N. Likes

An hour in a dark closet with a dozen beautiful women. Not sexual — except entirely.

She was so beautiful I ignored every signal telling me to walk away. This was, predictably, an error.

The virtuous circle of attention and desire.

Some further thoughts, courtesy of friends and the press.

I caved to the whiners and changed my colors. Tell me what you think.

Green eyes with flecks of orange, and what happens when you look away.

I don’t think people deserve to be killed for what they say. But I think people have a responsibility when they open their mouths, or pick up their pens.

In which I am schooled by two very sexy baristas.

Two scenes from 1986 that shaped my sexuality — and that I didn’t really let myself understand for another twenty-five years.

The happy circle of attention and compliance, and the women who break it.