“It’s really hard to be turned on by a man who shows up for a date in corduroy pants and big white walking shoes that look as though he’s shoved his feet inside of two giant pillows.”

“I feel his hardness between us and when I look down, sure enough, there it is. It’s big and yummy and pressed inside his pants like an encased sausage threatening to break free.”

“Patrick opens his arms about three feet wide and, with one finger pointing up on each hand, tries to show the scope of this thing. I notice that he doesn’t look at his hands as he does this, but at the wall behind me. It suddenly occurs to me that when people describe size this way, they’re relying on perspective to help them. He’s not saying ‘It’s this big.’ He’s saying ‘It would look this big from here if it was over there.”

“I’m almost used to you showing up without shoes, but where the hell are your pants?”

“He’s tall, taller than Kyol, but not as thickly muscled, and his silver eyes, while intense, have a lighter, livelier hue to them. He’s wearing a poorly made, dark jaedric cuirass over a once-white tunic, loose gray pants, and scuffed black boots. His golden-blond hair looks like it’s been chopped off with a knife or, perhaps, the sword in his hand. Despite his haphazard appearance, he’s confident, he’s alert, and he’s completely focused on me, his prey.”

“I had no shoes and I pitied myself. Then I met a man who had no feet,so I took his shoes.”