Remittance Girl

Remittance Girl is a writer of literary erotica, commonly known as smut.

The Things that Grow in a Vacuum

I have recently had a friendship come apart. It died from neglect and I admit complicity in its demise. I get too focused on things. I don’t water the flowers as much as I should. I tend to assume that, once I have had a meeting of minds with someone and a level of affection…

Mysterious Small

If you were here in the humid, scented dark, I’d tell you what the moths whisper with their wings when they brush stars. If you were here I’d show you where the wet green moss makes love to ragged stones. If you were here I’d carve your breath into rain clouds and watch the sun…

Somata for your pillow, love

I come for you in the bright tear of dawn, the silence of the dead afternoon, the brooding hum of evening, searching for the comfort of your continued existence. My mind launches, sticky-tipped toward the nest I have built for you, somata for your pillow, love, in my fertile neural forest. A tap, a touch,…

De Paseo

Along the dusty boulevard wide hipped girls saunter shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm, in languid lockstep Sunset sweat bejeweling their upper lips and foreheads, glistening glass beads at their temples A slow parade of possible futures for the boys on the benches who watch with smoke-stung eyes while pretending disinterest. Gazelles and lions on…

I Sing to the Body Electric – Persona in Motion

It is 7:30 am. I wake up, make my way downstairs and lean sleepily against the counter as I wait for my coffee. Then, sitting down to my laptop, I open it. Sweetly, accommodatingly, it connects to the web; I open up Twitter and say my good mornings. I am become Remittance Girl. Of course,…

I have no advice to give

Every so often, I get a spate of DMs and emails asking for my opinion or advice on matters sexual. This post is mostly so I don’t have to keep repeating myself. It feels rotten to just turn people away, but I do. I’m just a writer. I just write about people and sex. That…

I Fall

I fall into you tumble down into the impossibility of your blind alleys plummet from a great height into the web of your passages sound out the street names as if calling to a dead lover. I miss you without having ever known you. Pine for the broad arms of your boulevards and the leafy…

The Death of the Editor…

There is someone else in the writer-text-reader relationship that is not spoken of much anymore. And it’s sad, because a good editor (I’m using the old sense of the word here) really can make a good book excellent.  They can, of course, also make a poor book readable. But when an editor works with a…