I used to feel out of step, worried, told lies, felt hard done by.

I used writing to make sense of my sexual repression, and human attachments gone wrong.

I used to believe that had I genuinely conformed to a straight role, I would never have needed to write.

Of course it is not necessary to overburden an audience with gratuitous information about bisexuality
cock size
conquests
oral sex
passionate wet pussies
the enchanting depravity of anal sex.

And fetishes for erotica, spankings and wifesharing.

Instead, it’s best to simply acknowledge how the hinges of the heart are broken in pursuit of my emotional rescue.

All the words for love played through chords of desire, obsession, harmony and humor, grace and affection – counterbalanced by apathy, disappointment, indignation and inelegance, and finally: fear and loathing. The contempt rains down.

And the cycle begins again. I offer myself with optimism, always striving for validation through sex.

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