Penny

My first internet crush. Actually, not at all. In graduate school, for a short period before all of the voices became purely electronic, there was a woman who would meet me there and we would diddle each other with words. I sat in front of that old computer with its dialup connection and would write nasty little things in the dialogue box. She reciprocated. We exchanged emails, later, interspersed between meeting each other online, where we would simulate the encounters of bodies, purely imaginary. Then, phone calls.

Yesterday I tried to interest her in me, making myself an object, using words to seduce, I hoped. I posted my email in a message and then she posted it to her comments. Ah, nothing. Then I felt embarrased, such a transparent attempt. Perhaps Marianne is surprised, disappointed. And other commenters rolling their eyes. Then I remembered, I am "Bryce," and what do I have to do with shame?

So now I trumpet my silly crush. Which emerges out of the visual matrix. Words begin, dear reader, and words are vital. But images allow words to grow and blossom, like the excitations of an aroused sex. Like the excitations of my aroused sex, which yearns for the contact of skin and membrane, saliva and lips, soft sensation of teeth surrounding, a tongue stroking. It will suffer my own fingers, if it must. Whereas it desires to trace the contours of Penny's body, the crevice growing between her legs. (Metaphors are so boyish and silly, methinks).

In short, I want to fuck Penny. I just returned home from honeymoon with my wife who I love dearly, and I want to fuck Penny.

Next post: deception and sex.