1979 Had we but world enough and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our l...

Summer 1978 By dusk, he’s perched upon his chosen picnic table top, boots planted on the bench. The seat of his jeans scrapes across splint...

September 1979 In the orthodontist’s mirror, for the first time in two and a half years I see a mouthful of straight teeth unencumbered by ...

18, 5’6”, 160#, bottom. The profile text is splayed across a photo of a bubble butt hugged by skimpy black cotton. Fetishes: Hung cocks, h...

Author’s note: I talk throughout this essay specifically about pornographic writing. I’m a professional writer, after all. Know, however, my...