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Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been drawn to the creepy and weird. The spooky and unsettling. The deplorable and taboo.
I’m far more terrified of things in the real world, like the persistent dismantling of basic human rights by those in power, urinary tract infections, and falling in love.
Can’t expect a man to do something as groundbreaking as observe my body language on the first date. How silly of me.
I’m offended by the sentiment. People use ‘pussy’ like it’s a weak thing. Everyone knows balls are way more sensitive, and pussies can take a good pounding any day of the week. And in this case, my date was one hundred percent testicle.”
Your shoulders would make a great place for my legs, I think.
“Hey Mason Miller, why are you so nervous to talk to me?” “Have you seen yourself, Jenna Laing?”
“I guess I’m asking, are you a nice guy or a sick fuck?” He traces his finger down the column of my throat. “Heaven forbid a man wants to be both.”
“I swear to God, Mason, if I find out you’re actually a ghost and this is some sort of sexy Casper situation, I’ll be so pissed off.”
“I want to scare the fuck out of you, Jenna. And then I want to fuck the scared out of you.”
“So what’s the verdict?” I ask. “I think you’re my dream girl, Jenna Laing.”
“Safeword, Jenna?” “Green, motherfucker,” she yells back at me, her middle finger held up over her shoulder.
