Memory or fantasy?

The best part of sex is never the sex itself — it’s everything that happens in our heads, and on paper.

She brought a bag with a girl scout uniform and several outfits, then declined to suck my cock while complimenting my eye contact. There’s not much I find more compelling than a woman who *might* want to go to bed with me, and that’s some toxic shit.

An hour in a dark closet with a dozen beautiful women. Not sexual — except entirely.

She was so beautiful I ignored every signal telling me to walk away. This was, predictably, an error.

Two women in cotton dresses, standing against a wall, waiting for me.

Live-blogging a woman making herself come while I listen.

Under five feet, exotic, insecure about all the wrong things, and she’s never had someone spend hours between her legs. She will.

I have a rich fantasy life at the gym.

She refused to name herself. I refused to let her off the hook. I named her Tamora, and she can take it up with me while my cock’s in her mouth.

Isabel promised she wouldn’t be this shy forever, but her shyness was pretty fucking hot while it lasted.