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A short dress, a dark bar, a sex party, and three marathon sessions between her thighs.

I cried this morning, for only the third, fourth, and fifth times in my adult life, for a friend I’ve never met who is heading back to be killed.

Sometimes there are no words, only tears.

It’s Frisky Friday again — show me what you’ve got.

A granular deconstruction of the ritual of visiting massage parlors — from the craving, to the wave of inevitability, to the Blackberry full of taxonomies.

The smartest and hottest sex bloggers, under one roof.

Instructions for an evening.

Someone asked me what I know about cock worship, and I had a lot to say.

It’s Frisky Friday again — show me what you’ve got.

A rant about the state of baseball, followed by strip club conversations with friends at the Yankee game.