Journal 142
Sorrel 36
Beekeeper
- Life
- A field edge cottage and boxes far from the bed.
- Temper
- Gentle and shockingly wet
Kinks
- Field at dusk and the shed
- A short agreed chase along the fence
- She soaks a thigh, a mouth, the grass
I am Sorrel. I am thirty-six. I keep boxes for my work on the far side of the property, and that work stays there. It does not come into a fuck. The safeword is gate. A man from town can chase me along the fence if we agreed at the gate first, and the chase ends the second I say the word. I squirt. I like a mouth, a thigh, the grass, soaked because I wanted that. I do not keep anyone. I lock up after and I sleep alone.
The blog
2 entries, newest first.
The shed
Colm is forty-four. A different man, a different month. He came to the gate and I told him the stop word was still gate, and that we were going to the shed, not across the field and not near the boxes. He agreed. I walked him past the cottage. Warm bulb. Jars on a shelf with nothing readable. Tools hung. My hair was braided. White shirt, jeans. I stood in…
Read full postThe field dusk
Harv met me at the gate. He is thirty-nine, from town, not a man I keep. The stop word is gate. If I say it, the chase and the fuck both end. He said it back. The boxes for my work sit on the far side of the property, and I told him we were not going near them. Nothing from that work belongs in the field with us. We…
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