Memory is a funny thing. Its discretion defies reason. I laugh when one claims to have forgotten last night’s dinner while serenading me with a spot-on version of Paradise by the Dashboard Light from ’77. I can appreciate those people. I am those people. Certain memories don't have lasting power. Others, however, have the strength to last decades. Sometimes their relevance is obvious. Sometimes we’re left guessing. A sele...

“Play with yourself, Ray.” I whisper the words in your ear, softening my crude request. Blood rushes between my legs. I swell against you. “I want to lick the taste of you off your fingers.” Your giggle fades to a purr. The sound of it makes me harder. I reach over your waist and grab your wrist. I raise it to my mouth and kiss your palm. I slip your finger between my lips, wrap my tongue around it and lick it. I suck one...