Memory or fantasy?

Words, cock, hands, tongue, imagination, demands — these are what I trade in. Give me your compliance, your arousal, your sounds, your images, and I promise: I will only ask for more.

An elaborate plan for an evening of silent, anonymous fun with strangers in a bar bathroom.

Here’s what I want. It’s simple, really.

I can see the outline of your bra through your t-shirt. I want you to stand close enough that I can smell you.

Prenegotiated sex, a magic wand, and a very good morning.

Salad night with Mara, a chair across the room, and a story she told me with her hands on her knees.

An apology that isn’t really an apology.

You asked what your pictures do to me. Here’s what they do to me.

Mara went home to Israel, but she still sent me her orgasm.

She won’t commit, but she won’t stop sending pictures either. We both know how this ends.