I was flipping through an old diary of mine from high school and found this entry, a poem I wrote when I was 16-years-old. It is dated October 13th, 1998. I would still be a virgin for another 4 years.

I’ve never stared into my
    lover’s eyes
But his words caress my
    body – he plays me skillfully
    in deft hands
Standing under the hot

    water the idea of him
    sucks my nipples and
    strums my clit
I overflow
His sensuality pounds into

    me, the pure eroticism of
    him
I ache and spread my legs,

    arching my back
I cannot bridge the gap
Exhausted and so hungry
    I part for his touch
Only he can fulfill me
Then his last erotic words
    flash through my head
With my hands still behind
    my back I writhe beneath
    what is truly an “intellectual
    orgasm”

Nerve published a really bad story today. It isn’t bad in the grand scheme of things, but as erotica I’m not feeling it. Priapism by Robert Lopez is infuriatingly stylized, really to the point of sillyness. If you ever wanted to know what existentialist erotica (with a hint of pure absurdism) would look like, this is it:

The man has an erection and the woman is locked in the bathroom. The children are downstairs playing with toys. The dog is in the yard. The back door has been left open and the light in the hallway is on and so is the television in the living room. There is a roast in the oven. The kitchen table is set.
The man loses his erection. The woman emerges from the bathroom. She is clothed.
It’s gone away.
I was in the bathroom.
What were you doing in there?
I was doing what I do in there.
That again.
What’s gone away?

But, Nerve redeemed themselves with a link to this clever quiz, Sex or Something Else. I did terribly, perhaps you will fare better.