Musing

A man at the bottom of a stairway, looking up. I saw myself in him.

An unfinished, scattered meditation on sex trafficking — what I know, what I don’t, and the joyless workplaces that aren’t limited to the sex industry.

I’m cynical about politics, but net neutrality brings out the idealist in me. Also, there are porn stars.

My desire is many things, but one thing it is is fragile.

My childhood calligraphy error turned out to be more truth than mistake.

I’m exquisitely dominant, but roughness doesn’t come naturally — I go to great lengths to protect the women I fuck from my anger, and I want to understand why.

A twelve-year-old boy, a closet, a cousin with breasts, and the indelible shame of getting caught — plus some thoughts on what we owe the teenage boys who do creepy things.

Parenting is complicated. Here’s one conversation I had with my son, about cops.

Three rejections in one day, and I went to a coffee shop instead of a massage parlor.