I haven’t seen the Texan in a month! We haven’t gone this long in ages. He’s champing at the bit. This was supposed to be a two-night...

I've been waiting so long for this. We've been texting, sexting, sharing photos and videos. A retro love story, save for the pulp....

I wasn’t always a city girl, you know. I grew up in a small town amongst rolling hills and unlocked doors. I rode horses and made out...

Meet me at the motel. I got a suite. It’s divvy and ready for a romp. Music is playing and I’m already into the bourbon. All that’s...

When I was a freshman and sophomore in high school I’d go to bars to drink, play pool, and find guys. Bars didn’t card so heavy back then, you know, when life was better and we were treated like human beings. I met a thirty-year-old in a park once and took him to the apartment that my mom and I shared. She was often out of town for work, which gave me free reign. My friend’s parents soon learned that a night at my house often ended up with blue hair (keep in mind that in 1984

I once had a very drunk, one-night stand in Chicago. I had been out drinking with Hattie, around midnight her cousin and his cutie-pie...

I’m not an “in-call” girl. My house is my sanctuary. But after seeing these two men for a long time, I allowed it. The first man was a sweet guy I had met through the adult section on craigslist—one of two that actually turned into something regular and long-term. He was nice. He was married. He was also short, soft-spoken, and sort of goofy. He requested that I wear silky slips and panties. He liked to do this weird thing with our legs when we started. He would lay on the be

Twenty-Minute Man tomorrow morning. Ugh. Who the hell wants anal at 11:30 a.m.? Wait, don’t answer that. Nevermind. Not me, and probably...

My friend Elizabeth decided sort of last minute to drive to LA, she got to my place around 4:30 p.m. I was showered and ready to go, we...

I wore my pink and black mini-skirt with the zippers and my black, high-heeled boots. We went to our favorite local dive, the Powerhouse, which we refer to as “the office”. At one point he was going down on me under the table in one of the booths, which are directly across from the long bar and also which everyone has to walk by. I was dying. Trying to drink and act as if. After five or so minutes, I tapped his back and said we should go to the smoking area out back. We were

Instead, I've perfected dysfunctional relationships with men. In fact, it's how I pay the bills. Insert that whau whau sound, the one...