April 2012

I didn’t choose my type, and I can’t will it away — but I wish I could.

This entire blog is nothing but my mortification — and yet, asked for one embarrassing story, I’ve got nothing.

Yes, I’ll fuck you. But not before you’ve earned it.

I want to watch.

The perils of being a slut who writes about it: everyone feels special to me, but the blog makes everyone look the same.

As the plane descends into L.A., I catalog everything I know about her — and everything I don’t yet.