Books

"I can make two or three hundred bucks a day hanging out with these dudes, or $7.50 an hour."

"I sell many things but my orgasm cannot be bought. . . Everybody needs to have something that matters to them. This lets me be private but not alone. Powerful and not challenged. Full and away, drawn inside myself and then released, with the sensation then gone."

"Sometimes I wonder what it is I could tell you about her for my job here to be done. I am looking for a short­cut—something I could say that would effortlessly un­tangle the ball of yarn I am trying to untangle here on these pages. But that would be asking too much from you. It wasn’t you who loved her, or thought you loved her."

“Isabelle pulled me backwards, she laid me down across the eiderdown, lifted me, held me in her arms: she was releasing me from a world I had never lived in to launch me into one I could not yet inhabit. With her lips she parted mine, moistened my clenched teeth. The fleshiness of her tongue frightened me: the foreign sex did not enter. I waited, withdrawn, contemplative. The lips wandered over my lips: a dusting of petals. My heart was beating too loudly and I wanted to listen to this seal of sweetness, this soft new tracing. Isabelle is kissing me, I tell myself.”

Art supercedes what's personal. It's a philosophy that serves patriarchy well and I followed it more or less for 20 years.

That is: until I met you.