N. Likes

Emily lives far away, but she sent me four pictures in a black dress and boyshorts. Not enough, and not quite what I asked for — but that last shot of her ass made the teasing almost bearable.

That’s what she said.

The fantasy was me and eight or ten women. The reality was two, in black dresses, at opposite ends of a bar. My fallback position was, it turned out, pretty fucking spectacular.

Tinder’s gotten me laid, but their new pricing model is almost as offensive as my swipe-to-match ratio.

Gay magazines in the barber shop, right next to the Playboy. We’ve come a long way from Johns’.

A reader writes something that stops me in my tracks.

PornHub wants to save the planet, and I’m happy to do my part.

A sexy reader asks me about desire and arousal, and I have some thoughts.

A satisfied customer speaks.

Approval is my drug, and I’ve found a way to deal it to myself in public.