N. Likes

An afternoon at the movies with a stranger I’ve never met but who follows my instructions perfectly.

A woman, in fragments, from far away.

Two pictures of her mouth, and everything I want to do with it.

The elaborate fictions I constructed to make sense of behavior that made no sense — brave explorer and pathetic loser, coexisting without reconciliation.

Her voice undoes me more than her body ever could.

Too much is never enough?

A task I set, with very specific instructions.

A Saturday afternoon, a Village Voice, and a pay phone: the mechanics of my first paid sexual encounter.

My voice is just too identifiable — and Google’s getting smarter every day.

My origin story, retold — how lap dances, fear of rejection, and an endless appetite for contact sent me down a path I’m still mapping.