N. Likes

A woman on the street looks familiar. It takes me a few steps to realize I’ve seen her face four times — once on every dating app I barely use.

Curls aren’t my thing because they’re natural. They’re my thing because they’re not.

Not much writing lately, but plenty of thinking — about rage, empathy, orgasms, and happy hookers.

Tamora’s body is soft everywhere I touch, and she shakes before our dates. This is what she masturbates to.

No fun, in the absence of pleasing.

An interesting take on sex addiction that resonates with me.

I keep finding myself wanted but not needed, or needed but not wanted. You’d think I’d learn to stop arranging it that way.

A woman, described.

I have a stalker. It’s not fun.

A woman on the street wants to know my pornographic preferences. I’m not sure I ever understood what she was after.