Dear Wigleaf,

I get why you fucked my best friend: she's rather attractive with her boarded body and promise of superficial lacerations. I get why you fucked my boyfriend: I have, after all, stopped fucking him. Did you also find him a disappointment? His cock, above average, but he's no good on top. He's rocky, his movement unpredictable. I get why you fucked my mother. Freud and all.

But Wigleaf, I wonder: what's wrong with me? I don't wear a chastity belt, and you have no standards. 

But Wigleaf, know this: I'm not making you an offer. 

But Wigleaf, when you arrive at my apartment door later tonight tomorrow and the next day, candied with want, I won't be home. I will never be home again.



- - -

Read LH's pair, "Two Love Stories."

w i g · l e a F               12-05-09                                [home]