Musing

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.

James Comey thinks there should be no zone free from the eyes of law enforcement. As a slutty, polyamorous sex blogger, I have some thoughts about that.

Sofia’s right: I really am difficult. The two dangers of being desired — having instead of getting, and being wanted in the wrong amount.

I’ve had more massages than most humans – and more “massages,” too. The other day, I found myself wondering why a full-body massage leaves out the most interesting inches.

I have more questions than answers about objectification, but I think the questions themselves are worth sitting with.

Sometimes the geekiest corners of my life intersect with the most dissolute ones — here, in my efforts to organize my Google Drive along the multiple axes of my fragmented existence.