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.