March 2013

It wasn’t the sex I was addicted to — it was the endless, shimmering promise of it, glowing on screen after screen.

The agony of anticipation.

V continues her tale — kneeling, this time without hesitation, in a room full of strangers at Le Trapeze.

I sat in the dark for hours, waiting for a woman to make me come to life again. Then I’d scurry home and pretend I’d never been there.

I’m not the only one at the public library with sex on my mind.

V recounts the first part of our evening — a jazz lounge, wet anticipation, and a dropped pen.

V documents a morning tryst far better than I ever could have – I just showed up and drank coffee.

Sometimes I say things entirely wrong, and my readers are kind enough to tell me so.

I want, and I want to be wanted — but not too much, and only if I might not be.

Two guys at the bar couldn’t stop talking about Véronique’s ass. They had no idea she was with me — until she was.