N. Likes

Socializing at a poly event plays to exactly none of my strengths.

I call myself a slut, but the truth is more complicated — and more Groucho Marx than easy lay.

My trainer wore a miniskirt and boots to our session. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Guilt is narcissistic; shame is empathetic. And apologizing more than once is just enlisting you in my self-medication.

Hot, transgressive erotic fiction, and smart writing about writing about sex.

A raw, first-person account of life in a happy ending massage parlor — the polar opposite of yesterday’s recommendation.

A retired prostitute takes on Nick Kristof, and wins.

How does an otherwise honorable person lie, daily, to the person he loves most?

A different kind of lazy Sunday.

Dear Dan: you’re almost always right, except when you tell people to leave — because they’ll just find the same person again.