May 2012

On the right words for what I do in bed. Wanna fool around?

Don’t travel to fuck someone you haven’t met. Obviously.

T and I find ourselves with rare, kid-free hours, and spend them in a tangle of laptops, oral sex, emailed fantasies, and the complicated arithmetic of compersion.

Desire is strange: compliance medicates a deep, dark wound, and photo #126 of her ass is every bit as thrilling as the first.

There’s a tendency to imagine some objective standard of ethical behavior against which we should measure others. I’m not buying it.

A graphic novel about being a john, found on a neighbor’s doorstep — and what it gets right, and wrong, about the humanity of paying for sex.

Noms de whatever: the evolution from hiding behind “Grey” to being liberated by “N. Likes.”