This is the fourth New Year’s Eve in a row that I fuck Tony.

We fuck only on New Year’s, our little secret tradition. Leaving the noise of the party behind, we slip off to a makeshift bathroom in someone’s basement. I balance on the toilet seat that rests on the sloshing bucket, my little red lycra dress snags on the dirt wall.

Tony’s leg tangles in the old brown shower curtain that serves as a door, it moves back and forth revealing us with every thrust. The room smells like warm piss and we smell like cheap beer. I wrap my legs around him, knocking down the sign that says “Don’t shit in the bucket, go upstairs.”