Musing

Sometimes all I want is to be hard — not to connect, not to come, but to counter a deadness deep within me with the undeniable sensation of being alive.

Strip clubs can be glorious, and they can be where you go to watch a little part of yourself die. I’ve done both.

There’s so much more sex I don’t have than sex I have. Sometimes I wonder if it’s not the rejections I crave even more.

This.

Esther Perel talks about infidelity without demonizing anyone, and gets it exactly right.

Advice I wish I’d had, or taken, years ago.

Things I wish I’d known earlier about desperation, hunger, confidence, and rejection.

The season of skirts, yoga pants, and bare legs — and a meditation on the pleasures of the male gaze that tries, at least, to be honest about itself.

I stole this idea shamelessly from Cammie: what makes me sexy. I led with my weaknesses, because that felt right. Then I got to the good stuff.

What gets me hard isn’t your body — it’s knowing you need me to do what I’m about to do to it.