June 2015

A year of correspondence, less than an hour together, and she left flushed. We’re both still hungry.

Isabel says some very kind things about me.

A woman on the subway takes something from me I didn’t offer, and I sit still, fascinated.

Most of my dates are sure things. This one won’t be, and that means something much scarier than not getting laid: the possibility of being rejected not for my looks, but for *me*.

Isabel is shy, but she does as she’s told.

Sofia sends me a video, and I lose my fucking mind.

Things I like to see women wearing. And not wearing.

I remember Luna — her pretty face, her perfect breasts, her hunger for attention. What I wouldn’t give.

The distance between who I am online and who I am in the world protects me from more than I like to admit.