N. Likes

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Pubescent girls affect me in ways I wish they didn’t. Here are some thoughts about all that.

Every shade of brown, from boot to lip.

I can’t not see you.

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.