I love sleeping in other people’s bed. The feeling of their fabric against my skin… so strange, so beautiful. The scent of their room’s atmosphere… so conspicuous, so new. The comfort I get… so impossible, so true.
It’s not the kind of post-sex feeling. It’s more than that. It’s the unparalleled abundance, the uncanny amenity, the unusual succor.
Sleeping in a stranger’s bed feels like I’ve just been invited to enter a world of an outsider. Refreshingly thrilling. Remarkably consoling.
The feeling…