Looking at him, I didn’t know if I wanted to fuck him or borrow his clothes; he wore them like his own skin, as if the very act of doffing them meant exposing his identity—as if his skin was his identity, his clothes like the plumage of a flirt that couldn’t be plucked. I made…
Creative Writing, OldVenue
Creative Writing: Instances of promiscuity
I. Sex is a series of loss memories, so I contain a log to keep the images fresh: the date, the address, the first place of rendez-vous and the use of a condom. When I should be studying, I walk at 3 a.m, the moonlight as sharp as lust that overpowers the attractiveness of sleeping….