2012

She’s self-conscious about her grey hair. I have some ideas about that.

Writing has replaced paying for sex as my compulsive, stolen-moments fix. Shame is my disease; exposure, my antidote.

Yoga with L, a perfect instructor, and an overactive imagination.

This is the story of my second first paid blowjob. It began with a massage, and she wanted my cock in her mouth…

L and I haven’t fucked since January, and I miss everything — the strip clubs, the hourly hotels, the parking lots, the bathroom stalls, and the crazy banter in between.

My first paid blowjob involved a bait-and-switch, a dark room, and a technique that should be patented.

An afternoon at the movies with a stranger I’ve never met but who follows my instructions perfectly.

A woman, in fragments, from far away.

Two pictures of her mouth, and everything I want to do with it.

The elaborate fictions I constructed to make sense of behavior that made no sense — brave explorer and pathetic loser, coexisting without reconciliation.