Forbidden
Secret affairs, taboo desires, the thrill of the forbidden
31 stories
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The Massage Suite
I told myself I was assessing the range of motion in your glenohumeral joint, but I was actually memorizing the heat of your skin.
I Should Have Ignored Her First Message
The silk of her dress was thinner than I expected, barely a barrier between my calloused palm and the heat of her hip.
Rotten Splendor
Her skin tasted like the salt-air of the Gulf and the expensive, cloying sugar of a violet-scented macaron.
I Probably Should Have Just Stayed in Savasana
I can feel the phantom weight of your hand on my hip while I’m standing at the podium, a ghost-press that ruins my posture.
Why Are You Looking at the Exit?
His thumb pressed into the nerve bundle at the base of my skull, and for a second, the world went white-out.
Do You Still Taste Like the Salt in Marseille?
The yacht hummed beneath our feet like a living thing, a white fiberglass cage that felt smaller with every mile we put between us and the coast.
Stop Humming
The humidity in the Berkshires during August doesn’t just sit on you; it negotiates with your dignity until you’re both translucent.
Sharp Blur
He told me to stop posing like a woman with a mortgage and start breathing like someone who had just committed a crime.
Low Treble
The neck of the Gibson felt like a stranger's hand, cold and unyielding, while she stood by the oak vats and watched him bleed through a ballad.
Rough Silk
Her fingers on the glass were steady, but the way she looked at my mouth was a chord held just a second too long.
Tallow
She was the high priestess of deprivation, and I was a man who lived and died by the grace of butter and bourbon.
![](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"if-you-don't-close-that-door,-i'm-going-to-keep-thinking-you're-a-tourist"-951-cover-1785283262235.jpg)
"If You Don't Close That Door, I'm Going to Keep Thinking You're a Tourist"
The rain didn't just fall; it dismantled the city, turning the limestone facades into something slick and treacherous, much like the look in her eyes when her husband left the room.