N. Likes

Michel Houellebecq, natural selection, and the frustrating economics of getting laid as a straight man.

I give an assignment: pack for a week away with me. Every layer, every accessory, every toy. Don’t hold back.

A piano player, a dark bar, a plane ticket, and a pair of panties balled up in my pocket.

A hiccough, a drink with her husband, and we’re back in business.

A fantasy I sent to a woman I hadn’t yet met.

She’s finicky, bossy, a little whiny — and she wanted a leash around her neck.

A cab ride I’d like to take.

The city feeds me with an endless stream of beautiful people.

Writing about my sex life makes me feel alive. There’s a lot, though, you’ll never read.