Inventory

an erotic account of misplaced things.

There are parts of me I can’t give back.
I tried.
I handed them off like free samples.
Nobody could hold them right.

So I started a list.

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Entry #1: Mouth
He opened it with two fingers like prying a lock.
Shoved his cock in without warning.
Said, “Swallow, don’t think.”
When I drooled, he wiped it with my own hair.

I gave it to a man who wanted morning kisses and whispered confessions.
He asked me to hum while I sucked him.
I faked a gag. He thought it was real.
He came in less than a minute.

That night I bit down on my own tongue.
Hard enough to bruise.
Just to feel him again.

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Entry #2: Wrists
He bound them behind my back and bent me over the table.
Said I looked like a statue of regret.
Left me there shaking.
Told me not to come unless I earned it.

Another man held my hands gently during sex.
Said it made him feel closer.
I stared at the ceiling and counted the seconds until it was over.

Now I sleep with my wrists tucked under my body.
I like the ache in the morning.
It reminds me I was his.

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Entry #3: Cunt
He slapped it when I talked too much.
Called it his little socket.
Sometimes he’d just shove his fingers in without looking at me, like testing an outlet.

I tried to fuck a poet after that.
He asked if I’d ever been in love.
I said, “Not with someone who used lube.”

Now I keep her clean, shaved, untouched.
Like a shrine no one visits.
Some nights, I talk to her.
We both lie.

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Entry #4: Spine
He bent it until I broke form.
Said I was prettier when I couldn’t hold myself up.
Made me crawl to him across the hardwood, knees bruising with every inch.

A stranger tried the same posture.
Said “arch for me.”
His voice cracked.
I stayed flat.

Now I sit too straight in public.
People think it’s confidence.
It’s not.
It’s scar tissue.

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Entry #5: Eyes
He told me never to look at him unless I meant it.
When I did, he stopped breathing.
I learned to weaponize it—my stare as a noose.

I tried it with someone new.
Stared him down while I took him in my mouth.
He blinked first.
He called me intense.
He left.

I only look at mirrors now.
They don’t flinch.

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Entry #6: Throat
He liked the way it swallowed.
And the way it begged.
He said it was the prettiest part of me.
He left thumbprints there for days.

Someone else tried to choke me soft.
Kept asking if it was too much.
I said yes.
It wasn’t.
It was nothing.

I keep a velvet ribbon tied around it now.
People think it’s fashion.
It’s a tourniquet.

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Entry #7: Voice
I never gave it to him.
He took it anyway.
Piece by piece until I stopped recognizing it.

Someone new asked me to read aloud.
Said my voice made him feel something.
I wanted to tell him:
It’s not mine.
It’s borrowed.
It’s haunted.

But I said yes.
Almost.
I said almost.

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Inventory is an ongoing erotic series that catalogs misplaced desire, power, and intimacy. The latest entry, Inventory: an erotic account of misread signals, can be read here.

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• The Girl Who Knew Too Much — She saw everything. He let her.