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The burger place never happened. By the time I left the salon, my nails were fresh and my toes were perfect. His favorite color. Of course. Wounded Boy has always had a particular weakness for my feet, and I knew exactly where his mind would go when he saw them. I didn’t need to tell…
The morning I stopped asking questions, the Wounded Boy started answering ones I hadn’t asked. This was particularly funny because the day before, he’d apparently fed some of my text messages into ChatGPT for analysis. The machine diagnosed me as fearful avoidant and highly sexual. I shrugged. Maybe. I don’t talk to virtually anyone in…
Monday morning, at 6:05, my lover broke up with me. By Tuesday evening he was standing at my door with flowers. So that went well. In fairness, it was a very mature breakup. Thoughtful. Self aware. He had decided that he caused me stress. That he’d affected my family. That things had been said that…
She used to tell me to know my place. That always confused me. Not because I didn’t know it. Because I did. I was the lover. Hard R. I had never asked him to be my man. I had never waited for him to choose me. I never wanted her title, her house, her marriage,…
Your husband told me he didn’t want to be needed. I remember that because I thought it was one of the more honest things he ever said. He didn’t want another person depending on him for their happiness. He didn’t want to feel responsible for holding someone else’s life together. He wanted to be wanted.…
Let me try to draw it for you. I tried to draw it for myself once. Not literally. Although, looking back, paper might have helped. Your husband told me you were basically family before you became his wife. That sentence seemed simple enough. It wasn’t. The more he explained, the more branches appeared. Then the…
I knew you long before I knew you. Or rather, I knew the version of you your husband gave me. There is a difference. I didn’t understand how important that difference was then. In the beginning, I simply listened. Your husband talked. A lot. About himself. About his childhood. His family. His friends. His mistakes.…
I didn’t meet your husband in a park. That’s simply where we met in person. I met him in a chat room. And before I knew his voice, his eyes, his marriage, or much of anything else about him, I knew what his dick looked like. Not because he had sent it privately to me.…
I have thought very little about you. That seems like a strange place to begin a story addressed to you, but it is the most honest one. You existed at the edges of mine. A name in a conversation. A voice from another room. A story he told me. Occasionally, a girl standing directly in…
Violeta Noir 