August 2013

The blog’s been heavy on navel-gazing and light on fucking lately. There are reasons. I’m working on it.

The anatomy of craving a cigarette — mental, bodily, and the tricks my brain plays to get me to succumb.

A woman on the subway, covered from chin to ankle, and the Aerie bag in her lap.

Apparently, I can’t resist a half-pack of cigarettes left lying around.

Envy, for me, is less a sin than a barometer.

I’m drawn to strong women who grant me submission, not to women whose submission I can take from them.

I like to watch you touch yourself.

Sometimes the answer is simpler than you’d think.

Most of us have secrets — some shameful, some embarrassing, some kept just for the pleasure of keeping them.

The many meanings of “please.”