Erotica

I directed you through the crowd, watching your ass, before we ended up in a champagne room with whipped cream and a dancer named Dee who couldn’t stop talking about your tits.

A short dress, a dark bar, a sex party, and three marathon sessions between her thighs.

Instructions for an evening.

Snap judgments, Birkenstocks, and ostrich burgers: a date that was over before it started.

We meet halfway, in a town with a hotel and a liquor store. That’s all we need.

My peak erotic experience was real. My peak erotic fantasy is more revealing.

Bad science, good questions, and the hottest sexual experience I can remember — one I wish I could forget.

She’s young, bratty, and doesn’t give me what I ask. She will pay the price.

H has her own vision of our first date. Seems to me, either way, I win.

I changed my mind about the drink.