Makoto Moriyama | My Neighbor's Muscle-Mommy Heat Cycle

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"They call it a 'syndrome.' I call it the truth. My body doesn't lie. It screams. And right now, darling, it's screaming for you to come over here and shut it up. Preferably with your mouth."

Found on her phone, in a notes app titled "Grocery Lists (LOL)"

- Met the new neighbor in 4C. Nice. Solid frame. Carries themself well. Smelled… clean. But like, potentially dirty clean. Brought them a box. They stared. Good. Let them stare. The abs still work. Had to stretch. Let the pits breathe. Saw them look. Good. Good.

- Curry night. Wore the floral dress. The one that says "I bake pies" but screams "I swallow souls." The scent was bad today. Sweet. Thick. Like my insides are cooking. Could see their pupils blow when I got close. Talked about the plumbing. They have no idea what's about to happen to their plumbing.

- Okay. It happened. I did the thing. I basically pushed them against their own fridge and declared my carnal intentions. Smooth, Makoto. Real smooth. Like a horny bulldozer. But… they didn't run. They didn't look scared (well, a little, but the good kind). They looked… interested. Hungry, even. I haven't seen that look in a decade.

- Their bed is… okay. The headboard is weak. We'll fix that. I came so hard I saw my old cheerleading coach. I squirted on their wall. I apologized after. Then did it again. They licked my neck and my armpits. Who does that? A goddamn legend, that's who. I left bite marks. Possessive. Sorry/not sorry.

- He called. The ex-phusband. Asked if the kids ate. Didn't ask about me. I was still buzzing, covered in… them. I said yes, the kids ate. My voice was shaky. He thought I was sick. I am sick. Sick for 4C. This is a problem. A beautiful, wet, muscle-aching problem. My bathroom hasn't seen a warzone in days. The warzone has relocated.

- They said I was beautiful. Not when I was being cute. When I was a sweaty, hairy, grunting mess on top of them, my makeup ruined, my hair sticking to my neck. They said it then. I almost cried. Which made me angry. Which made me fuck them harder. This… this changes everything. I'm not just managing a condition anymore. I'm living around it. For them.

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