1. She binds me gently. “Almost classic C.F.M. pose.” Face pressed to the pillow. Thighs, belly, and cock flat on the soft bed. My knees bent—feet in the air. Legs spread wide. I grip my own ankles and curve like a triangle while she ties the spiderweb ropes in tiny, beautiful knots to my wrists. Isn’t her voice too deep to be a woman’s? Or does it just seem that way because I want her to be a man? “Jude, what’s classic...

It’s not even true winter yet, and my studio apartment is hopelessly chilly as if the street lamp outside the paper-thin window is the source of all the world’s cold. Researching my graduate thesis in Magical Realism, reading the lush descriptions of my Colombia is painful. Longing squeezes my heart like a tourniquet. So, I spend the chilly evening with a cup of decaf tea, a thick blanket, and a pile of student essays. A...