Come Dance With the Witchwood Boys

by C.M. Stunich

He’s kind of an awesome twenty-six-year-old boomer. Heh.

Our relationship is like a dark fairy tale, something from the Brothers Grimm. Way too disturbed to be a Disney version.

I was so lonely before you guys came into my life. I didn’t realize it, but oh my God, I was looking for home, too. I want to feel like I have a community, a family.

He’s lonely. I’m lonely. The whole world is lonely and looking for connection. I’m not going to look a gift witch in the mouth.

There’s consent, but … it’s edgy. Bold. Provocative.

I must be color-blind; the red flags look green.

What could a rectangle of misinformation and desperate cries for attention have on it that’s better than the living, breathing world?

This whole ‘getting to know one another’ bit is far more difficult than fucking each other in the woods. Go figure.

I should just tell him. I can’t stand when characters in movies cause problems for themselves because they simply won’t speak up.

I hate when I argue with myself, and then win the argument. It’s annoying.

That was a choice, and choices are what shape the future, not the hand of some unseen force called fate.

I wonder if this is what it’s going to be like living with and fucking and romancing three different people.

It’s the sex talking. A person should never make big decisions during or after mind-blowing sex. It scrambles the brain.