In sophomore year of college, Leo had a girlfriend, the relationship short but intense. So short that they’d gotten together and went their separate ways in between two therapist’s appointments — so about three weeks, at that point. Intense enough that for the first time since his parents broke the news about their separation, it wasn’t the first thing he thought about when he opened his eyes in the morning; instead it was how much he’d like to lick her into orgasm again. read more

Daniel could feel his desire mounting. The hairs on his body were slowly stiffening, and worse, between his legs something else was beginning to uncurl. The image of a periscope breasting the waves came to mind. Desperately, he conjured up algebraic equations, Archimedes’ Principle, Boyle’s Law, but it was no good. His situation would soon become apparent to the whole class. “Cramp!” he proclaimed, jack-knifing to hide his privates, and quickly throwing on his robe before heading for the cubicle. read more

Around February of 2001 I was housed on the infamous 2000 floor of the men’s L.A. County Jail. read more

Agramonte was her playground when she was a child. Hand-in-hand with her mother, wearing her Sunday best right after church, Ines would arrive. Her mother would wash three gravestones while she used the time to stroke cats that she had named, treated them as she would any friend, talked to them as equals. read more

I shall call her Janet because I have forgotten her name, if I ever knew it, and because the name has acquired over the years an erotic charge. It suggests suburban tidiness, make-up and artificial manners, designed as a surface to disguise lively desire living beneath. read more

It was like belonging to a sect. There were rules, there was doctrine, there were obligations. There were more things not to be done than to be done. Sin hung over us like English weather. It burrowed into us like a slow death. We were mauled inwardly and outwardly. We didn't have a chance. read more

The smell of wedding fever is a heady melange of sweat and a cocktail of perfumes gone stale. This church is an ancient place which has become the final rest of figures notable in their day, names now forgotten by most, their engraved tablets dulled with age. read more

'Parking' was their thing. Parking meant driving to private or not so private places for sexual activity. It was a common practice in the USA, of necessity as sex was almost forbidden to anyone under 21 and unmarried. Cars parked adjacent to one other, sometimes a dozen or more and all attending to their own business, windows steaming up and never a sight of them. There was an ever-present threat of a visit by cops with large torches to disperse loving couples. They had once seen such an intervention and it made them wary. read more

Werner was younger then, 17, and always on the look-out. He had long been a walker, a flâneur, a seeker from an early, an earlier age. Although Weehawken, and Boulevard East where he lived, looked directly across the Hudson River to Manhattan, it was merely the outlands of urban adventure, a tame suburb with neat spacious houses down tree-lined side streets. Its big lure was its entry to the Lincoln Tunnel, under the Hudson, three tubes for traffic, directly into the Port Authority Terminal on 42nd Street, centre of the city. Board in Weehawken, alight on 42nd Street: a change of gear was required. One night, alone and bound for home from an evening with a girl in Manhattan, he missed the last bus through the tunnel. read more

Back at the motel she invited me to her room for a nightcap. She was an attractive woman without being showy. Tall and athletic looking she had a relaxed directness I found appealing and wondered why her husband had dumped her. read more