Porcelain Doll

Melanie and I both stretch together. She stretches my muscles. I stretch her comfort zone.

Once a john, always a john?

Rejection stings worst when it echoes old wounds. My readers let me know I had my head up my ass, and they weren’t wrong.

She looked like a porcelain doll — red lips, red hair, pale skin. I thought we’d become friends. Turns out I’d only ever been a customer.

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