So was talking excitedly to someone about the fast-upcoming Queerotica, and who was reading what, and how much I was looking forward to hearing everybody and she said “What are you reading?”
Um. I’d forgotten to consider that. What am I reading?
Maybe I’ll write an epic poem (in iambic pentameter) comparing women’s genitalia with… hmm… orchids, blooming under the full moon, swayed by gentle breezes. About 457 verses should cover it. Oh, and butterflies. Gotta have butterflies.
But seriously. What am I reading? (scritching head)
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