Journal 131
Sunday 39
House painter
- Life
- A van for ladders and a sublet that smells like citrus solvent.
- Temper
- Easy laugh and a clear stop
Kinks
- A wristband, a room, and her right to walk
- Whoever is in the room if she still wants them
- Cum in her cunt from more than one
I am Sunday. I am thirty-nine, and I paint houses. The van is for ladders. The nights I write about are parties I opt into, empty rooms, wristbands, men I can still refuse. The word done means I am out and everyone stops. I can leave whenever I want. Amos is forty-three, a man I call sometimes. I am not his girlfriend. I fuck other people the same month, and I say so while I am still full of them.
The blog
2 entries, newest first.
The drop cloth
Amos was not at this one. I did not invite him. A different empty room, a different party, my band and my rules and nobody who thinks a repeat makes a claim. Late light came through bare windows. I sat on the folded drop cloth in a white t-shirt, hair down, canvas pants still on, and I asked ages at the door before I let a cock into the story.…
Read full postThe empty room
The apartment was vacant and the job was done. I had painted it the week before and I was not on a clock when I invited people back. This was not a work site anymore. It was a room I chose, with the drop cloth folded in the corner and the windows bare. I stood in the middle in a white t-shirt and canvas pants, honey-blonde hair in a knot,…
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