Anti-Oughtiplus Sex
Halfpast hush, window rainrattled, the lampwick whispering made a little sun of her undone cuff. May I? Me: aye: wristward, thurstward, tictactile, hisher pulse and the twobeat beast becoming, tictactile. Grab!tation: now a conjugal third.
[He’s barely grabbed her wrist?! At this pace, we’ll need a second issue for …
Tales from Beyond Frick Park IX: Goodwill Hunting
I had never intended to be a wicked woman. Indeed, wickedness had always struck me as exhausting: between the disposal of bodies, conversations in loathsome cellars, and the obligation to remember which lies one has told which person, it’s a wonder anyone chooses to pursue it at all! My ambition …
