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Invisibility isn’t a superpower. It’s a curse.

In which Hope, anticipating my cock in her mouth, writes some words for me, in my journal.

A rare real-time post: spice reorganization, letters to long-lost friends, and mirth on New Year’s Eve.

Good riddance to a hateful fuck.

To the person to my left, at least, “M.O.” stands for “main objective.”

I’m not interested.

Pale beauty.

I love when a woman strains at her clothes.