Silhouette in nude.

You love women, their architecture, design. You’ve loved them since the first moment you masturbated to thoughts of one, trying to recall every part of one. Your favorite, the mature kind. I remember you told me about the wife across the road, down the way, before you went off to war too soon. She’d let you watch her through a glass pane window, so you could learn where to touch, and then maybe practice some more later on.

You developed too quickly into loving women in the most perverse, most beautiful ways, most intimate and dark ways. You don’t just notice the curves, you notice the line dividing the line that intersects and shapes the curve. Fantasizing yourself in between those curves, you allowing those lines and divide to pull you in. You enjoyed teaching yourself exactly where each line leads next, so you know where to go next, all while those lines intersect, holding you in.

Excerpt from short scenes.