I had been dating Brenda for seven months, fairly seriously and more so every day. I slept over at her place as often as three times a week, while Brenda spent almost as many nights wrapped in the warm embrace of my green down comforter. Tooth brushes, razors and other sundry personal items had taken up lodging in the romantic embassies of foreign bathrooms. As a couple, we still only talked about the future in vague, shadowy terms that welcomed without requiring an enduring relationship, but we easily recognized what a promising future we could enjoy together. Brenda constantly struck me as beautiful, considerate and fun. I don’t know what more I could have wanted.
Lord Malinov, Flowers of Malinov