New Brunette

“What I don’t understand, or rather, I do understand all too well, and don’t like, is why in these situations it is almost always the girl branded as the criminal for the “confessional” and asked to feel bad, to feel guilt or shame for writing the truths of their experiences, are sometimes even diagnosed as being borderline, inappropriate, toxic, messy, etc., while men have written of their affairs and sexual relationships always and their ethics are rarely questioned. This to me is a form of discipline and punishment that we internalize, which is why so many women writers self-censor. You know what it’s called when male writers write of their sexual exploits? LITERATURE.”

— I’m very grateful for this essay by Kate Zambreno

“It could be that I’m so good I even trick myself. I thought of how other girls I know sometimes say they can’t stand to think of any part of the man’s genitals touching their own, and they try to keep his strokes shallow so he doesn’t press in past the rim of the condom. That never even occurs to me. I always go for depth.”

— Shabby Love

“He felt me with his fingers and laid me down on his bed. I clung to him. ‘I don’t want to come,’ he said. ‘Don’t,’ I said, clinging like a barnacle, like a monkey without its mother. I didn’t want either of us to come. I wanted it to last and last. He repositioned me with pillows underneath. He pressed my face flat to the side with his palm full on my cheek. He wrapped his arms completely around me while I lay on my stomach, saying things I didn’t hear into my hair. It was so good. Luminous. Inexplicable. One thick gold smear. His stomach was firm with give, full but lean. I noticed his body when he got up to adjust the floor heater. Unintentional. Just right.”

— Incomplete