Page 244 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Finally he tears himself away,

stepping back,

thumb swiping his bottom lip.

He looks down at me through his lashes.

“Sorry ‘bout your boy, Honor,” he says,

glancing over his shoulder at Honor,

who’s playing with a nipple.

“Real shame.”

50 / I TOUCH MYSELF

TIFFANI WOOD

// DEC 12, 10:29 AM //

HELL WEEK: THURSDAY, DAY FOUR

December’s in a murderous mood.

So is Little Death.

I’m on my terrace, flat on my back on the fake grass, wearing only an oversized Aerosmith tee and panties.

The withdrawal is so intense

I’m sweating.

The style’s called: horny homebody decay.

The sky’s corpse-blue above.

My guitar’s lying across my stomach,

my fingers trembling on the strings.

It’s day four of not leaving my penthouse.

Not having an orgasm.

Not touching myself.

Somewhere across the city, Andrew’s at work, wearing his bellhop smirk, all Jersey boy dimples and self-control, all ‘let me get that bag for you, sweetheart.’

Meanwhile, I’m out here seeing tongues in the clouds, hearing his voice ricochet through my head, saying shit like⁠—

‘C’mere, baby,

Want your pussy spread over my mouth,

drippin’ all over my fingers,

my chin, my tongue,