by Dirty Blonde
The best day of my life was spent holding you at the waist, my chest against your back, as you sped us eastward. Each time we stopped, I took off my helmet and you had to fasten it for me because I’d never been on a motorcycle before. I held on to you for so long and so tightly that your shirt smelled like Hanae Mori and me through the night and into the next morning. That was six years ago. I need you to find this, to find me. I won’t need to pack a bag - just have my helmet waiting and smile at me as you put it on.
6S
Dirty Blonde, author of I Sleep Alone, doesn't need you to know her true identity, but swears that she's a real writer and a real blonde.