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"I wonder what it's like." See, that is me: my joy and my curse, I guess. I see a fantasy like this lady barely in her yellow dress, and I see her nipples half-a-heartbeat from showing, and my hot desire is SPLIT between wanting to BE her—"I wonder what it would be LIKE, walking a cunt-hair from the watching world"—equally with wanting to caress her, drive her, fuck her, live with her. I see my own unusual-ness, my own loneliness, yet totally loving my life all at the same time. . . .
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