N. Likes

She refused to name herself. I refused to let her off the hook. I named her Tamora, and she can take it up with me while my cock’s in her mouth.

Tinder’s been generous lately. Let me dole them out one at a time, starting with Stephanie.

Tinder is teaching me that not everyone treats interactions — virtual or otherwise — as real. I do, and it stings when that’s not reciprocated.

A reader asks me to guide her toward sexual self-discovery. I offer something a little different.

Too much eagerness to please me is, paradoxically, a turnoff. I have some theories about why.

Tinder has suspended me again, mid-conversation with a handful of matches, and I hate being the guy who just disappears.

A woman on Tinder appreciates my… specificity.

Pretentious hipster baristas, glass cappuccinos, and the attitude that comes with them.

Isabel promised she wouldn’t be this shy forever, but her shyness was pretty fucking hot while it lasted.

A Ladino love song, a massage parlor in Soho, and the particular eroticism of a woman in green camouflage pants.