2012

She wants to see me again because of a kiss we shared. Only problem: we’ve never met.

Two hundred messages, one reply, and she probably wasn’t even a she.

A farewell to a great restaurant, and the story of a memorable visit to its men’s room.

A wig, nude stockings, a very pregnant belly, and a husband who really, really wanted me to fuck his wife.

The game of attracting readers is fun, but the real point is simpler: writing reminds me I’m alive.

You never know who you’ll find at a swing party on a stormy Thursday night.

Some things, even on this blog, are private.

An “exercise pad” at the hourly hotel. We didn’t notice it until we were on our way out.

Jealousy, envy, and the fear of being superfluous.

A 99% match, two thousand miles away, and a hundred-mile drive that better end in more than a meeting.