Writing has been my own way of coming to terms with (see: understanding, reconciling) this very strange and understudied phenomenon. This is one of the reasons that I hate bad fiction: it leaves everyone hollow and empty. I want my stories to be therapeutic for you, as well as for me.
It is a cliched, but true nonetheless: nobody understands us. All we really have is each other, and those other delightful souls whose perversions border, or even overlap our own. All I have ever wanted to do is reach out, to connect... and get you off: furiously and repeatedly.
How am I doing so far? Enjoy this sixth part, and let me know what you think.