Lingerie

A Ladino love song, a massage parlor in Soho, and the particular eroticism of a woman in green camouflage pants.

Sofia lives thousands of miles away, sends me more than my imagination could conjure, and does whatever I ask, smiling. Here she is.

Forgot my wallet, made her pay for everything, collared her at the bar, and lost count of her orgasms at Le Trapeze. Not very dom-ly — except for the parts that were.

At the holidays, the marital bed gets crowded — and not in the fun way.

Our relationship had become three-dimensional, and fucking was off the table. I was damned if I was going to let that stop me.

A partial catalog of things I like, and a clue to my name.

Black stockings on pale legs, and why my imagination is the hottest thing going.

Pack a bag, but we’re not going anywhere. I just want to watch you model every last thing in it — and render every pair of panties unwearable.

Jen and I plan a date, and she submits to my requests — enthusiastically, if not immediately.

Rules are less important than communication — before, during, and after. And caution on a first visit will be repaid with a much better second one.