There were times I could barely leave bed, but he insisted we spend weekends in Palm Springs.
Or maybe he’d become enamored with another OnlyFans model with a bigger butt and perkier tits and a more welcoming smile.
He unfolded his best plastic chair and sat it in the pool. He’d sweat and drink more liquor and point his gun at the ocean.
“I should punch your lights out. But that wouldn’t do either of us much good would it?”
No one answered her when she asked where they were taking me. I'd heard of people being dumped in parking lots. I'd heard of people being flown to Texas, to fucking El Salvador, legal citizens with no practical recourse.
1
During my last couple of years in Spain, things—how shall we say?—spun out of control. It was like getting tossed by one of those huge ferocious Northern Californian waves that tumbles you, holds
Here I am on a Saturday night, preparing for another dreadful evening with a man my father handpicked
It goes unsaid that this game is really about kissing and groping.
I was beginning to understand that when Nana said family protects family at any cost, she meant any cost.
I want you to see me ignoring you.
My last few nights at Will’s house were strained but also pleasant. I consciously wanted to love him. And I did, in a way, but I was drifting.
The terrains alien, the people / Extra terrestrial / Make sense do not.
Punishments:
—deprivation of recreation
—bread and water diet
—48-hour dungeon stays; no bed, no food, no lights
My wife and I run around the tables in our moisture-wicking workout clothes for the entire 177-minute runtime of the masterful, twenty-nine-track album.
This was my chance! I moved to the seat in front of her and we lay across our seats and laughed together like a yin-yang necklace coming back together.
or because I’d seen him unwrap the extra large condom and suddenly longed, anxiously and fatuously like a girl wanting her stuffed animal, for my first boyfriend who weighed less than me
a Clown Slam: the slutty Christmas clown concerned with rent prices
The position in which you are structurally dependent on surrendering the entirety of your scheme, and all the various information edges embodied in it, each time you want to add someone to your team is a bad position to be in.
Alex burrowed into my cold, bright grave, nestled in tight.
That night she found me on Facebook.
The written word, music, visual arts. These, if done well, are the unconscious sneaking past the curtain. Using language to self-implode Logic. Some real Matrix shit.
In the black screen, I watched M undress me slowly.
I wanted to cry.
We're given breath, also the mystery of life.
If I tell you what’s in the bag, will you let me continue to play dumb?
