Musing

It wasn’t the sex I was addicted to — it was the endless, shimmering promise of it, glowing on screen after screen.

I want, and I want to be wanted — but not too much, and only if I might not be.

Just like a toddler, what I want isn’t to have — it’s to get.

Desire is to getting as love is to having. And getting is always better than having.

Joe Orton, public restrooms, and what I actually want when I ask a woman to spread her legs for me in a hotel bar.

A married mom, a lurker, reaches out. And now I’m left wondering: what happens when I help someone see possibilities their partner doesn’t want to see?

Five-eight, and figuring out what that means.

I try to find the words, and fail.

Everyone’s got their thing. Mine just doesn’t involve balloons, plushies, or marrying a roller coaster.

Ice, wax, and a splayed 20-something — and then a pause to reckon with everything that means.