N. Likes

Thinking someone could just explain away my compulsive sexual behavior was the first of many things I got wrong. The list of things I got wrong is long.

A catalog of springtime distractions, from the waist down.

A partial inventory of spring’s visual pleasures.

A catalog of what catches my eye, neck up.

The thoughts I’m having right now are *not* suitable for polite company.

I have a couple of superpowers. One, apparently, is empathy.

Ten more instructions for you.

A haiku for the sleeping woman next to me.

A detailed account of precisely how I’d like you to suck my cock.

An open letter to Hyacinth, on the surprising difficulty—and arousal—of trying to write someone wet from 1,500 miles away.