A beautiful thing happens when we leave men to cry without judgment.
I think I asked myself that question more than thirty times that night; the second must have been when Papilo stared rubbing my legs.
I remember when I was a child being fascinated by the leaves. They were always changing: […]
Chest hair that would make a woman think dirty thoughts. And he knew it.
"This time when he thrusts inside me, he doesn't stop. He thrusts so hard and fast, making me feel like insides are going to spill out soon. The pain is beautifully sweet..."
"While some paint on their arms, drawing with markers, I draw with a blade. Some marks cover the surface, some go deep. Every time I do, I get closer to my time."