Megan's not nice.

I hate nice people, and I hope they hate me. Genuine kindness is even better than perfect tits, but niceness gets you nowhere with me.

If Megan can let you know exactly where she stands, what she wants and what she's afraid of, without implying in any way that she expects or needs you to do anything other than exactly what you, personally, want to do... then that's what she'll do.

I may have seen Megan at her absolute worst. Imagine Pippi Longstocking, age 23: in the course of growing up, she somehow lost her horse, her monkey, and all her gold bouillon. She's no longer a freakishly strong perpubescent girl. She smokes too many cigarettes and drinks too much coffee, and she can't throw arrogant real estate prospectors into trees any more. None of that matters, though, because she's older now, and what she wants out of life is something different. She knows she can have a good time whenever she wants - but can she find meaningful work and love in a world gone cancerous with fear and delusion?

I think she can.

Thanks, Megan, for being Megan, and thanks for sharing as much of your awesome self as I'm ready to receive. I promise you'll see that it's changed my life.

we didn't have long, but what we had made me cry, and made my skin hum with electric energy. it made me feel wise, and helpful, and beautiful, and kind. her body intersected mine after my homage to her form, the whole and sustaining fertile energy of the goddess. she reminded me how to love, and what love is, and of my sexuality, and my power. she left me after but a few days, for new and interesting vistas, but she is still within. i see her in myself and others.

i can't tell you how to see her, or what she'll do to or with you. you will have to find her yourself...in the realworld. the words of an avid lover.