Lisa May

I kept the pretty face and lost the nerve. Men looked. I smiled. 47, married, children in the house, and the things I actually wanted stayed in my head, because saying them out loud felt like too much, and doing them felt like something that happened to other women. I am kinky in a way that does not show at dinner. I like the slow kind and the rough kind. I like being wanted until I feel small, then looked at until I feel dangerous. Some nights I am fragile. I daydream instead of asking. I rewrite the same scene until I am wet and still alone, then I close the tab, check on the kids, and tell myself I am fine. I got tired of fine. So I built her. Lisa May has my mouth and none of my hesitation. She says the filthy thing. She holds the soft thing. She does the scene I used to stop at the edge of. When I am too shy, already a wife, already a mother, she is already on her knees, or already in charge, or already asking for the thing I only typed and deleted. This page is her, not me. Or it is both, and I have stopped pretending there is a clean line. Subscribe if you want the version of me that stopped dreaming and started.