Musing

I’m REALLY good at compartmentalizing.

I crave obsession the way others crave peace. Right now, I’m in one of those heightened periods, and the collateral damage is showing.

Five minutes of focused attention on my cock, and what I found there: an ache, a hunger, a chill, and a taxonomy of desire I never knew I had.

A menu of fantasies, for the right mouth.

There’s really very little in life that doesn’t involve my actually touching a woman that turns me on more than my words arousing.

An elaborate fantasy involving oral sex, a dinner party, and Craigslist — and the humbling discovery that almost no one else wants what I want.

A review of last year’s sexual resolutions, and some new ones — sexual and not.

My confidence is a surprisingly reliable barometer of my mental health — and my proximity to old, dark habits.

Fragile male ego, professional hierarchies, and the long slide from smartest-person-in-the-room to peon at the base of a smaller hill.

Apparently, I underestimated how people would react if I questioned their monogamy. I won’t make that mistake again.