I don’t understand. I imagine the weight of his golden skin against mine, the press of his hands—strong and commanding—on my body, his mouth tracing stories in a language I don’t understand. The cloth clung in places to his chest, damp from the heat, hinting at the carved elegance of someone sculpted for worship.And his eyes—God, his eyes. The market was a riot of colors, of scents—cardamom, leather, sweat—and among the whirl of fabric and voices, he emerged like a vision made flesh.He stood at the edge of a spice stall, the air around him electric. But in the privacy of my nights, I revisit that moment. Men and women alike
