Member-only story
With You There’s Only Hot, Sticky, Hard Love
And there’s nothing I can do about it
With You There’s Only Hot, Sticky, Hard Love
I can’t express the shock I felt, dear Asha, when I saw you at the lake with that other dude, showing no regard for our passion the night before.
I’m fairly tolerant, perhaps I could work on that more, but I tend to live in the more abstract foam of ether in my brain, the place where I’m the only inhabitant living on Lonely Street.
Sure, you like to graze for other senses, those big boys who try to overwhelm you when they take you between the sheets.
Fuck, I know, I always leave the disk in the machine, but you take it out and lose it for me, trying to teach me a lesson like some nationalist who doesn’t know how to truly belong to their people.
I love you in leather, see you often in lace, but cotton, oh lord, drives me insane for your tender love, and after we can share a cigarette and think about going back to the party.
But with these other guys, let me tell you, you have no pause button and give no notice to me before you let them put their fingers on your perfect skin.
I’d come to your rescue, if you were ever in danger, and in the process show them a better technique for…
