Delia Binder

“Spare no details-this shit is better than HBO.”
― alice clayton

“Now, up until this point in my life, I’d shared that old theory that sex was like pizza. Even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good. I now hated pizza.
For several reasons.
This was the worst kind of sex. This was machine-gun style: fast, fast, fast. This was thirty seconds on the tits, sixty seconds on something that was about an inch above where he should have been, and then in. And out. And in. And out. And in. And out.
But at least it was over quick, right? Hell, no. This horribleness went on for months. Well, no. But for almost thirty minutes. Of in. And out. And in. And out. My poor hoohah felt like it had been sandblasted.”
― Alice Clayton, Wallbanger

“One last thump, one last groan—and one last meow. Then all was blessedly silent. Except for Clive. He continued to pine for his lost love until four mother-loving a.m. The cold war was back on…”
― Alice Clayton, Wallbanger

“There was a hickey on the side of my neck the size of a quarter. I looked like I had argued with a Hoover and the Hoover won. Jesus.”
― Alice Clayton, The Unidentified Redhead