May 2013

I like looking at people, and Penn Station gives me a way to do it blatantly, unapologetically.

Your mouth has one purpose. It’s not speaking.

A pretty woman on the stairs, a tingle in my cock, and the long road from wanting more to wanting enough.

Neighborhood swinging, birthday party gossip, and the rules of the club — explained over grilled chicken, with a two-year-old on someone’s knee.

A woman on the street stops me in my tracks.

Orgasms are emotional points of inflection in time. What happens to you right after you cum?

In my moments of greatest pain, what I want isn’t sex — it’s sex I’m paying for. What the fuck is that about?

A retraction, a clarification, and an invitation.

Three women, one room, and work I’m not getting done.

Everything you have is mine. Shall we?