I booty-called the beautiful boy the evening of the earthquake. He’s in the middle of a crazy-busy week but took time out to meet me for a drink and fuck.

When they announced the impending hurricane, I emailed him “who am I supposed to have hurricane sex with if you’re out of town?” (which he was scheduled to be). His reply: maybe JFK would be flooded.

I do really like this one (even if he did make it out of town, forcing me to spend the storm itself alone w/friends and contemplate picking up the bartender the day after).

or, how to hide or explain to your young lover that you’re having a hot flash. filed under ‘things I’d never write about under my own name” and submitted for publication in “Cougar Monthly.”