Sleeping with Jerry

Jerry and I used to sleep together. (Yes, that Jerry.) It was intimate, tactile. A touchy-feely time. Jerry wore his hair in a close crew cut then. Soft yet prickly. How I thrilled to the texture of Jerry’s hair.

We played together. Messed around. Our fingers got wet. And gooey. It wasn’t the Fontainebleau, but I thought it an exotic surround. Amphibians under glass. A parrot in a cage. Art covering the walls, wildly