2013

The question of whether sex addiction is real is less interesting than what we’re really asking when we ask it.

There’s no woman who doesn’t look hot in a tiny black dress.

Sweet, innocent, and desperately pleading — all at once.

Three women I want, none of whom I’ll have.

I’m a human thermometer, but only below 60 degrees.

A woman on the subway, in a red dress, squeezing her thighs together.

All black, except her hair. And a run behind the left knee.

The women in my life come and go, and my mood rises and falls with them.

I always want more. That’s just how I roll.

I’ve never been one for the pick-up — but I’m learning that sitting at a bar and telling a stranger you’re a sex blogger makes for surprisingly easy conversation.