Confession (You ask what I want. I cannot tell you: Catholic upbringing, New England prudery, a habit of silence combine to smother the words. So write it, you say.) I want everything, you see. Men and women indoors and out top and bottom and sideways to come screaming in a deserted forest so that the only creatures startled are the deer. More than a little bit of an exhibitionist. Eyes watching caressing stripping away the layers the flimsy chiffon covering of propriety leaving me gloriously naked to a stranger's fevered gaze. I tease them shamelessly walking down the street in cut-off jeans and minimal tank, hair swinging. I make them wonder as they read my words stare at the screen touch themselves (wonder if this is me; wonder if it is only a poem). Riding the power trip to its heights (and I will taste the satanic depths) tied down so all I can do is strain against the black silk blindfolded, so I don't know whether you will lick a nipple next spank me until I'm sore and screaming begging for more. I am not quite as brave as I would wish, but if I could I would risk getting caught on the quads at night. I would have two men at once, maybe three. I would be fucked until I pass out. I would have sex with someone without knowing whom it is. I would do all the shameful things a good Catholic girl should never, ever think of. And I would tell you about it.