Mischief Maker. Tale Chaser. Sex-Positive Feminist.
Working title of memoir is Flushed: Stories About Sex, Shit and Other Bodily Misfortunes. Can send you a sample chapter or two if you’d like.
You know that moment when you spit on your fingers, in haste, with the intention of transferring it to your vagina, in one fluid motion. But you miss by a centimeter or two, just a liiittle off, and it globs on you shirt, instead. Or you don’t miss your projected target, at all, nonetheless drool dribbles down your vector of a chin. Tethering your face to vagina by way of slimey string, threatening the integrity of your intermediate clothing. Done, you shrug it off, rub it in, get on your merry way, go about your business. With a spit-stained secret, planted prominently: a masturbator’s badge. That moment, that attitude, encapsulates the entirety of my blog: a series of sexual bloopers brushed off, made mundane.