Musing

I used to crave rejection. Now I crave an endless supply of its opposite. Neither, it turns out, is available forever.

I used to hide behind your desires. Now I know what I want.

I know the sting of jealousy well, but I’m shockingly blind to the jealousy I inspire in others.

Tits or ass? Yes.

Club magazine, Playboy, and Color Climax: a prepubescent education in escalation — and the discovery that porn’s real function was never to satisfy hunger, but to activate it.

I struggle with what to do when I admire women’s beauty. Take a picture? Draw a picture? Write a paragraph? Seriously…. what’s a boy to do?

I have a couple of superpowers. One, apparently, is empathy.

Interrogating the hydraulics of not being turned on.

Anthony Weiner’s problem wasn’t his cock. It was that nobody in Congress liked him.

I’ll happily spend hours between a woman’s legs, but I can’t let anyone spend fifteen minutes between mine.