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My room. My home. No cameras. No one to tell me what to do. A lock on the door. Privacy. The idea of privacy was so novel it felt fictional. Maybe it wouldn’t have felt that way before, but it was something I’d never had. A locked door for me was a palace, a fairytale, a fantasy. A spell of safety woven to cocoon the fractured pieces of my shattered soul.
I didn’t count all the fumbled blow jobs in the dark with strangers. It didn’t feel like sex when I left untouched, feeling emptier than I had before I’d sought connection in the first place.
goodbye without listening to her response. Maybe it was cowardly of me,
his mind lacked. “Good things?” he asked hopefully, the velvet tip of his nose freezing from the outside chill. It was spring but the world hadn’t seemed to realize that yet. The constant rain, the night chills, all of those things should’ve turned me off, but I found myself loving them because they belonged to this silly little town with its rules and its particular brand of darkness. Tucked between mountains like a secret just waiting to
permission. He grew still, glancing up at me through his expressive eyebrows, a look of guilt on his face like a kid who had gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was such an honest, innocent expression I couldn’t help but be charmed. This was my first time too, but it felt natural for me to search for his pleasure, like letting him experience this was more important than experiencing it myself. “Sorry,” Richard
