Memory or fantasy?

Continuing to elaborate on the logistics and choreography of my core fantasy. The devil, as they say, is in the details.

I line you all up against a hotel wall and let my imagination do what it does best.

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.