N. Likes

A hotel room, a pillowcase, a tie, a belt, and a dress that doesn’t survive the evening.

The counterpoint to wisdom, of course, is folly. Here’s some of mine.

Love is hard when four people are involved and only three of them are fine with it.

P found something I can’t unsee.

From George Costanza to Gary Sinise — and the secret society that opened its doors along the way.

On the right words for what I do in bed. Wanna fool around?

Don’t travel to fuck someone you haven’t met. Obviously.

T and I find ourselves with rare, kid-free hours, and spend them in a tangle of laptops, oral sex, emailed fantasies, and the complicated arithmetic of compersion.

Desire is strange: compliance medicates a deep, dark wound, and photo #126 of her ass is every bit as thrilling as the first.

There’s a tendency to imagine some objective standard of ethical behavior against which we should measure others. I’m not buying it.