Musing

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.

I think that if we compare the risks associated with sex to the rewards it brings us, we’ll find that we do a really poor job of decision-making.

In which I foolhardily attack other people’s monogamy. And their “monogamy.” By wondering just how many people who think themselves monogamous really are.

Am I a “sex addict”? Is there such a thing? Is it a meaningful term? One reader delights in calling me a sex addict. What do I have to say about it?

I have a casual attitude toward sexually transmitted infections. And, with one exception, during Bill Clinton’s first term, I’ve never had one.

I have had a lot of sex with a lot of people, some of whom I’ve barely known. I get tested. And I don’t stress. Here’s how I think about the risks of sex.

The only sexually transmitted infection that scares me is HIV. Here’s why.

Three questions, no simple answers, and the honest admission that hanging a flag doesn’t summon a gazillion great sex partners.