Memory or fantasy?

I direct her from across a crowded hotel lobby, texting instructions while businessmen in khakis steal glances at what they can’t have.

She got a free vacation; I got her at a moment’s notice. It was a good deal for both of us.

French theorists on her reading list, no panties under her skirt, and an invitation to Miami before the jazz even started.

I didn’t know she was famous until I saw her picture in the newspaper.

I hadn’t seen the movie, but I placed an ad James Spader might have written — in the “Erotic Services” section of CraigsList.

L concedes our contest, but not without first turning my Twitter feed into porn set in an Applebee’s.

She asked me to humiliate her, to hurt her. I did my best, against a window, high above a construction site.

She wants to see me again because of a kiss we shared. Only problem: we’ve never met.

A farewell to a great restaurant, and the story of a memorable visit to its men’s room.

A wig, nude stockings, a very pregnant belly, and a husband who really, really wanted me to fuck his wife.