2012

I never thought of myself as an exhibitionist. Turns out, Google Analytics is my crack.

A field guide to the various twelve-step fellowships for sex addiction — their bottom lines, their rigidities, and their surprising nuances.

A guided tour of New York’s grungiest, most democratic sex club — limestone façade, crudités, and all.

Standing on a street corner, waiting for a woman who would never come, I finally saw just how far I’d fallen.

L concedes our contest, but not without first turning my Twitter feed into porn set in an Applebee’s.

I catfished Craigslist to win a bet with L. It worked, sort of.

I don’t believe you can be addicted to sex. But I had a relationship to it that sure looked a lot like addiction.

She asked me to humiliate her, to hurt her. I did my best, against a window, high above a construction site.

L is losing our contest, and the terms need adjusting — but either way, she should be punished.

Once in a while, my catholic tastes bring me into contact with women who remind me of a me I’d rather forget.