Musing

What I think when I see a great ass in leggings is not what you might expect. It’s conceptual, not explicit — and that distinction may explain more about me than I’d like.

Ryan and Toby hate each other, but love is never really about how things look from the outside.

A man’s inarticulate defense of rape led me to a more honest reckoning with the frustration of sex scarcity — one that justifies nothing, but that nearly every straight man has felt.

The hemline as mind-reader: what that inch or two above the knee tells me about how she saw herself when she got dressed.

Sofia describes, in her own words, how she went from blog reader to distant buddy — and what, exactly, she wanted from me all along.

Where shame comes from, and why I need it.

I don’t want to bend you to my will. I want your will to curl into mine like shrink-wrap — no distance, no submission, just utter harmony. Maybe that’s not dominance. Maybe it’s just infantile.

I tossed off a quick answer about loneliness, then spent the next few hours realizing I was wrong about myself — and tracing the line from rejection to shame to paying for the very rejection I was trying to escape.

Navigating the minefield of CraigsList couples, where clarifying your sexual preferences can earn you a lecture on hetero-normativity from a former burlesque dancer.

I’m dominant, sure — but I can’t write about it without also writing about my doubts, my moods, my humanness, and I know that’s not always what you came here for.