Have I ever told you, you look like Monty Clift? he inquired in a deep, seductive voice. Before or after the accident?

We were locked onto each other as though we had just discovered this incredible thing you could do with two mouths pressing close and moist against each other. And the taste of him... Horrifyingly, unbearably sweet -- sweet in the way crack must feel hitting the bloodstream of an addict after years of staying clean.

Have I ever told you, you look like Monty Clift? he inquired in a deep, seductive voice. Before or after the accident?

And yet there was something about his strength, his arrogance, his sheer size that got under my skin. He probably couldn't even spell vanilla. He was probably selfish in the sack. Probably selfish and greedy and...unsophisticated. And hung like a horse.

Not as intolerable as being dead, in my opinion, but I'm very fond of me. I would miss me a lot.

...Jake, a homosexual cop buried so deep in the closet he didn't know where to look for himself.

I thought of the words of the Renaissance philosopher Michel de Montaigne. "If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I.