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My surprising strategy to fend off fears of death – mine or others – is to feel my cock grow hard.

It’s a mistake to see what I write about here as necessarily a reflection of my mental state, or even what I’m thinking about. Often, it’s simply evidence of my coping strategies.

It’s just what I do.

Sometimes the instructions I give result in unmitigated hotness. Ella came for me twice — once on a plane, once upon arrival — and wrote about it so well I don’t care if every word is true.

I’ve been watching women on stairs — not looking up their skirts, but watching them protect against the possibility — and it’s sent me down a rabbit hole about privacy, violation, and some truly bizarre legal priorities.

Why do I procrastinate? Because I’m scared.

Strip clubs could be so much better. Don’t you think?

A pseudoscientific taxonomy of ponytails and what they tell me about your sexual proclivities.

I’m a lucky guy. For the most part, I have what I want, and I want what I have.

What I imagine I can learn about a woman from watching her turn a page.