Her apartment was small but hers—a studio in a part of town where neighbors minded their business and the landlord never asked questions. On the nightstand: a half-empty glass of red wine, a crumpled pack of American Spirits, and a Moleskine notebook she’d titled Confessions of a Side Piece three months ago. She’d laughed when she wrote it. Now it felt less like a joke and more like a survival guide.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she’d replied. -Vixen- Gina Valentina - Confessions Of A Side ...
“You’re trouble,” he’d said, exhaling smoke like a confession. Her apartment was small but hers—a studio in
But tonight, she let herself feel the sting of being second place—and wrote it down anyway. Now it felt less like a joke and more like a survival guide
His name was Marcus. Married. Two kids. A house with a porch swing and a dog named Otis. Gina had met him at a gallery opening—he’d complimented her boots, she’d made fun of his tie, and by midnight they were sharing a cigarette in the alley behind the venue.
Here’s a short story inspired by the title and mood you suggested—blending confession, desire, and the tension of a hidden life. Confessions of a Side Piece
That was eighteen months ago.