Erotica

Two women, described in the way only a creep would.

A polite request, or several.

You walk into a bar to meet me for the first time, wearing exactly what I told you to wear.

A Ferris wheel has never been put to better use.

The topology of your lips, mapped with the precision of desire.

Yes, I’ll fuck you. But not before you’ve earned it.

I want to watch.

As the plane descends into L.A., I catalog everything I know about her — and everything I don’t yet.

What I do while you look down at me.

She’s self-conscious about her grey hair. I have some ideas about that.