Musing

You don’t think I’m a “Dom”? I don’t give a fuck. Because chances are, you don’t make my dick hard, and I don’t make your pussy wet. So what’s the point?

Tinder’s gotten me laid, but their new pricing model is almost as offensive as my swipe-to-match ratio.

A sexy reader asks me about desire and arousal, and I have some thoughts.

Approval is my drug, and I’ve found a way to deal it to myself in public.

This is not a sub-tweet.

I like women of all ages, but the sweet spot is 30s and 40s — where supple flesh meets hard-won perspective.

Walking past a porn store, I remember the soul-crushing hours I spent in places like it, gazing at box covers in a dissociative haze, searching for a fix that would never come.

She’s amazing — but not for the reasons you think.

I respond really, really well to direct communication.

The ethics of openness, secrecy, and desire — and the icky feeling when someone else gets what you can’t have, precisely because they’re willing to be dishonest about it.