Second Hand Love

In the end, we're all the same…we just want to be smothered like babies against another
human's beating heart

Through a cracked door, heartsick Emi hears a playful growl. Cautiously, she lets her lover in—a wolf of a man wielding a bouquet of roses. His shoulders must have been four inches wider than mine. As I stood behind him, I fantasized about the broadness of his chest and the thickness of his neck...and about becoming his mistress once again.

And so their story goes. For a young woman in...